18th Abduction - James Patterson Page 0,65
more so as Conklin got out, opened the rear door, steered Denny into the back, then got in beside him.
“For God’s sake,” the pimp slurred. “You’re going to get me killed, you know?”
Conklin said, “Killed, why?”
“You know why,” Denny said, like he was talking to four-year-olds. “I could be seen talking to cops.”
“If you help us out, Martinez could have the SUV in a few hours. You’ll get your job back. Okay?”
Lopez said, “Let’s talk fast. I have a lunch date with a young lady. If you get my meaning.”
I slid over to the wheel, started up the car, pulled out onto Mission without tearing up the asphalt. I parked four blocks away in front of a nail salon and a donut shop, set the brake, and leaned over the seat back.
I said, “Listen to me, Denny. You were present at the scene of the crime. Prior to that, you’d seen the schoolteachers at the Bridge and had a business relationship with Carly. She’s dead. Adele is dead. We could hold you as a person of interest for a lonnnng time.”
“You shitting me?”
“Dig deep, Denny. There’s always one forgotten thing. What haven’t you told us?”
“Now that you mention it, I do remember something.”
I said, “Go ahead. Blow me away.”
“I actually remember a guy who came into the Bridge one time, not long ago. Sat at a table with another dude and bought drinks for those girls.”
Lopez was sobering up a little bit and checking out the passersby, the customers carrying bags from Grand Mission Donuts, the usual motley collection of jobless, homeless, hopeless, and drugged-up denizens of the Mission, along with office workers getting their morning joe.
Conklin grabbed the pimp’s arm and shook him to attention.
“Denny. Tell us what the guy looked like, anything he may have said or done.”
“Christ,” Denny said, throwing up his hands. “He was big. I only saw him sitting, but I’m guessing he was six three. Two eighty. Carried his weight here.” He put his hands on his abdomen. “He was at the Bridge and buying drinks for the girls, and Carly was shining on him. I was still hoping to get her back, so that’s why I noticed.”
I started up the car.
Conklin got out of the back seat, got in next to me.
“Hey. You’re taking me back to Bud’s, right?” Denny asked.
“Guess again,” I said.
CHAPTER 82
Conklin said to Denny, “We need you to look at some pictures at the Hall.”
Lopez protested loudly.
I told him to shut up and calm down. “Two women are dead, and you knew both of them. Odds are you saw their killer.”
“You arresting me?” he asked, still slurring.
“Only if you insist,” I said.
He didn’t speak after that. We arrived back at the Hall in fifteen minutes, left the car on Bryant, and marched Denny Lopez straight up to the fourth floor, where I stashed him in Interview 1 and told him to sit tight.
“Officer Krupky is behind the glass,” I said, pointing to the mirrored window. I waved at my image. Krupky was fictitious and the observation room was empty, but Denny didn’t know that. I said to him, “It’s going to take us a little while,” handing him a copy of the morning Examiner, which I’d grabbed off one of the chairs.
“You should read this.”
The front-page story was about Adele Saran. There was a picture of her beautiful face and another of the hanging tree. The headline couldn’t have been bolder or blacker.
TORTURE AND DEATH OF A SCHOOLTEACHER.
Denny didn’t strike me as a news junkie or a reader. From the way he grabbed the paper with his shaking hands, he was learning the details of Adele Saran’s murder right here and right now.
Conklin brought Denny black coffee, then he and I went to our desks and put together a photo array of big guys. One was Petrović. Jacobi and Cappy McNeil were also included, as well as three convicts doing life in maximum-security prisons.
When the glue had dried on the six-picture array, Conklin and I returned to the interview room.
I put the photo array in front of Denny Lopez, and Conklin and I took our seats, my partner telling him to give the photos a good look. “Take your time.”
Lopez recognized a picture instantly, stabbed it with his right index finger. “Him. That’s the guy.”
“Be sure. Take another look,” said Conklin.
Denny said he was sure. The camera in the corner of the ceiling duly recorded that he’d identified Lieutenant Warren Jacobi, our friend and commanding officer.
Lopez asked me, “Is