The People vs. Alex Cross

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From inside a rambling white Colonial home on a shaded street that smelled of blooming wildflowers, a woman called in a pleasant Southern accent: “TW-Two? Where are you? Mama needs you to go to the store now.”

There was a pause before she called again. “TW-Two? Deuce?”

Timmy Walker Jr., TW-Two, also known as Deuce, was twelve and standing just inside the woods that adjoined his backyard.

Go to the store? Deuce thought. He had better things to do than ride his bike all the way there and back for his mom. As a matter of fact, he had much better things to do.

The back porch door opened with a creak.

“Deuce,” his mother called. “C’mon, now. I’ll take you out for an ice cream sundae later?”

That was tempting, but Deuce stuck to his plan and eased off on a familiar path that led downhill to an old logging road and a creek that meandered through the woods. It was late in the day. The light was slanted, coppery, and the air was still sticky and hot.

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