Authors: James Patterson
Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #General, #Suspense, #antique
The 5th Horseman (20 page)
Rich Conklin’s stride was a good match for Bergin’s, and he was really fit. As Conklin crossed Powell behind the trolley, I heard him yelling to pedestrians, “Outta my way. Get back.”
He couldn’t close the gap.
I was close enough to see Conklin hook the trolley’s grab rail with his left hand, step onto the rear step, and ride for twenty feet before executing a first-class flying tackle onto Bergin’s back, pulling the big man down.
Bergin fell to the sidewalk, grunting as the air went out of his lungs.
I was heaving, my legs wobbling with fatigue. I didn’t think my heart could beat any faster, but I was right there. I had my Glock in both hands, pointed at Bergin’s head.
“Stay down, you son of a bitch,” I gasped. “Stay down and keep your hands in front of you. Don’t move a finger.”
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 87
PANTING, I CALLED IN our location as Conklin cuffed Louie Bergin’s hands behind his back.
Bergin’s palms and the right side of his face were scraped and bloody from the fall.
But he didn’t say a word.
And he didn’t fight.
I was thinking ahead, and I was troubled. All we had on Bergin was “interfering with a police officer,” a charge that called for minimal bail, nothing more than that.
If he could cough up a thousand bucks, he’d be back on the street in half an hour. He’d be in Vancouver by dinnertime, and we’d never see him again.
Conklin read my mind.
“Lou, you saw him. He was resisting arrest.”
My eyebrows shot up. Resisting? The man was lying on the street like a dead tuna.
“He swung at me,” Conklin insisted, rubbing his jaw. “Got in a good one before I wrestled him down. Have to admit, Lou, this gorilla struck a police officer.”
“I wish I hadda struck you, dickhead,” Bergin muttered from the sidewalk. “I woulda broken your jaw.”
“Shut up, please,” Conklin said to Bergin good-naturedly. “I’ll tell you when to speak.”
I understood what Conklin was doing: upping the charge so that the bail bond would rocket.
It wasn’t playing fair, but we were desperate. We needed time to find out if Bergin had killed our Car Girls.
Conklin read Bergin his rights, stuffed him into the backseat of a cruiser just as Jacobi pulled up and offered me a ride to the Hall.
During the drive, I told Jacobi that I couldn’t wait to interrogate Louis Bergin, to get answers, to get a confession, to put a name to his accomplice, to put the Car Girl killers away.
“You okay, Boxer? You sound rattled.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I’m thinking, what if Louis Bergin isn’t our guy? What’s next? Because I don’t have another idea in the world.”
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 88
JACOBI AND I WAITED impatiently in my office as Bergin was processed, his mug shots and fingerprints going into the system for the first time.
“You and Conklin should interrogate him,” Jacobi said.
“It’s your case,” I said. “It’s your interview.”
“Let’s see how Conklin handles it, Boxer. I’ll be right behind the glass.”
The hulking Louie Bergin was sitting at the table inside Interview Two. Conklin and I took the seats across from him, and I reviewed the scant information we’d coaxed from the computer.
“Says here you’re a solid citizen,” I said to Bergin. “A good employment history and a nice clean sheet. This shouldn’t take too long.”
“Good. Because as soon as I’m out of here, I’m gonna sue your ass for false arrest. And I’m suing you, for tackling me.”
“Take it easy, Louie. I think you’ve been watching too much Law and Order. Here,” Conklin said, handing Bergin a paper napkin. “You’re a mess.”
Bergin glowered at Conklin as he dabbed at his face, his palms, wadded up the napkin, and held it in his hand.
Conklin said, “So, Louie, explain to me and the lieutenant. Why’d you run?”
“I run every day. It’s exercise, ya little dick.”
“I’m trying to help you, man. Give you the benefit of the doubt.”
Louie laughed. “Yeah. My new best friend.”
“Better believe it,” said Conklin. “Maybe you boosted some clothes and sold them. We don’t care about theft, do we, Lieutenant? We’re Homicide.”
“Maybe you should’ve asked me nice, asswipe, instead of taking me down for a bullshit ‘resisting arrest.’”
Conklin stood, telegraphing his move, and Bergin lifted his hands to fend off the blow. As Conklin smacked the back of Bergin’s head, the balled-up, bloody napkin went flying, landing softly behind his chair.
“Show some respect for your public servants,” Conklin said. “Especially when there’s a lady present.”
Conklin casually reached down, slipped the napkin into his back pocket.
“Hit me again,” Bergin said, swiveling his huge head, “and I’m going after you for police brutality. You’ve got nothing on me, so either kiss my ass and let me out of here or get me a lawyer. I’ve got nothing to say.”
My cell phone rang — it was the worst possible time. I glanced down at the caller ID.
It was Joe.
“It’s the mayor,” I said, grabbing the phone out of its holster. “I have to take this. Sorry.
“Yes, sir. We’re interrogating him now.” I turned my back on Conklin and Bergin.
My man’s voice was sweet in my ear. “I’m on a plane to Hong Kong, blondie,” he said, not missing a beat. “I’ll be heading back next weekend. I could stop over in San Francisco.”
“Yes, sir. He looks good for it,” I said.
“So you think you’ll be free?”
“Absolutely.”
“You won’t forget.”
“You’ve got my word.”
I glimpsed my face in the mirror, scowling even as a smile played at the corners of my mouth.
“I love you, Lindsay.”
“You bet, sir. I’ll keep you posted.”
I clicked off the phone, shook off the effects of that divine twenty-second interlude, and pulled myself back to the present.
“How does it feel, Louie? You’re Mayor Hefferon’s number one priority.”
“It feels great.” He grinned.
Louie was right. We had nothing on him. And once he had a lawyer, we were going to be back to chasing our tails.
There was a knuckle rap on the glass. I stepped outside into the hallway, where Jacobi was waiting for me.
“Did you hear? Bergin lawyered up.”
“He needs a lawyer. A good one,” said Jacobi. “His prints match the one behind Lauren McKenna’s knee.” Jacobi smirked. “That’ll hold him for a while.”
It was like my whole body was smiling, that’s how good I felt. I grinned at Jacobi, high-fived him, low-fived him, bumped hips, did everything but kiss him on the lips.
I opened the door, called Conklin outside the box.
“Louie’s print is a match to the one we pulled from Show Girl’s body. It’s your collar, Richie. Why don’t you do the honors?”
I was standing with Inspector Conklin when he said, “Louis Bergin, we’re dropping the resisting charge. You’re under arrest for the murder of Lauren McKenna.”
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 89
I TOUCHED THE HANDLE of my handgun for luck; then Conklin, Jacobi, and I entered the Keystone Apartments at the Hyde Street entrance. The seven-story all-brick building was near the cable line, a short, straight shot to Nordstrom Square.
The ancient black man who opened the front door told us that Louie’s roommate was at home.
“She’s a artist. She always home daytimes.”
We took the small creaking elevator, found apartment 7F at the front of the building.
I pressed the doorbell, rapped on the door.
“Open up. SFPD.”
I heard scurrying inside, but no one came to the door. I knocked again, this time with the butt of my gun. The sound reverberated down the long, tiled hallway, but still, no one answered.
I tried the door, but it didn’t budge.
“Break it down,” I said, standing aside.
Conklin threw his weight against the thin panel door until the locks splintered the door frame.
Jacobi went in first, and I was behind him, taking in the small front room, the brown leather sofa, a row of framed pencil drawings above it — pinup girls in classic cars.
I saw an envelope pinned to the drawing board by the window. It was addressed to Louie.
“Police,” I called out. “Come out with your hands in the air.”
I pocketed our search warrant, crossed the small, dark living room, clasping my weapon in front of me. I smelled it a second before Jacobi muttered, “Swamp magnolia.”
Behind us, Conklin switched on the lights.
The bedroom was at the end of a short hallway. I gripped the old-fashioned pressed-glass doorknob. It turned, rattling in my hand.
I opened the door, gave it a gentle shove, letting it swing slowly inside.
My eyes flicked across the clothes-strewn, rumpled bed to the open window.
I did a double take — that’s how hard it was to absorb what I saw.
A beautiful Asian woman of indeterminate age was crouched inside the window frame.
Her flimsy white peignoir was backlit by dim sunlight. Her sleeves and the fringed layers of her short black hair fluttered in the breeze.
I was entranced by her open, childlike expression, especially given the dingy surroundings of the room.
“I’m Lieutenant Boxer,” I said softly, lowering my gun, feeling Jacobi and Conklin at my back, praying that they’d take my lead.
“What’s your name?” I said. “Come inside so we can talk.”
The woman’s eyes glittered, some inner thought making her smile. I was looking at her bright, lipsticked mouth when she pursed her lips, almost as if she were blowing kisses.
“Vroom, vroom,” she said.
It happened so fast.
I sprung forward — but I was too late. She went out the window.
For a long second afterward, I still saw that glowing figure inside the window frame. Then the figure seemed to fly. Her image was burned into the back of my brain.
Jacobi and Conklin were standing beside me at the window when her body hit the street below.
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 90
LOUIE BERGIN HADN’T weathered his twenty-four hours in jail well. His clothes were rumpled, and his scabby, unshaven face made him look like he’d slept in an alley.
But there was rage in his eyes.
And now he had a lawyer.
Oscar Montana was a sharp-faced young turk from the public defender’s office. I’d met Montana before, liked him, and thought Bergin could do far worse.
“What’ve you got on my client?” Montana said, banging his bronze Halliburton briefcase on the table, then cracking open the locks.
“We searched Mr. Bergin’s apartment this morning,” Conklin said. “There was a beautiful young woman there. Your girlfriend, right, Louie? Name of Cherry Chu.”
“She had nothing to do with anything,” Louie muttered.
Louie’s voice was like the rumbling of a volcano, dangerous, barely containing his fury. Conklin only moved closer, pulling out a chair, sitting two feet from the suspect.
“No, huh?” Conklin said. “Well, we’re holding her anyway. I think she’s going to flip on you. In fact, she already has.”
Louie clenched his fists and shook his head defiantly.
“She’d never say anything against me.”
“She didn’t have to say anything. We’re holding her for defenestration,” said Conklin. “You know what that is, Louie?”
“For God’s sake,” Montana said. “What kind of sadist are you, Inspector?”
Louie looked incredulous. “You’re Homicide and you’re charging her for a sex crime?”
Conklin leaned back in his chair. “Defenestration is from the Latin meaning ‘out the window.’ Yeah, Louie. We tried to save her, but she jumped. We’re holding her at the morgue. Sorry for your loss.”
Louie bellowed, “Nooo.”
His body seemed to inflate, the cords of his neck standing out, his muscles swelling. Then, like Sampson pushing against the temple columns, Louie pressed his hands against the table and started to stand.
Conklin leaned on Bergin’s shoulder with both hands, forcing him back into the chair.
“Mr. Montana,” I said, “tell your client to behave or I’ll have him shackled.”
“Louie. Don’t let them bait you. Just listen.”
I was listening and watching, too.
Conklin was thinking fast, moving fast. A natural interrogator. And a brave cop.
I saw why Jacobi was proud of him. I was proud of him, too.
“We found out something a little unusual at the morgue,” said Conklin. “Tell you the truth, I was surprised when the ME told us. I mean, Cherry was such a knockout, Louie. Hard to believe.”
I was watching Louie’s face closely as Conklin snapped first one driver’s license, then another onto the table like playing cards.
The photos made a startling side-by-side comparison. Looking from one to the other, you could see it clearly. The same eyes, the same cheekbones. The same mouth.
Conklin kept going. “I had to see these two pictures together to believe it. Kenneth Guthrie. Cherry Chu. They’re one and the same person.
“I guess he was being Ken when you and he did the killings, right Louie? And when he was Cherry Chu, he was your girlfriend.
“Your girlfriend,” Conklin said, his voice colored with wonder. “Bro, your girlfriend was a man.”
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 91
I WATCHED LOUIE’S FACE change from red to mottled to a bloodless, almost clammy white. He moaned, then started banging his head on the table until his attorney got up from his chair, grabbed Louie’s shoulders. Shook him until he stopped.
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