The Palm Beach Murders by James Patterson (best novels in english .txt) 📗

we didn’t get to talk on Friday. We hear you’re the man. Got a few minutes?”

“Absolutely. Why don’t you step into my…cubicle? And please, call me Tim.”

“And call me Pete.…”

He spots my Marine eagle, globe, and anchor plaque on the wall before he can sit down.

“Seriously? Semper fi?”

“Damn straight! You?”

“Hell, yes! Desert Storm. 2nd Marines. Purple Heart.”

“Amazing, my brother. You beat me by a few years. But who’s counting? Here we are! And thank God, I didn’t win a Purple Heart. Please, have a seat, Pete, let’s talk.” He settles into the couch.

“Thanks, Tim. So, this is a tough one. Not a random murder out on the streets. This one’s in a place of business, in downtown Manhattan, full of what seem like good, professional people who care about each other. The victim is someone who is clearly well respected by everybody, near as we can tell. It just doesn’t make any sense. Not that most murders do, but still…”

“I get it, Pete. Please, how can I help?”

“So far, nobody we’ve talked to knows anything, not really. Or at least they’re not willing to say they do, yet. And they all say the same thing: Talk to Tim. He knows more about the agency than anybody else here.

“But I’ve got to tell you, so far we’re getting nowhere. I’m hoping you can help.”

“Absolutely. Anything.”

“What can you tell me about Ramon?” he asks.

“Well, he’s one of those self-made guys. Started in the old mailroom we still had. But every free minute he was on somebody’s computer. Got good at it. Soon enough he was our tech guy. A self-taught tech expert, monitoring computers, making sure everybody had the latest software, figuring out how to reboot when they crashed. All that stuff…

“I didn’t see him that much, day to day, but he sure made himself irreplaceable.”

“Did Ramon have any enemies that you know about?”

“Oh, man,” I tell him, “I cannot imagine anybody here having anything against Ramon. Zero. He would probably be voted most popular guy in the agency.”

“Damn. Sure makes you wonder who would murder this guy—and why—and how they would get up to the roof after hours,” Quinn says.

Sure does, I’m thinking.

“Understand completely, Detective,” I tell him.

“Look,” he says, “just do us all a favor and keep your eyes and ears open. Everybody talks about you like you’re the one most likely to hear anything. Here’s my card. Please call me if you do.”

“Absolutely. You have my word.”

I have a feeling I’ll see Peter Quinn again.

Chapter 14

“Yo…dude!”

Jesus, it’s Lenny Shapiro, poking his unkempt head into my space. Creative guy, writer—or supposed to be. Seems half stoned all the time. I can’t remember the last time he made any kind of significant contribution to anything at the agency. Remember Sean Penn in Fast Times at Ridgemont High? That’s Lenny.

And now here he is, leaning his big head of hair around the corner, working to make glassy-eyed contact. He’s looking bad.

“What’s up, Tim? Did you hear…”

“Of course I heard, are you serious? You don’t look so good, man. You in some kind of pain?”

“Naw, man, I’m cool. It’s just—who the hell would kill a guy like Ramon? Unless it was somebody here, like, at work…”

“Why the hell would you think something like that?” I’m all over him.

“Well, Ramon helped us out, a lot of us. Who like to, well, imbibe…”

“What the hell does that mean, Lenny?”

“You know…weed…hash…sometimes a little upper. What I’m saying is…we buy our stuff from Ramon. Us creative guys. At least we used to.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“Maybe he cut somebody off. Maybe somebody owed him money…you know?”

“Lenny, you look like shit. And it’s not even lunchtime. Why don’t you take your sorry ass home and crash?”

“Okay, okay. Later, bro.”

And I’m thinking, Lenny just qualified himself as a prime suspect. He better keep his mouth shut.

Bonnie Jo Hopkins, the group creative director, sticks her head in just as Lenny’s stumbling out.

“He looks totally wasted. What’s going on?” she asks.

“BJ, you know as much as I do.” I shrug, smiling, almost. As always, I’m a little struck by how damned hot she is.

“Whaddya gonna do?”

“Hey—you do what you gotta do,” she says, like the New Yorker she is, and shrugs back at me with one of those lingering, flirtatious smiles.

Bonnie Jo Hopkins turns around and walks her beautiful self back to her cubicle, making sure I get a good look on the way out.

There’s guys out there who would kill for some of that.

Chapter 15

“Hey, love. I’m jammed. Got to work late again, so don’t wait up for me. I’ll grab something in Grand Central and eat on the train.” I’m on my cell to Jean, with a story she’s heard all too often.

There’s a huge new business pitch end of this week, and I’m buried in it. It’s for Weight Watchers, a prospect I’ve been after for months. I’ve been cultivating them through e-mail, agency highlights, and successes, then took the top two guys out for drinks and dinner a couple of times—the latest last week. We had good chemistry. And they’ve finally agreed to visit the agency, to test my promise of some new insights into their business.

I’m damned good at this stuff.

But now this pitch, on top of everything else, is threatening my sanity.

Bonnie Jo sticks her head back in. “Hey, a bunch of us are going up to Hill Country after work. Chris’s band is playing. Why don’t you join us?”

What the hell. I’m already covered at home. “Sure, I’m in. I’ll see you guys there.”

Soon I pack up my laptop and head downstairs. It’s a beautiful night, and I’ve got to clear my head, so I decide to walk up to Hill Country, on 26th Street between Sixth and Broadway. I want to take the city in, feel the energy, remind myself of why I’m here.

And here’s Chuck Esposito from WNBC out on the sidewalk, and his cameraman’s with him, again! So much for clearing my head.

The cameraman points his camera at me and