Chapter 42 THE ARREST
\[FLASHBACK\]
Detective Morrison drives to the Cross residence at 4:18 a.m.
Three squad cars were behind him, lights off, and no sound of sirens.
The house is dark, Big, and Expensive, looking luxurious. The kind of doctors live in it.
Neat grass, well-trimmed, and a captivating snow sculpture in the front of the compound.
Something elaborate and breathtaking must've taken hours to make.
Morrison gets out and then the two officers follow.
He walks to the front door and Knocks.
He wants but nobody responds
He knocks harder.
A light turns on upstairs and also downstairs.
The door opens, and a woman stands there, heavily pregnant; she should be seven months or eight months pregnant.
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Cross?"
"Yes."
"I'm Detective Morrison is your husband home?"
Ohhh, he's asleep, and how can I help you?
Can I speak with him now?
"It's already four in the morning".
"I understand. But this can't wait."
Really!!! And what's all this about?"
She stares at him. Then steps aside.
"He's upstairs."
Morrison nods to the officers. They spread out. Check the rooms.
He climbs the stairs. Mrs. Cross follows.
"What's going on? Is Richard in trouble?"
Morrison doesn't answer.
They reach the bedroom door's open Man's in the bed Sleeping.
"Richard." Mrs. Cross shakes him. "Richard, wake up."
He stirs. Opens his eyes.
Sees Morrison. The badge.
Sits up fast.
"What's happening?"
"Dr. Richard Cross?"
"Yes."
"I need you to come with me."
"Why? What's this about?"
"I'll explain at the station."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on."
Morrison steps closer.
"Where were you tonight between eleven p.m. and midnight?"
"Here. Sleeping."
"Can anyone confirm that?"
"My wife. She was here."
Morrison looks at Mrs. Cross.
"Ma'am, was your husband home all night?"
She nods.
"Yes. He came home from the hospital around nine. We had dinner. Went to bed around ten-thirty."
"And he didn't leave? At any point?"
"No. He was here the whole time."
Morrison doesn't believe her. He can tell she doesn't believe herself either.
"Dr. Cross, I need you to get dressed. You're coming with us."
"Am I under arrest?"
"Not yet. But if you don't cooperate, you will be."
Richard looks at his wife. Then at Morrison.
"Fine. Give me five minutes."
"You have two."
Outside, more squad cars arrive.
News vans. Someone tipped them off.
Cameras. Reporters. Neighbors are coming out. Watching.
Richard walks out in handcuffs.
Helen Cross is behind him. Crying. Confused.
"Richard, what's happening? What did you do?"
"Nothing. I didn't do anything."
Morrison opens the squad car door. Guides Richard inside.
Helen grabs Morrison's arm.
"Please. Tell me what's going on. My husband is a surgeon. He saves lives. He wouldn't—"
"Ma'am, I need you to step back."
"No. Not until you tell me why you're arresting him."
Morrison looks at her. At her belly. At the tears on her face.
"Michael and Catherine Walker. They were murdered tonight. In their home. Your husband was identified by a witness."
Helen's face goes white.
"That's impossible."
"The witness saw his face. Identified him from a photograph. We have probable cause."
"No. No, you're wrong. Richard was home. He was with me."
"Then he'll have nothing to worry about."
Morrison gets in the car and drives away.
Helen just stands there, watching, and cannot do anything to help.
One of the officers approaches her.
"Ma'am, we need to search the house."
"What?"
"We have a warrant. We need to search for evidence."
"Evidence of what?"
"Anything that might connect your husband to the murders."
"He didn't do it. He was home."
"Then we won't find anything."
The officer walks past her. Into the house.
Helen follows.
"Please. Don't do this. I'm pregnant. I can't handle this."
"We'll be as quick as we can."
They spread out. Living room. Kitchen. Bedrooms. Garage.
One officer goes to Richard's office.
Starts going through files. Drawers. Computer.
Helen stands in the doorway. Shaking.
"This is a mistake. You're making a mistake."
The officer doesn't respond.
Just keeps searching.
POLICE STATION. 5:02 A.M.
Richard sits in an interrogation room.
Hands cuffed to the table.
Morrison walks in. Sits across from him.
"Dr. Cross. You're a surgeon. Cardiovascular, correct?"
"Yes."
"You work at County General."
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Fifteen years."
"And you have a wife. Helen. Eight months pregnant."
"Yes."
"Congratulations."
Richard doesn't respond.
Morrison opens a folder. Pulls out a photo.
The poster. The medical conference.
"Recognize this?"
"That's me. From a conference last year."
"Where was it?"
"Downtown. At the convention center."
"Who else was there?"
"Hundreds of doctors. It was a national conference."
Morrison slides the photo closer.
"An eight-year-old girl pointed at this photo tonight. Said you're the man who killed her parents."
Richard's face hardens.
"That's impossible."
"She was very sure. Drew a circle right around your face."
"She's mistaken traumatized Kids don't make reliable witnesses."
"This one was very specific. Describe your height. Your build. The scar on your chin."
Richard touches his chin reflexively.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Where were you tonight between eleven and midnight?"
"I already told you. Home."
"Your wife says you were there. But she also said you came home at nine. That's early for a surgeon."
"I wasn't on call."
"But you were at the hospital earlier in the day."
"Yes. I had surgeries. Three of them. Finished around six."
"And then?"
"I went to my office. Did paperwork. Left around eight-thirty."
"Anyone see you leave?"
"I don't know. Maybe the night security guard."
Morrison writes something down.
"We're checking. We'll pull the security footage. Verify your timeline."
"Good. Because I didn't do this."
"Then you won't mind if we search your car. Your office. Your home."
"I don't consent to any searches."
"We already have warrants."
Richard's jaw tightens.
"I want a lawyer."
"That's your right."
Morrison stands for a while and walks to the door.
"But here's the thing, Dr. Cross. That little girl? She's not traumatized. She's certain. And when a child that young is that certain, they're usually right."
He walks out.
Leaves Richard sitting there alone.
CROSS RESIDENCE. 6:34 A.M.
Helen sits on the couch, watching officers tear apart her house.
One of them comes downstairs. Holding a black duffel bag.
"Ma'am, is this your husband's?"
"I don't know. Maybe. He has a lot of bags."
"Where does he usually keep them?"
"In the garage. Or his car."
"This was in the hall closet. Near the back door."
"So?"
The officer opens it.
Surgical gloves. Plastic bags. Rope. Duct tape.
"Does your husband usually keep these in the house?"
Helen's stomach turns.
"No. I don't know. Maybe for work?"
"These aren't sterile. These are the kind you buy at a hardware store."
Helen stands.
"I need to sit down."
"You're already sitting."
"I need to lie down. Please. I'm pregnant. This is too much."
The officer nods.
"We're almost done."
Another officer comes in from outside.
"Sir. You need to see this."
Helen follows them. Out the front door.
To the snow sculpture. The one Richard made last week. Spent hours on it.
Some abstract thing. Looked like a wave. Or a mountain. Helen never understood it.
One of the officers is crouched next to it. Pointing.
"Look."
There's something dark. Inside the snow. Near the base.
The officer carefully removes some snow.
A black plastic bag.
He pulls it out. Heavy. Dripping.
Opens it.
Helen screams.
Inside. A head.
Catherine Walker's head.
Eyes still open.
Staring at nothing.
The officer immediately calls it in.
"We found it. We found the evidence."
Helen backs away. Hands over her mouth.
"No. No, no, no. Richard wouldn't—"
She turns. Runs inside.
To the bathroom. Throws up.
One of the officers follows her.
"Ma'am, we need to ask you some questions."
"Get away from me."
"Ma'am—"
"Get out! Get out of my house!"
She collapses on the floor. Sobbing.
The officer steps back. Calls for a medic.
Outside, they're pulling more snow away from the sculpture.
Find another black bag.
Michael Walker's head.
Morrison gets the call at 6:47 a.m.
"We found them. The heads. Both of them. Hidden in a snow sculpture in the front yard."
"Bag everything. Get it to forensics. I want prints. DNA. Everything."
"Copy that."
Morrison hangs up. Walks back into the interrogation room.
Richard's still there. Hands still cuffed.
"Your lawyer here yet?"
"Not yet."
"That's a shame. Because we just found something at your house."
Richard doesn't move.
"Two heads. Hidden in your snow sculpture. Black plastic bags. Just like the ones used at the crime scene."
Richard's face goes pale.
"That's impossible."
"Your wife saw them. She's at the house now. Having a breakdown."
"Helen—"
"We're running DNA. But I'm guessing it's going to match Michael and Catherine Walker."
"I didn't put those there."
"No? Then who did?"
"I don't know. Someone's setting me up."
"Really? Someone broke into your house. Hid two severed heads in your snow sculpture. And you didn't notice?"
"I don't know how they got there."
"Or maybe you put them there. Maybe you thought no one would find them. Maybe you thought the snow would keep them frozen. Hidden."
"I didn't do this."
Morrison leans forward.
"An eight-year-old girl watched you kill her parents. She saw your face. And now we have the evidence. It's over, Dr. Cross."
Richard says nothing.
Just stares at the table.
Morrison stands.
"You're being charged with two counts of first-degree murder. Booking starts in an hour. Enjoy your last moments of freedom."
He walks out.
Richard sits there.
Silent.
Thinking about his pregnant wife. About the baby.
About how everything just fell apart.