The 19th Christmas (Women's Murder Club #19) - James Patterson Page 0,45
at the airport in Zurich and will be out of touch for about eight hours. After that, I can be reached at this number. My offices are officially closed until New Year’s. We’re in the cybersecurity business, Chief, uh, Jacobi, and I guarantee you that no one is hacking into our systems. If we had a vulnerability, I would know about it.”
“Say that that’s true, Mr. Bavar. Do you have any enemies who might want to do harm to your company?”
“Hundreds. No one likes an overnight success.”
“Does the name Loman mean anything to you?”
“I don’t think so,” said Bavar. “Who or what is Loman?”
Jacobi reluctantly crossed that avenue off his list and moved on.
“Mr. Bavar, do you have any objects of value that a professional criminal with a history of armored-car and casino heists would find worth his time?”
“Like what?”
“You tell me, Mr. Bavar. This isn’t my field. Do you have some kind of cutting-edge gizmo or stealth hacking program or top secret government plans, anything like that?”
“Nothing that could be found, recognized, and stolen in some kind of break-in. It just doesn’t work that way, but if you want to drive out to our corporate headquarters in the Presidio—what time is it there, midnight?”
“A little later.”
“If you want to take a look around, go ahead.”
David Bavar gave Jacobi the name and number of his head of security, then told him he had to board his plane.
CHAPTER 55
JACOBI CALLED THE security guy, Ronald Wilkins, rousing him from bed. Jacobi apologized, then used the magic words “David Bavar asked me to call you.”
Wilkins said, “What do you need?”
“A look around your headquarters. A chat with you and your night security guy.”
Wilkins said, “I’d better talk to Mr. Bavar. I’ll call you back.”
“Do it quick. His flight is taking off.”
Jacobi leaned back in his chair and drifted off. Soon he was woken up by a ringing phone. He picked up. The voice said, “It’s Wilkins. Send me a photo of you.”
Jacobi said okay. He took a selfie against the backdrop of the squad room and looked at it. Highly unflattering, but he forwarded it to Wilkins, waited a few seconds, then asked, “Get it?”
“It’s out of focus,” Wilkins said.
“Jesus,” said Jacobi. “I’m white, have gray hair. I weigh two hundred pounds and look like I’ve been a cop for forty years. I’ll have ID to show you. All right?”
“I can meet you at BlackStar, east parking lot. Give me an hour.”
Jacobi said, “Make it thirty minutes. Tell your security guy not to let anyone into the building but you. No one but you. You understand me? Call him now. I’ll be driving an unmarked car. Gray Chevy sedan.”
Wilkins said, “Righto,” and Jacobi said, “See you in the parking lot.”
Jacobi called Brady, who, despite the late hour, was working in his cubicle at the back of the squad room. Jacobi remembered when he’d hired Jackson Brady a few years back, right out of Miami PD. First time out, Brady took a stance in front of a car with a kidnapped kid inside that was coming straight at him. Brady kept firing until the driver was dead. He was a winner. A great hire. Jacobi had recommended Brady to replace him as police chief. Brady hadn’t yet said he would take the job.
Brady picked up his phone, and he and Jacobi looked at each other across the room as they spoke.
Brady said, “Whatcha got?”
Jacobi said, “I want to check out BlackStar’s corporate offices. I need a partner with some years in grade and a backup team.”
Brady said, “I’ve got only one live body for you, Chief.”
“Ah, don’t call Boxer. She’s done.”
“Not Boxer,” Brady said. “I mean me.”
CHAPTER 56
CONKLIN STEPPED INTO the apartment he shared with Cindy and switched on the living-room lights.
He hung his gun belt over the back of a chair, sat down, took off his shoes, and massaged his feet. Then he walked quietly down the hallway and into the bedroom, where Cindy was sleeping like an angel, her arms spread out like wings, her blond curls framing her adorable face.
He didn’t want to wake her up. But he needed to sleep.
He returned to the living room, took the spare blanket and pillow out of the coat closet, stripped down, and got comfortable on the couch. He blinked in the dark, listened to traffic and a couple of drunk guys singing “Silent Night.”
He sighed deeply and counseled himself to turn off his thoughts. The way he understood it, your brain had to