20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20) - James Patterson Page 0,81
worked a part-time job not far away at the Shell station on Alemany Boulevard. He does not know his father. His mother, who is here today, works as a housekeeper.
“Money is tight in the Warren household.
“Mr. Warren hasn’t told me how he found himself driving a stolen car, running a light, crashing into a patrol car, and witnessing his passenger shoot a police officer to death.
“This young man has never before been charged with any crimes, not even for stealing an apple, before he was involved in the very serious crimes of March 15.
“So what happened on that particular day?”
Zac focused all of his attention on the jurors.
He said, “Let me offer a speculative explanation.”
Yuki stole a look at Clay Warren, at his unchanged, masklike expression, then turned back to watch Zac mount his case.
“It’s self-evident that the man Mr. Warren was driving in the white Chevy was dangerous,” Zac said. “He had a gun, a stolen car, and a million dollars of drugs in the trunk. He killed a police officer in cold blood. Mr. Warren was arrested as an accomplice. I’m going to add ‘unwitting.’ That he was an unwitting accomplice, and he may have been forced take part in this criminal endeavor.
“After his arrest my client was locked up in the general population of old-time jail in the Hall of Justice. He recently attempted suicide by hanging. Despite being placed under observation, within days he was attacked by one or more prisoners and stabbed repeatedly to his abdomen with a sharp implement and nearly bled to death.
“Since then Mr. Warren has been held in solitary confinement, under constant watch, so that he isn’t murdered and doesn’t kill himself for being victimized by the true criminal, and to the eternal grief of his family.
“One could even say that he has been punished and has paid his debt to society.
“Clay’s life is now hell, and the only way out is through the good graces of the twelve men and women of this jury.”
CHAPTER 102
I WAS TEXTING an apology to Claire for standing her up for yesterday’s lunch, when my desk phone rang.
I snatched up the receiver.
“Boxer.”
“Sergeant, it’s May Hess.”
May Hess is a dispatch supervisor who calls herself the Queen of the Batphone. She also works the tip line because she’s good at helping people, cutting through the panic and distress.
She said, “I’ve got something for you, Sergeant. A tourist witnessed the shooting at the jazz center.”
“What? Tell me.”
“I can do better than that. I’ve cued up the tape. Listen here.”
I heard a recorded voice over my phone.
“Police? Police?”
Hess’s voice answered on the tape. “This is the police. Do you have an emergency?”
“No. It’s about the shooting yesterday. At the jazz center.”
“Okay. And what’s your name?”
“Sharon Fogel.”
“Spell it for me?”
After the caller spelled it out, Hess said, “What do you know about the shooting, Ms. Fogel?”
“I saw it, but I didn’t know it. I was taking pictures. I’m from Sheboygan. Wisconsin. I’m on vacation. I was going to go to the jazz center, and I took some pictures of the building, and then those men were shot and I ran. I only realized what I had on my phone this morning.”
“Tell me about the pictures,” said Hess.
“It’s two pictures, actually. One shows his car. The other shows him.”
I heard the caller panting, and I was panting a bit myself. Had Sharon Fogel really snapped a photo of the killer?
Hess said, “Ms. Fogel, give me your address. I’ll have a police officer come by and get your statement and take a look at the photos while she’s there.”
I heard a man’s voice speaking in Sharon Fogel’s room.
Fogel’s voice was muffled. I thought she was saying, “Just a minute.” Then she was back on the line.
“My husband wants me to stay out of this.”
“Ms. Fogel, you won’t be involved in any way—”
“I can’t.”
“You may have something of real value to the ongoing investigation. What about this? Send the pictures to me. I’ll forward them to the homicide team.”
“Give me your email address,” said Fogel.
The voice of the man speaking in Fogel’s room was growing louder. “You’ve always got to be the star of the show, Sharon.”
“Have you got them?” Fogel asked Hess.
“Let me open your email ….”
I heard the clatter of the phone hitting the floor. Then the click of the phone disconnecting. The taped call was over, but Hess was there.