20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20) - James Patterson Page 0,59

beyond the one obvious correlation. The victims had all sold drugs.

Had Kennedy been killed because he threatened Moving Targets? Or had he been marked as a target because he, too, sold drugs? I didn’t know and neither did Houston PD. But we knew the shooters were active in multiple cities and states, either a constellation of groups or one group making their kill, then changing location and killing again.

Cops in five major cities had no idea where the snipers would strike next. But we agreed. There would be a next.

Yuki was also agitated, and it had nothing to do with high-octane caffeine or snipers.

She said, “I’ve just been to the hospital prisoners’ ward. You know the kid I’m prosecuting—”

“Clay Warren.”

“Right. He got shivved in the shower last night. Someone upstairs loves him, because it’s a miracle he survived. So I went to see if I could, you know, talk him into giving up the actual drug dealer and cop shooter. He’s bandaged from here to here,” she said, demonstrating from below the waist to collarbone.

“But, noooooo. His mother kicked my butt around the room, told me to do something. That he’s going to get killed. Lit my fuse but good, Lindsay. And she was right.”

I nodded and said, “Go on.”

“So I charged into Red Dog’s office,” she told me. “He was meeting with a couple of suits,” Yuki said. “I didn’t recognize them, and I didn’t care. I just let Red Dog have it at the top of my voice. Picture me screaming, ‘We can’t prosecute a man who is not guilty. Clay Warren was a kid wheelman, and now he’s in the hospital with a dozen holes in his guts and a compromised kidney. Now I’m supposed to send him to prison for things he couldn’t have done? Come on, Len. Have a heart. We’re doing this?’”

I clapped my hands over my cheeks and leaned in.

“What did he say?”

“He stood up, all six foot three of him, and he barked, ‘Grow up, Castellano. We have a dead cop. This so-called kid wheelman either shot him or witnessed the shooting, for Christ’s sake. You’ve been here too long for this candy-assed crap. A good prosecutor can prosecute anyone.’”

Yuki put her elbows on Brady’s desk and lowered her head into her hands. Her next words were muffled by her palms and a blackout curtain of blunt-cut hair. She shook her head, then lifted her face to look at me.

“I was standing my ground, but he was coming toward me. I started backing up. This was his parting shot, Lindsay: ‘I don’t appreciate you barging in here. We’re done.’”

“Yow,” I said.

“I’m mortified,” she said. “I almost said, ‘I don’t give a flip what you appreciate.’ Am I trying to get fired?”

“Are you?”

“When I quit before, I was sad all the time. Len begged me to come back.”

“I remember.”

“I emailed him an apology, but I didn’t grovel.”

“Good. On both counts. What now?”

“I’m going to avoid Red Dog for a couple of days if I can. I’ve got to tell Zac that I saw his client and what happened, and he has to get a continuance for the latest possible date.”

I said, “Could be when cops come to take Clay back to jail, his mother will change her mind. Get him to give up the crime boss in exchange for witness protection.”

She said, “Yeah, I saw GoodFellas a few times, too.”

I smiled, and my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen.

“It’s your dearly beloved,” I said. “I gotta take it.”

Just as I hung up with Lieutenant Brady, Yuki’s phone rang. She handed it to me. “It’s Conklin.”

I looked over my shoulder and saw Conklin through the glass wall. He signaled to me and at the same time spoke into my ear, “Need you, Lindsay. We have to make a plan.”

“I’m coming,” I said. I walked Yuki to the elevator, hugged her good-bye, and rejoined Conklin. “We’ve got to get organized for the funeral tomorrow,” he said. “And please do not fight me on this. In the interest of domestic harmony, I’m bringing Cindy.”

CHAPTER 77

CONKLIN AND I were attending the Barons’ funeral because there was a chance that their killer might show up.

It happens. Sometimes a killer will return to the scene of the crime to gloat or bathe in the memories. Funerals are the after party, not only to exult in and rerun the bloody memories but also to enjoy the grief of the bereaved.

We were in the town of Bolinas, population sixteen hundred,