Cat & Mouse (Alex Cross Series #4)

by James Patterson Narrated by Jeff Harding

Overview

Cross. Now streaming on Prime Video.

Alex Cross is back-and so is a raging and suicidal Gary Soneji. Out of prison and dying from the AIDS virus he contracted there, he will get revenge on Cross before he dies. In addition, we are introduced to a new pair of rivals whose paths cross that of Alex and Soneji. Thomas Augustine Pierce has been chasing his demon, Mr. Smith, since the savage murder of his fiancee. Mr. Smith is a unique monster, with actions toward his victims so insane-so unimaginable-that he is thought of as "not of the earth." Pierce, known in the business as St. Augustine because of his track record for catching killers and his invaluable status to the FBI and Interpol, may even be better than Cross.When things heat up and Alex is in a near-death coma following an attack in his own home, Pierce goes to Washington to help with the investigation. But just as he begins to piece together the mystery of how Gary Soneji could have mortally wounded Cross after he was believed to be dead, he is summoned to Paris with a postcard from Mr. Smith inviting him to a very special killing.The body count is high, the tension the highest, and the two killers on the loose are watching every move their pursuers make. Who is the cat, and who is the mouse? What and where is the final trap? And who survives?

Editorial Reviews

APR/MAY 08 - AudioFile

Keith David and Anthony Heald combine their vocal talents to perform Patterson's thriller with powerful characterizations of forensic psychologist Alex Cross and FBI profiler Thomas Pierce. David and Heald’s depictions bring to life two serial killers, one who is unable to stop his killing spree and one who wants revenge. Along the Eastern Seaboard Gary Soneji carries out his macabre killings with medical precision while in Paris and London the elusive Mr. Smith, one of Europe's legendary serial killers, practices his skills. The narrators' combined dramatic range captures the tension and tight pacing as the chase to identify the killers draws to a climax. Sound effects such as gunshots and victims’ screams create an authentic atmosphere. Soft jazz music indicates chapter breaks. G.D.W. © AudioFile 2008, Portland, Maine

Product Details

BN ID:	2940170292257
Publisher:	Hachette Audio
Publication date:	10/13/2015
Series:	Alex Cross Series
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

PROLOGUE: CATCH A SPIDER

Washington, D.C.

The Cross house was twenty paces away and the proximity and sight of it made Gary Soneji's skin prickle. It was Victorian-style, white-shingled, and extremely well kept. As Soneji stared across Fifth Street, he slowly bared his teeth in a sneer that could have passed for a smile. This was perfect. He had come here to murder Alex Cross and his family.

His eyes moved slowly from window to window, taking in everything from the crisp, white lace curtains to Cross's old piano on the sunporch, to a Batman and Robin kite stuck in the rain gutter of the roof. Damon's kite, he thought.

On two occasions he caught sight of Cross's elderly grandmother as she shuffled past one of the downstairs windows. Nana Mama's long, purposeless life would soon be at an end. That made him feel so much better. Enjoy every moment - stop and smell the roses, Soneji reminded himself. Taste the roses, eat Alex Cross's roses - flowers, stems, and thorns.

He finally moved across Fifth Street, being careful to stay in the shadows. Then he disappeared into the thick yews and forsythia bushes that ran like sentries alongside the front of the house.

He carefully made his way to a whitewashed cellar door, which was to one side of the porch, just off the kitchen. It had a Master padlock, but he had the door open in seconds.

He was inside the Cross house!

He was in the cellar: The cellar was a clue for those who collected them. The cellar was worth a thousand words. A thousand forensic pictures, too.

It was important to everything that would happen in the very near future. The Cross murders!

There were no large windows, but Soneji decided not to take any chances by turning on the lights. He used a Maglite flashlight. Just to look around, to learn a few more things about Cross and his family, to fuel his hatred, if that was possible.

The cellar was cleanly swept, as he had expected it would be. Cross's tools were haphazardly arranged on a pegged Masonite board. A stained Georgetown ball cap was hung on a hook. Soneji put it on his own head. He couldn't resist.

He ran his hands over folded laundry laid out on a long wooden table. He felt close to the doomed family now. He despised them more than ever. He felt around the hammocks of the old woman's bra. He touched the boy's small Jockey underwear. He felt like a total creep, and he loved it.

Soneji picked up a small red reindeer sweater. It would fit Cross's little girl, Jannie. He held it to his face and tried to smell the girl. He anticipated Jannie's murder and only wished that Cross would get to see it, too.

He saw a pair of Everlast gloves and black Pony shoes tied around a hook next to a weathered, old punching bag. They belonged to Cross's son, Damon, who must be nine years old now. Gary Soneji thought he would punch out the boy's heart.

Finally, he turned off the flashlight and sat all alone in the dark. Once upon a time, he had been a famous kidnapper and murderer. It was going to happen again. He was coming back with a vengeance that would blow everybody's mind. He folded his hands in his lap, and sighed. He had spun his web perfectly. Alex Cross would soon be dead, and so would everyone he loved.

CHAPTER TWO

London.

The killer who was currently terrorizing Europe was named Mr. Smith, no surname. It was given to him by the Boston press, and then the police had obligingly picked it up all over the world. He accepted the name, as children accept the name given by their parents, no matter how gross or disturbing or pedestrian the name might be.

Mr. Smith - so be it.

Actually, he had a thing about names. He was obsessive about them. The names of his victims were burned into his mind and also into his heart.

First and foremost, there was Isabella Calais. Then came Stephanie Michaela Apt, Ursula Davies, Robert Michael Neel, and so many others.

He could recite the complete names backward and forward, as if they had been memorized for a history quiz or a bizarre round of Trivial Pursuit. That was the ticket - this chase was trivial pursuit, wasn't it?

So far, no one seemed to understand, no one got it. Not the fabled FBI. Not the storied Interpol, not Scotland Yard, or any of the local police forces in the cities where he had committed murders.

No one understood the secret pattern of the victims, starting with Isabella Calais in Cambridge, Massachusetts, March 22, 1993, and continuing today in London.

The victim of the moment was Drew Cabot. He was a chief inspector - of all the hopelessly inane things to do with your life. He was "hot" in London, having recently apprehended an IRA killer. His murder would electrify the town, drive everyone mad. Civilized and sophisticated London loved a gory murder as well as the next burg.

This afternoon Mr. Smith was operating in the toney, fashionable Knightsbridge section. He was there to study the human race - at least that was the way the newspapers described it. The press in London and across Europe also called him by another name - Alien. The prevailing theory was that Mr. Smith was an extraterrestrial. No human could do the things that he did. Or so they said.

Mr. Smith had to bend low to talk into Drew Cabot's ear, to be more intimate with his prey. He played music while he worked - all kinds of music. Today's selection was the overture to Don Giovanni. Opera buffa felt right to him.

Opera felt right for this live autopsy.

"Ten minutes or so after your death," Mr. Smith said, "flies will already have picked up the scent of gas accompanying the decomposition of your tissue. Green flies will lay the tiniest eggs within the orifices of your body. Ironically, the language reminds me of Dr. Seuss - 'green flies and ham.' What could that mean? I don't know. It's a curious association, though."

Drew Cabot had lost a lot of blood, but he wasn't giving up. He was a tall, rugged man with silver-blond hair. A never-say-never sort of chap. The inspector shook his head back and forth until Smith finally removed his gag.

"What is it, Drew?" he asked. "Speak."

"I have a wife and two children. Why are you doing this to me? Why me?" he whispered.

"Oh, let's say because you're Drew. Keep it simple and unsentimental. You, Drew, are a piece of the puzzle."

He tugged the inspector's gag back into place. No more chitchat from Drew.

Mr. Smith continued with his observations as he made his next surgical cuts and Don Giovanni played on.

"Near the time of death, breathing will become strained, intermittent. It's exactly what you're feeling now, as if each breath could be your last. Cessation will occur within two or three minutes," whispered Mr. Smith, whispered the dreaded Alien. "Your life will end. May I be the first to congratulate you. I sincerely mean that, Drew. Believe it or not, I envy you. I wish I were Drew."

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