20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20) - James Patterson Page 0,87
her jailer.
CHAPTER 110
THE CHRONICLE’S CITY room was loud and busy, everyone bending their heads over their computers, working toward a six o’clock closing.
Jeb McGowan knocked on the glass wall of Henry Tyler’s office, and Tyler motioned him in.
“Sir, I need a minute.”
“Anytime. Take a seat.”
McGowan chose to stand.
“Mr. Tyler, something happened and I have to tell you about it.”
“Go ahead, Jeb. And for Christ’s sake, sit down.”
Jeb sat on the edge of the leather sofa facing Tyler’s desk. He said, “I don’t know how to say this.”
“Speak, Jeb. Out with it.”
“Yes, sir. This is it. Cindy ambushed me in the garage. She kissed me, and clearly she wants more. It’s classic sexual harassment, Mr. Tyler. She sees my potential. She wants to sideline the competition.”
Tyler picked up his desk phone and called Cindy. “I’ve got a fire in my office. Can you come down?”
Cindy told him she’d be right there.
She saved her file and, skirting the center of the city room, took the perimeter route, the long way around to Henry’s office. His door was open, and after knocking, she went right in.
“Where’s the fire?” she asked Tyler.
She saw McGowan sitting on the edge of the sofa but didn’t acknowledge him. She sat in the side chair next to her publisher and editor’s desk.
“Jeb?” said Tyler. “Tell Cindy what you told me.”
McGowan, now red faced, gutted it out.
“You know where the fire is, Cindy. I told Mr. Tyler about those unwanted advances you made in the garage, and since you’re technically my superior, that’s sexual harassment.”
Tyler asked, “Cindy? What happened?”
“He sneaked up on me, Henry. He grabbed the back of my neck, so that I couldn’t pull away, and stuck his tongue in my mouth. He asked me if I liked it. I told him if he ever did that again, I’d get him fired.”
Henry Tyler picked up the phone and punched in some numbers, and when the call was answered, he said, “Marie, Mr. McGowan is leaving our employ. Please do the paperwork. Say his job was downgraded and filled from within. Send security to the city room to take his ID, watch him pack up, and escort him out of the building. Thank you.”
Tyler put the receiver down hard and turned back to McGowan.
“Jeb. You’re fired. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. If it gets back to me that you’re bad-mouthing Cindy or me or the Chronicle, I’ll return the favor. Bookkeeping will direct-deposit your check through the end of the pay period. But I want you out of here. Now.”
CHAPTER 111
DAVE WAS DOZING when the side door of the van slid open.
Nurse Carolee Atkins stepped up and sat heavily in the passenger seat. She shook his arm roughly to wake him up.
Dave pressed the button that raised his chair back into an upright position.
“Hi. Nurse Atkins … thanks … for coming.”
“What is it that you want, exactly?”
He pointed and said, “Glove … compartment.”
Atkins opened the glove box and took out three manila envelopes, one marked with her name, one with Murray’s name. The third one read, “Last Will and Testament.”
“Where’s the painting you were talking about?” she asked.
“Cargo … compartment. I … crated it up for you. Wrote your name …”
He yawned widely and left the sentence unfinished.
“Dave. Is the cargo compartment open?”
“You mind?” he said, gasping. “Talking to me? My last, uh, day.”
Atkins sighed. “Okay, but I have guests coming for dinner, so let’s keep it short. What do you want to talk about?”
“Tell me about … Ray. Something you liked. Closing … my eyes. Tell … me.”
Atkins said, “I liked your father, a damned sight more than I like you. One time I couldn’t leave for lunch because we were short handed. He went out and got me a sandwich. And pickles.”
Dave Channing was sleeping deeply. Whatever he’d taken—a cocktail of heart medication, blood pressure medication, diazepam, digoxin, which alone could have killed him, and what looked like half a bottle of wine—was shutting him down.
“Dave?”
He groaned.
Atkins opened the envelopes. Yes, there was a check for the doctor, ten thousand dollars. She read the apology from Dave to Dr. Murray, and it sounded sincere. He said that he’d lost his mind in grief. He hoped the money would cover the cost of repainting the car. He was very sorry for being such a pain in the ass and asked the doctor to please forgive him.
Dave tried to speak.
“What is it, Dave?”
“Pain.”
“Sorry. If you’d asked me to help you out, you wouldn’t have felt a thing.”