19th Christmas (Women's Murder Club #19) - James Patterson Page 0,5
squad room. The exasperation on his face mirrored my own.
The Robbery Division was overworked in the first degree. Likewise, Booking was packed to the walls. Conklin and I had caught this case, literally, and now we owned it. Julian Lambert was in cuffs, swiveling distractedly in the side chair while we wrote him up for larceny, assault and battery, and, for good measure, resisting arrest.
Lambert handed over his driver license and answered our questions, telling us his full name and address and that he worked in the stockroom at Macy’s. Just before I accessed our database to see if the guy Conklin and I had tagged as the Grant Avenue Dasher had a record, he made an announcement.
“I’m on probation,” he said.
“For what?” I asked.
“Shoplifting, from Best Buy. I did four months and was let out on good behavior, long as I don’t screw up this year. My parole officer is a hard-ass. If you don’t violate me, I can help you out,” he said.
I asked, “How can you help us out, exactly?”
“I’ve got some information to trade for a get-out-of-jailfree pass.”
I seriously doubted Lambert’s claim, but what the hell. Let him try. I ran his name and found the arrest from three years ago as well as his release for time served and his current ongoing probation.
Conklin had read him his Miranda rights. He knew he could have an attorney present but apparently didn’t want one. We were free to hear what he had to say and use it against him—if there was anything worth using.
We walked Lambert out of the bullpen and down the corridor to Interview 2, entered the small interrogation room, and took seats around the scarred metal table.
Conklin said, “Okay, then. You see that mirror?”
“Two-way. This isn’t my first time in the box.”
Conklin grinned. “You probably think there’s someone back there listening in, watching your body language, right?”
“Yep.” Lambert waved at the glass and said, “Joyeux fucking Noël, everyone.”
“Well,” said my partner, “you just waved at nobody. We’re short-staffed this week. So lay your cards on the table and there’s a good chance we can move you along with a minimum of red tape. You could be out on bail by New Year’s.”
“Okay, but I’m supposed to go to Florida, to my mom’s place in Vero Beach, the day after Christmas.”
I jumped in.
“Mr. Lambert, your victim is going to have something to say about your traveling across state lines. You threw an old man to the ground, broke his nose, and took about twenty-eight hundred dollars in Prada belts and Hermès ties. Sorry to tell you this, but that’s grand larceny. And your victim is not feeling well disposed toward you. Last thing he said to us was ‘Toss him in a dark cell and leave him there for good.’”
“I thought there was food in that bag. I swear,” Julian Lambert said to the camera in the ceiling. “But he’ll get his property back, right?”
Conklin said, “Yes. But you hurt him and traumatized him. You want us to help you, let’s hear what you’ve got. Make it good. And quick. And truthful.”
CHAPTER 7
LAMBERT GAVE A long, reluctant sigh, clasped his cuffed hands in front of him on the table, and said, “This is going to blow your minds.”
He paused for effect, and when he got no reaction, he said, “I heard that something big is going down in a couple of days. I promise this is worth more to you than this little bust for stealing what I thought was a fruitcake and then bowling with pedestrians.”
Conklin said, “Get serious, Lambert. You scared a lot of people, and Mr. King is looking to press charges. What’s this ‘big’ something? Be specific.”
“There’s going to be a heist on Christmas Day,” said Lambert.
“A heist?” Conklin said. “An armed robbery?”
“Yeah. Maybe the biggest one in the history of this town.”
I thought, Yeah, sure.
But movies with big heists flashed through my mind. Heat, Ocean’s Eleven through Thirteen, Diamonds Are Forever, and Goldfinger. And my favorite, the Pink Panther movies. My sister and I still found them hilarious and watched one whenever we spent time together.
I said to the dasher, “So you’re talking about a bank robbery? Underground tunnels, things like that?”
“I overheard this conversation in a bar, so I don’t have all the pieces.”
“How about some pieces?” I said. “Do you have some?”
Crickets.
I turned to Conklin and said, “Mr. Lambert is just making stuff up. It’s been a long day already, and I’ve had enough. Time to send him