Authors: James Patterson
Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #General, #Suspense, #antique
The 5th Horseman (21 page)
Montana looked up at me, his expression explosive, and it wasn’t an act.
“Where the hell is your inspector going with this, Lieutenant? Do you have any evidence against Mr. Bergin? If not, pardon me for saying drop dead, and we’ll see you at his arraignment.”
“We lifted Louie’s print from one of our victims,” I said, “and his DNA is at the lab. Marked ‘rush’ and red-flagged.”
“He gave you his DNA?”
“He abandoned it. We collected it,” I said, sitting down beside Louie, talking just to him.
“Louie, help me understand why you and ‘Cherry’ killed those young women. Inspector Conklin and I, we really want to hear your side of the story. Maybe there’s some kind of mitigating circumstance—”
“Suck my dick.”
“Hunh. Well, you were right, Richie,” I said to Conklin. “Louie really doesn’t like women at all, but I do get the feeling he’s drawn to women sexually. You think?”
“And that’s where Kenny comes in,” Conklin said, rolling with me. “He kinda pimped for him. Isn’t that right, Louie? You did the rapes, and then the two of you snuffed the girls.
“And after you and your lover killed together, what then? You guys got your jollies? I think the jury is going to hate you for that, don’t you, Lieutenant?”
“Don’t answer, Louie. Don’t say a word,” Montana said urgently.
“I think you’re going to tell us everything,” I said to Bergin, “because you’re going to do better with us than you’ll ever do with a jury. And then there’s this.”
I placed a white number 10 envelope on the table. It was addressed to Louie in smudged blue ink. He could see it, but it was beyond his reach.
He blinked as he recognized the handwriting.
I’d been counting on that.
“The fall to the alley that Cherry took was easy compared to the one you’re going to take,” I said. “Have you thought about what it’s going to be like? Twenty years or so, isolated on death row, waiting your turn for the needle?”
“That’s enough, Lieutenant,” said Montana, slamming down the top of his briefcase. “Mr. Bergin hasn’t even been indicted for jaywalking—”
“We’re going to nail Mr. Bergin on three homicides,” I snapped. “But I can offer this much wiggle room.”
I held my fingers a quarter of an inch apart.
“Really,” Montana said. “That much?”
“A young female was found in LA two years ago, dumped alongside the freeway,” I told him. “The DNA in her rape kit matches the DNA we found inside Louie’s victims.
“If your client tells us about the Car Girl homicides and that victim in LA, we’ll work with the DA. See if we can take the death penalty off the table. You have my word.”
“We’ll get back to you,” said Montana. “Louie, we’re out of here.”
“This is a limited-time offer,” I said, putting my hand over the envelope.
“Can I have that letter?” Louie asked. He was almost sheepish about it.
In the last few moments, Louie’s expression had melted like candle wax. His eyes were red, his face suffused with pain and loss.
“This is evidence,” I said, looking into Louie’s big, wet eyes. “But I’ll read you a line or two.”
I opened the envelope that I’d taken from the drawing board in Louie’s living room, took out five thin pages, inscribed from margin to margin in a neat, rounded hand.
“I think she was still writing this when we entered your apartment,” I said. “See, the signature is smudged. The ink was still wet.”
Louie’s mouth was parted. His breathing shallow. His eyes were focused on me.
“Cherry says here, ‘Forgive me, my love, but I can’t live without you. You were the one dream I ever had that came true. . . .’
“Well, this is pretty private,” I said, neatening the pages, folding them back into the envelope. “It almost breaks my heart.”
Louie said, “Tell me what I have to do. I’ll do whatever.”
“Listen to me,” said Montana, putting a hand on Louie’s arm. “Don’t say a word. Let me do my job. Their only witness against you is dead.”
Things got a little crazy suddenly. Louie backhanded his lawyer with a loud crack, sending Montana and his chair crashing to the floor. Blood spouted from Montana’s nose.
I leaped from my seat as Louie stood, clenched his fists, and screamed down at him.
“Don’t you understand, you little turd? I don’t care if I live or die. My life is over. I’m never going to see her again.”
He turned his livid eyes on me. “What do I have to say to get that fucking LETTER?”
“Just tell us what you did.”
“Okay. I said I’ll do it.”
I thought my heart would explode from exhilaration.
I forced my expression to remain neutral even though I was doing jump splits and dancing under a shower of champagne inside my head.
I stepped outside the room to make damned sure that the camera was still rolling. I returned as Conklin was getting Montana back on his feet.
“I’ll call the DA,” I said to Louie. “You can have a copy of the letter. Right after we hear your confession.”
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 92
JACOBI WAS ON A HIGH just thinking about Louie folding into a big, wet heap — feeling fantastic that he’d been on the team that had brought that psycho down. Both psychos.
Now, at 8:00 p.m., he was still working, trying to nail another sicko to the wall.
Maybe a worse one. Possibly the most dangerous killer ever in San Francisco.
He steered the unmarked police car north along Leavenworth, keeping track of Dennis Garza’s black Mercedes sports coupe two cars ahead. The fog swirled up eerily from the pavement even as rain pelted down.
He braked for the red light at Clay, stared at the red-haloed taillights, thinking how Garza seemed to have a pretty damned good life for himself.
So why would he want to screw himself by playing God at the hospital?
As the oncoming traffic lit the interior of the car in front of him, Jacobi was startled to recognize Yuki Castellano driving the Acura that was between him and the Mercedes. What the hell?
Traffic rolled forward, and Jacobi accelerated, keeping both cars in view, his surprise growing into certainty as the Acura followed the Mercedes through every turn. Jacobi considered his two options. Then he flicked on the siren and the grille lights, turning the gray Crown Vic into something that looked and sounded like a demon from hell.
Ahead of him, the young lawyer glanced into her rearview mirror, pulled her car over to the curb.
Jacobi slid the Vic in behind her, called Dispatch, asked for an unmarked car to pick up the surveillance. He read out the Mercedes’ plate number and signed off. Pulled up the collar of his tweed jacket and got out of his car.
He walked up and stooped to the height of the Acura’s passenger window, flashed his light into Yuki’s eyes.
“May I see your driver’s license?” he said.
“Okay, okay, Officer. I have it here. What was I doing wrong?”
“Your license, please.”
“Sure,” Yuki said, shielding her eyes from the light.
She turned away, rooting in her handbag, spilling credit cards and change out of her wallet. She seemed very nervous, not herself at all. She finally located her license and handed it over.
Jacobi took the license to his car. Ran it through the computer, giving her time to think. Then he walked back through the hard, slanting rain and asked Yuki to get out of her car.
“You want me to get out of my car?”
“That’s right. Get out and put your hands on the hood. Mind if I take a look inside here? Anything you want to tell me about? A weapon? Any illegal substances?”
“Warren? Is that you? It’s me, Yuki. What’s this about?”
“That’s what I want to know.”
Yuki was getting soaked, her hair falling over her eyes, making her look like a wet Yorkie. She was wearing sweatpants, a thin T-shirt, beaded bedroom slippers, no socks. Her teeth were chattering.
Jacobi flashed his light briefly around the interior of the Acura, then told Yuki, “Okay, you can get back in.”
He watched her buckle up, handed her back her license, and said, “I’ve been behind you for quite a while, Yuki. What the hell were you doing?”
“You were following me?”
“Please answer my question.”
“I was just going for a drive, okay?” she said, getting pissed off now.
“Don’t lie to me. You were following that Mercedes.”
“No — okay. But so what? I’m just, I’m just — it’s nothing!”
“Think about what you’re saying,” he said, raising his voice, wanting to shake her up, wanting to scare her a little.
“If that guy is the whackjob you believe he is, don’t you think he’s going to get you out of his way? C’mon, Yuki, think.”
He watched Yuki make fish lips, coming up with nothing.
“I’m not being a prick here because it gives me a thrill. You’re a nice person and way too smart for this. You’re looking for trouble, and I hope to God you don’t find it.”
Yuki wiped the water off her face with her hands, nodded her head. “Do you have to tell Lindsay?”
“That depends on you.”
“I’ll go home, Warren. I won’t even stop for gas. How’s that sound?”
“That’s fine. By the way, your inspection sticker has expired. Take care of that.”
“Thank you, Warren.”
“Okay. Drive safe. Be good.”
Jacobi walked back to his car, thinking about the job. He had a wistful thought about stopping for a hot meal at the diner near his apartment. Then home for a nightcap and the 49ers game.
He heard the radio sputtering his call numbers as he opened the car door.
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 93
JACOBI PULLED UP behind the blue Ford on the corner of Taylor and Washington. He climbed out into the freaking rain again, walked over and exchanged a few words with Chi and Lemke.
As their Ford took off, Jacobi crossed Washington, ducked under the black awning with gold letters spelling “Venticello Ristorante.”
He labored up the stairs of the cream-colored two-story building, warm air and the smell of garlic and oregano greeting him as he entered the foyer, making his stomach growl.
To his right, the hatcheck girl asked for his coat, an offer he declined.
He stood for a moment, dripping wet, taking in the L-shaped bar in the entryway, the down staircase to his left, the only public stairway to the main floor of the restaurant.
Jacobi took a barstool, ordered a Buckler’s, put his coat on the stool next to him. Then he told the bartender he wanted to use the washroom.
He took the dozen carpeted steps down to the small rectangular dining room, ten occupied tables overlooking the streets through tall corner windows, a blue-tiled fireplace dominating the space.
The doctor’s table was near the fire, his back to Jacobi, an attractive woman smiling into his face. Red wine glowed in the glasses in front of them.
Jacobi walked past the table, bumping the doctor’s chair, enjoying the way Garza whipped his head around, his face an outraged scowl.
Jacobi apologized as if he meant it. “Hey, I’m sorry. Sorry. Excuse me.” Then he walked across the floor, used the washroom, and returned upstairs to the bar.
He drank his near-beer and nursed another, settling the bill after each round. He dropped another five on the bar as the dark-haired doctor and his date passed him on their way to the cloakroom.
Jacobi slipped out the door just before them, and went out into the inclement night. He started up his car, turned on the windshield wipers, and called in his location.
The black Mercedes pulled out of the parking lot on Taylor, and Jacobi followed, this time keeping close, confident that the doctor wouldn’t make him in this weather. Not with the pretty blond woman sitting almost on his lap, wrapping her arm around his neck, kissing him behind the ear.
The doctor turned onto Pacific for two blocks, taking a right onto Leavenworth, then four more blocks to Filbert.
Jacobi saw Garza nose the Mercedes into his driveway and open the automatic garage door, drive his car inside.
Jacobi drove past the pale-yellow house to the end of the block. He made a U-turn, coming back, parking on Garza’s side of the street where he could watch the house.
His hip was stiffening up, and his bladder was full again. He was thinking of getting out, taking a leak against his rear tire, when the downstairs lights in Garza’s house went out. A long fifteen minutes later, the upstairs lights winked out as well.
Jacobi called Lindsay on his Nextel. Told her he’d been tailing Garza since he left the hospital. Yeah, overtime. Free overtime.
“He didn’t even run a stoplight, Boxer. The man had dinner with a babe about forty, a willowy blonde. Held her hand at the table; then she climbed all over him on the drive home.
“As far as I can tell,” Jacobi said, “the doctor is guilty of having a girlfriend.”
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 94
I WAS FRETTING and stalking the corridors outside the ICU at Municipal when Jacobi called saying that Garza was tucked in for the night.
I dropped into a blue plastic chair in the hospital waiting room, thinking what an idiot I was for sending my buddy out into the foul night for nothing. Still, I couldn’t shake my prickling sense of wrongness about Garza.
Images flickered — Keiko’s mom, her knees buckling, dropping to the sidewalk, that feisty, funny lady who should still be alive.
I thought about brass buttons on her dead eyes and on the eyes of the thirty-one others who’d been marked that way.
Those freaking buttons. Markers.
Where was the killer’s fun if no one understood what he was doing or why?
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