20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20) - James Patterson Page 0,31
me.
“Let me get back to you on that.”
Detective Richards of Chicago PD had shown a distinct disinclination to share information about his victim, Albert Roccio, but he’d agreed to take our call at noon. I said to Conklin, “Here we go.”
I tapped Richards’s contact on my phone.
A woman answered, saying, “Detective Wilkens. May I help you?”
“I’m Sergeant Boxer. Detective Richards is expecting my call,” I said.
“He just ran out, but he’ll be back in a few.”
I left my number as Brenda poked her head into the room. “I’ve got Inspector McNeil for you.”
Cappy’s husky voice, filtered through the car radio mike and whatever he was eating.
“Boxer, you ready for a big pile of nothing much?”
“Bring it.”
He laughed, said, “Ready, set, go.”
And then he reported in.
CHAPTER 42
I PICTURED CAPPY swiping his bald head with his forearm, replacing his ball cap, setting it just right.
He spoke into the mic, saying, “Okay, so here’s what we know from working the Taco King.
“Jennings was a regular. His movements were known. If someone wanted to take him out, they could find him. So he was prob’ly a target, not a random ‘rehearsal,’ and that goes to motive.
“We spoke with Woody Moynihan. ’Member him? First baseman, .300 batting average until he took a hundred-mile-per-hour fastball to his head.”
I said, “Does Moynihan have an idea who shot Jennings?”
My cell phone buzzed, Brenda texting, Detective Noble is on line three.
I asked Cappy to hang on, punched the button on the console, said hello to the LAPD homicide detective who was primary on the LA shooting.
Conklin punched line three on his own console and at the same time activated speakerphone. “Cappy,” he said. “Talk to me. Boxer has another call.”
“Fine, tell her Jennings was peddling pills to friends. Moynihan says actually he was a customer, but it coulda been a wide circle. Friends of friends. Conklin. You still there?”
“I’m all yours,” said Conklin.
“Okay. I talk to myself, but not on the phone. So Moynihan has no idea who woulda capped Jennings, but there’s a variety of reasons someone might have gone crazy and offed his dealer. It happens, you know. Narcotics might have a line on it.”
I was listening to Cappy and at the same time thinking how Narcotics was a shell of its former self. There were jobs that had to be filled, and this was a great example of why.
Noble said, “Hello?”
I turned my attention back to Noble, saying, “Right here.”
He said, “We’ve doubled up our manpower on this school shooting.”
“Excellent. What have you got so far?”
Noble said, “The parents at Little Geniuses, where Peavey was popped, are going, uh, ballistic. We’ve been bringing them in, giving them a chance to air their complaints and fears of their kids being shot, and hoping maybe someone would finger a suspect.”
“How’s that going?”
Chi’s voice came over the speaker, bringing Conklin up to date on the stakeout at Barkley’s house.
I tried listening to Chi, but Noble was excited and drew me in.
“Fred Peavey was a dentist,” said Noble, “and some of the other parents were posing as patients of his. I’ve confirmed he was writing scrips for painkillers. I spoke to ten people myself. Nobody wanted him dead. They liked him. We checked them out, and honest to God, except for some with an opioid addiction, they all live in Mister Rogers’ neighborhood.”
Another drug connection, I thought. This one, pharmaceuticals.
Chi was telling Conklin that he’d briefed Brady on the Barkley house stakeout: cars around the block and a team in the house next door with a clear view of all entrances.
“No sign of Barkley,” Chi said. “The dog was impounded pending release to its owner. Maybe you can use that with the wife.”
Cappy’s voice crackled over the line again.
“I checked out Barkley and his lady. Both of them served in Afghanistan, Boxer. They’re both expert shooters. Hey. We’re blocking traffic. I’ll call you or you call me. Ten-four.”
A new text from Brenda. Detective Richards on two.
I punched the button and said, “This is Boxer, Detective Richards. You’re conferenced in with our team.”
Richards got right to it.
“We have no suspects in Roccio’s murder, but to your theory of the case, we looked for a drug connection.”
I said, “My partner is here. Richards, meet Conklin.”
Richards said “How ya doin’?” to Conklin, then told us that a half kilo of heroin had been secreted in Roccio’s car.
“He was dealing big and small.”
According to Richards, Roccio sold the H on the phone, and the customers came into the store, bought a magazine, and took