Preview james patterson's new thriller 'crosshairs'

I looked out the open French doors. The apartment was on a bend in the road that allowed a view of the balcony from at least five different buildings. I tried to get an idea where the shot

had come from. I was at a loss. My boss, Harry, had texted me that he already had cops canvassing the area. Maybe someone heard or saw something. I walked through the apartment by myself. I

could see the family had built a life here. Young kids, good job, the American dream. I hoped the victim had had enough sense to appreciate his family and situation. I’d seen many a Wall

Street financial manager work so hard they forgot they had a life outside of lower Manhattan. The other thing I realized as I stared at the wound on the right side of Adam Glossner’s head: I

was not used to homicides like this. I generally dealt with killers who get up close and personal. Even with firearms. Most people feel more confident the closer they get. Clearly that

wasn’t true of this killer. CHAPTER 5 I’D GOTTEN A decent sense of the crime scene. Now it was time to toughen up and do my least favorite assignment in a case like this: interview the

grieving. I nodded to the crime-scene techs filing into the victim’s apartment as I walked out and then down the hallway to the neighbor’s place. The door was open. I saw a young female

patrol officer sitting on the couch next to Victoria Glossner. The officer had a little boy in her lap as the mom rocked back and forth with a girl I judged to be about six years old. Mrs.

Glossner was a very attractive, fit woman of about thirty-five, probably six or eight years younger than her husband. I don’t even notice teary, bloodshot eyes anymore on this job. But I saw

how she clutched her daughter and how both the kids looked completely confused. It hit me like a sledgehammer. I remembered talking to my kids when their mother was dying of cancer. We’d

had months to prepare for the eventual shock. What do you do when your whole world changes in just a moment? The patrol officer looked up and saw me. I nodded. Then I tilted my head to the

left and the sharp young officer stood up with the little boy still in her arms. She said to the little girl, “Let’s see if we can find something for you guys to drink.” Mrs. Glossner

released her daughter to walk with the officer into another room. I sat across from her in an antique, uncomfortable chair. I introduced myself and told her how sorry I was. It wasn’t an

act. I am always sorry in a situation like this. She said she was okay to talk. “I watch so many of the police reality shows that I know how important the first forty-eight hours of a

homicide investigation can be. I don’t know what I can tell you. But I’ll answer any questions you have.” I handed her a tissue from a box on the table next to the couch. She nodded her

thanks and dabbed at her eyes. She explained to me that she had gone into the bedroom around nine and had talked to her sister on the phone for about forty minutes. Afterward, she’d quickly

drifted o! to sleep. Her husband had not come to bed by that time. I asked, “Is it usual for him not to come to bed at the same time as you?” She nodded. “He liked to clear his head. He

loved to look at the river from our balcony. He did it almost every night. He usually came to bed somewhere between ten and eleven.” She sniffled and looked like she was about to sob again.

Then she gained control of herself. Victoria Glossner said, “It’s just not fair. We had so many plans. We’d been through so much. We were talking about having another baby. How could this

have happened?” I asked all the usual questions. The ones about her husband’s friends and associates. If she knew of anyone who might want to harm him. I held off on the questions about

potential drug use and gambling. It’s surprising how often one of those two vices is behind a homicide in an area like this. She answered no to all of those questions. I said, “You said

you’d been through so much; was it anything that would’ve made someone angry enough to do this?” She quickly shook her head and said, “Just some rough spots in his business. Nothing we were

too worried about now. That’s what I’m saying. Our life was really good. Or at least about to become really good.” She started to cry. Then it turned into a flood of tears. I waited

silently, wanting to expand on what sort of business problems Adam Glossner had been experiencing. Before I could speak again, a tall, well- dressed woman came to the door. When a patrol

officer tried to stop her, she snapped, “I’m going in to get my daughter and I don’t care who doesn’t like it.” The officer looked at me, and I just nodded. As the new woman marched toward

the couch, Victoria Glossner looked up and then moaned, “Oh, Mom. Thank God.” She jumped up and hugged her mother. Her mother said, “Get the kids, and let’s go to my apartment. We need to

get you and them away from here.” Victoria said, “I was just answering a few questions for this detective.” Her mother didn’t even bother to look in my direction. She said, “That can wait

until later.” Then she took her daughter by the hand and started calling for the kids. They were all out of the apartment in less than a minute. CHAPTER 6 VANESSA WRIGHT, A new detective

with our squad, brought me the neighborhood canvass summary. She wasn’t quite my height of six foot three, but she stood well over six feet and could look me in the eye as she gave me the

report. Vanessa said, “We tried to hit all the buildings to the north, where we think the shot came from. Now we’ll swing south for a building or two. Does that sound thorough enough for

you?” I said, “Vanessa, I know you haven’t been in our unit for too long, but I’m not used to getting a professional report without some kind of a prank.” I saw her wide grin and beautiful,

straight teeth. I added, “Someone told you to prank me, didn’t they?” “I won’t say who, but it was suggested that I should tell you everyone went to get breakfast and would start again

sometime around lunch. I knew better than to even joke about that.” I smiled and nodded, letting her know I wasn’t an officious prick. I like pranks and I’ve played plenty during my career.

Instead, I asked her about the canvass they had just completed. Vanessa handed me a sheet of paper and said, “A couple of people thought they might have heard something. Maybe a pop or a

bang sometime around 10:15 last night. One elderly man in a building to the north said he’d only talk to the boss. Claimed he had important information.” Even the neighbor next door to the

Glossners hadn’t heard or seen anything unusual. It wasn’t until she heard a commotion in the hallway this morning that she even looked out and saw the police officers. She knew Mrs.

Glossner and the children. “That’s why she took them in while everything was going on.” As we came out the front door of the building, I saw Lois Frang still standing there. I had to admire

that kind of persistence. She yelled out, “What do you got, Bennett?” I called back, “I have a slight sciatica problem and arthritis in my hip!” “When am I going to get a straight answer out

of you?” “When I’ve got something worth saying.” Detective Vanessa Wright led me to a building nearby, to the third-floor apartment of Walter Cronin, the elderly man who’d claimed to have

information. When he opened the door, he was clearly happy to see Vanessa again. Despite having asked to talk to the boss, he didn’t care too much about me either way. I said, “I heard you

have some information that might be useful, Mr. Cronin.” I spoke a little louder than I normally do. I don’t know why — I just assumed an elderly man would have poor hearing. “You bet I do.”

He motioned us all the way into his lovely apartment. The eighty-six-year-old retired dentist had apparently had a very lucrative practice. After he made us sit on the sofa, he pulled out a

notebook and said, “I’ve been detailing the shenanigans going on with this building for years. The fees this place charges are outrageous. There’s so much fraud going on I don’t know where

to start.” I held up my hands and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Cronin, but we’re not here about fraud. We’re in a homicide unit. A man across the street was shot from somewhere around here. The

killer used a rifle.” “Yes, yes, yes, I know. I was just trying to give you some bonus information as well.” “Do you have any information at all about the shooting?” “Aside from hearing the

shot before I fell asleep last night, I don’t know anything.” “You’re sure you heard a gunshot?” “You’re too young to remember this, but we used to have a draft in this country. I did two

years in the Army and heard plenty of gunfire. I know the sound of a high-powered rifle when I hear it. There are no car backfires anymore. There were no sonic booms. Just a single gunshot,

not long before I fell asleep. Probably around 10:15 or 10:30.” “Did you investigate the source of the gunshot?” “Why on earth would I do that? I don’t have a gun. What happens if I find a

man with a gun? I doubt you’re the right man to look into the fraud of this building anyway. Investigate the gunshot.” Mr. Cronin just shook his head as I finished up my notes. CHAPTER 7

AFTER THE CRIME scene was secured and I’d done all I could to talk to relevant witnesses, I headed to the office. I knew there’d be a lot of questions from my bosses, and I had names and

information I wanted to pass on to our squad’s criminal intelligence analyst. His name is Walter Jackson, and he’s an absolute wizard with computer databases. Give Walter a name and a few

minutes, he can tell you every neighbor they’ve ever had as well as their cell phone carrier, their main bank, and what credit card they use. I took the elevator up in the unmarked building

that housed Manhattan North Homicide. It had been my home within the NYPD for so long I couldn’t imagine reporting to a precinct or to One Police Plaza. It’s always comforting to see my

lieutenant, Harry Grissom, sitting in his office with the door open. He oversees three staff assistants, two criminal intelligence analysts, and nine detectives, plus a rotating group of

detectives trying to get broader experience. And he does it all without losing his temper, getting frustrated, or being petty. In short, Harry Grissom is an awesome boss. I gave Harry a

quick rundown on what I’d learned. Harry stared at me across his desk without saying a word. It lasted maybe five seconds, but it felt like a week. This is why I never play in Harry’s poker

games. He seems like he’d be unbeatable. Absently smoothing his mustache, Harry asked in a quiet tone, “How did the wife seem?” “The usual. Distraught, near shock. She answered a few

questions before her mother swooped in and told me I could talk to her later.” “Did she say anything useful?” “I did get an odd vibe. It’s hard to describe. It’s more about what she didn’t

say. It felt like she wasn’t telling me everything about their current circumstances. I don’t know if it was a marital strain or something else. But I’ll have it in my head if I need to talk

to her again.”​ “You think she was unhappy with her husband and figured a way to have someone shoot him, do you?”​ “I don’t think so. But maybe. I guess it’s possible. Although it did cross

my mind that if someone was really smart, they could use the cover of the sniper to have a person shot from a long distance. But I don’t think that’s the case here.”​ Harry gave me a folder

with some information on the other two homicides involving the sniper. Harry said, “I heard someone call the shooter ‘the Longshot Killer.’ I guess that’s as good a nickname as any.”​ Harry

told me to grab the complete reports o! the computer and said I could consider myself the lead detective on all three cases. That might not make me too popular with the other homicide

detectives already working them, but I knew better than to say anything. Harry doesn’t much care for whining or complaints.His philosophy is simple: _We’ve got a job to do, so let’s go do

it._ Frankly, it does make the work environment here in our off-site office much more pleasant without people bitching constantly about everything. Harry said, “What kind of help do you

need? Besides the usual analytical assistance and help with interviews?” “I’m glad you asked. As I was standing on the balcony where the victim was shot, I realized I don’t know much about

snipers. I’m pretty good with figuring out trajectories and bullet wounds inflicted from a drive-by a few feet away, but these long-distance angles and the whole sniper mindset is new to me.

Do you think we’ve got anyone who can help me with that sort of stuff?” Harry chuckled. Or as close to a chuckle as he ever came. “Mike, this is the NYPD. We got someone who can help you

build a plane. Leave it to me.” CHAPTER 8 LESS THAN AN HOUR later, Harry Grissom forwarded an email to the whole squad. Someone new was going to be around the office for a while. Command

staff was sending over Rob Trilling, a sniper from the Emergency Service Unit, to help me on the case. He’d be on temporary duty until we made an arrest, or until I didn’t need him anymore.

That was about all I could ask for. As a trained investigator, I like to have as much information as possible before I start anything new. That includes knowing who I’m working with. As soon

as I had the chance, I went over to Walter Jackson to get the scoop on this sniper from ESU. As I stepped into Walter’s office, he turned his computer screen slightly so I could see a

photograph of a mountain with someone working at the top of it. I said, “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s that?” “Mount Rushmore just as they were starting construction on the monument.” A huge smile

spread across the big man’s face. He had to add, “The beauty of the mountain was un-president-ed.” I groaned. Then I said, “Aren’t your daughters making you put a dollar into a jar for

every pun you make?”