20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20) - James Patterson Page 0,63

on with a jacket, and we took a leisurely three-block walk to Mountain Lake Park.

It would have been a great idea but for the phone. Brady called. After I briefed him, Conklin called to make sure I was okay.

The park was busy. New rules were now posted about keeping dogs on leashes and not feeding the ducks. Not a problem for Martha in her old age. She was more of a flock herder than a duck fetcher. I found a seat on a bench where I could see everything. Julie and Martha lay down in the grass, and Julie told Martha a story involving bad men and her big, strong mother.

I couldn’t help but laugh, and then Chi called, a methodical man with a list of witnesses, two of them who said I’d thrown the first punch.

“How many say I didn’t?”

“More.”

Chi went down the list of mourners, giving their opinions on who had reason to shoot Paul and Ramona Baron.

“Here’s the net-net,” Chi told me. “Anderson is popular. He played football. He can fix anything. And he has friends. They thought Paul Baron was a dirtbag, that Ramona was the real deal, and they felt sorry for Anderson, who had loved her for twenty years. None of them had any thoughts about the snipers, nothing. ‘Moving Targets? What’s that? Never heard of it.’ But they trusted we would crack the case. And nobody is filing charges against you.”

I sighed into the phone, told Chi I’d see him on Monday, and I’d just hung up when my phone rang.

“Joe! What’s your ETA?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart. If I could leave Napa right now, I would.”

“But … why not? Dave?”

“Yeah. Long story.”

He said he’d call me after the child was asleep. Julie climbed up on the bench and asked if I was talking to Daddy.

I handed her the phone.

“Daddy. Chinese noodles for dinner, okay?”

There was a moment of silence. Then the question “Why?” was repeated several times before she said, “Okay. Bye,” and handed me the phone. Joe had hung up.

“Sorry, Julie, but his friend Dave is in a bad way and only Daddy can help him.”

Julie threw her arms around me, and Martha dropped her head onto my knees.

“It’s okay, Mommy,” Julie said. “I just love being with my two best girls.”

I laughed at that direct quote from her father. I hugged her and ruffled my doggy’s head, and after a while we walked home, stopping off at the Chinese noodle joint, of course. Bought takeout tan tan noodles for two.

We were home and halfway through our noodles when my phone buzzed.

I looked at the screen. It was Brady. Damn.

I grabbed the phone and prepared myself to tell him I’d be fine after a day in bed, but he spared me the trouble. Jacobi had briefed him through the right hook to my face and let him know that the perp was booked.

But that wasn’t why he was calling.

“There’s been another shooting, Boxer.”

“No. Where?”

“LA. One shot to the head. The dead man was a retired cop.”

“No, Brady, no. What the hell is this? Was he dealing?”

“I’ve got more news, Boxer. Stempien ran the pictures Lemke took at the funeral. He got a hit on Barkley.”

“I’m speechless.”

“I sent you the photo. He shaved, but it’s Barkley with a rock-solid alibi for the shooting today. He couldn’t have been in Bolinas and the City of Angels at the same time.”

I looked at the picture of an average-size white man, clean shaven, wearing a black sports coat, white shirt, and a tie. Had I seen him and not recognized him?

“Lemke will circulate the photo,” he said. “You take the day off.” I laughed. It was about 6:30 p.m.

“See you in the morning,” said Lieutenant Brady.

CHAPTER 81

JOE HAD BEEN sleeping in Dave’s spare bedroom on the second floor when he was jarred awake by the squeal of hydraulic brakes and the sound of shouting.

He peered out the window and saw Dave directing a crew in overalls, carrying furniture and boxes from Ray and Nancy Channing’s house next door and loading up a large truck.

This disturbed Joe, as it would any investigator. Was there something in that house that could be evidence against Dave? If so, there was nothing he could do to stop him. In fact, the whole situation stank of secrecy, misdirection, and Dave’s uncharacteristic anxiety and paranoia.

Joe showered, dressed, packed, and took his bag downstairs. He left the house by the front door and watched the move of furnishings, garment bags, plastic tubs, and whatnots