20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20) - James Patterson Page 0,17
detour on Bryant had made me frustrated and bad tempered.
All I said to Richie was, “Life kneecapped me this morning.”
He gave me a long look, pointed at my jacket.
I looked down at the dribble of white down my jacket lapel. Even the toothpaste was out to get me. I shrugged off my jacket, hung it on the back of my chair. I noticed that someone had messed with my desk.
“What happened here?”
“Brady happened,” Conklin said. “You were still floating on the wine country afterglow. He’s a little compulsive.”
“Ya think?”
I sat down, wheeled the chair up to my desk, and started returning articles to where they belonged. Lamp, notepad, picture of Julie and Joe. I stared at my mug, now full of pens, and said, “Any progress on the Barons?”
He said, “Clapper called. The bullets were recovered, but they’re soft points. One was deformed by the inside of Paul’s skull. The other went through Ramona, smashed into a wall.”
“So much for ballistics,” I said.
Richie went on. “I spoke to Sergeant Noble, LAPD. They have nothing yet on the Peavey shooting, but they want to work with us. And here’s the name of the primary lead detective on the Chicago shooting. I left a message. No call back.”
Conklin passed me a sticky note over the narrow gulch separating our desks. It read, “Det. Stanley Richards. Victim, Albert Roccio, smoke shop dude.”
It was 11:50 in Chicago. I made the call, was passed around the police department until Detective Richards picked up his phone.
I introduced myself, said that my partner was also on the line, and told the detective that I’d read about Albert Roccio. I said, “We’ve had a couple of similar shootings here.”
Richards said, “What can I do for you?”
I couldn’t keep the stress out of my voice as I gave the detective what we had: the “rehearsal” at the Taco King and the Baron shootings. I also told him about Fred Peavey, the LA dealer who’d dropped his kid off at school and taken one through the forehead. Richards was aware of only the Barons, who’d made the national news.
I said, “The Barons and Peavey happened at the same time, 8:30 a.m. Monday morning Pacific Standard Time.”
Richards grunted, said, “That’s a match. Roccio was offed at ten thirty here.” He sounded bored. “Boxer, right? Good luck with your DBs.”
He was hanging up.
“Richards.”
“Yeah?”
“You got anything on Roccio? A motive? A suspect?”
“Sorry. I can’t help you.”
Richards was keeping the case to himself, and frankly, I wasn’t into pulling teeth from another cop.
I said, “Do I have this right? You’re the primary on Roccio, I’ve got a case that could be its twin, and you’re jerking me around? Maybe your captain can give us an assist. I’ll give him a call.”
Richards said, “Hang on, Boxer. Happy to tell you about our big file of nothing.”
Reluctantly he told us much of what we already knew: that Roccio’s girlfriend claimed not to have seen the shooter and knew nothing about his drug business. As of now, Chicago PD didn’t know if Roccio had enemies.
“Roccio’s body is still warm,” Richards said, giving me notice that he was done.
We signed off. Richie muttered that Richards was a jerk, and I agreed with him as I typed a note for the file.
Richie said, “Did Cindy catch you this morning?”
“Yep. I promised her an exclusive. I’m guessing I bought us eight hours before she runs a serial killer story.”
Conklin flashed his winning smile and said, “Serial killer scores in three places at once.”
I said, “Let’s hope for a break on the Barons before Cindy turns that into a headline.”
CHAPTER 26
IT HAPPENED JUST before Cindy was getting ready to leave work for the day.
McGowan walked to her doorway and held up a copy of the Examiner so that she could read the headline from her desk.
SNIPERS HIT DRUG DEALERS IN THREE CITIES.
Hey. What? That was her story. She’d been scooped by the Examiner—and that meant her world was ending. Her work was now running in the public domain without her byline.
McGowan said, “I told you not to hold the story.”
Cindy blew up, like a virtual bomb. She said to McGowan, too loudly, “Listen, you dumb shit. You don’t screw with police sources.”
He laughed. “Man, that must be a drag for your boyfriend.”
Cindy’s face burned. “You’re disgusting,” she said.
“He’s a cop, right?” and as McGowan was saying, “Oh, come onnnnnn. Where’s your sense of hu—” Cindy crossed the office and slammed her door in McGowan’s grinning face.