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

looking for answers anymore. He knows.

At least now the cops have a lead suspect.…

Chapter 35

The agency is completely unwired, just like when Ramon got killed. No, worse. The sooner I get out of here, the better.

Quinn’s across the way, and his eyes follow me as I cross the third floor and head for the back stairs, tracking my every step. What the hell?

Bill Kelly approaches. “Tim, oh man, I am so, so sorry for all of this. And look, I just want you to know how especially sorry I am for you and…Bonnie Jo…I…”

“Why, man? I mean, we all loved Bonnie Jo. I worked very closely with her over the years. Just like a lot of you.”

“Just wanted you to know, that’s all,” he tells me, with what amounts to a knowing look.

Jesus, what else do people know about me?

I grab a couple of empty boxes from the kitchen storage room and head up the back stairs. And here’s Lenny smoking a joint! “What the hell, Lenny? Have you lost your freakin’ mind?”

“Want a hit?” he says.

“No, I don’t,” I lied. “Put that thing out and get the hell out of here!”

Yeah, it’s time to go.

I’m crossing over the fifth floor to my cubicle and pass Clay Caulkin’s workspace. He’s one of our top account guys. “Hey, Clay, you okay?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says. For the first time I see the old Adweek column, “Making Stuff Happen,” actually framed and hanging on his wall.

“Clay, I can’t believe you’ve still got that old Adweek column on your wall. So do I. No wonder you’re so damned good.”

“Whatever,” he says. He looks defeated, and I don’t blame him.

There’s nobody around when I get to my cubicle. Got one more thing to take care of, so I pull out the note Juanita gave me.

“Como?” she answers on the second ring.

“Juanita, buenas tardes. It’s Tim MacGhee, and I have some good news for you. We’ve been able to collect some money for you.…”

“Bueno…” is all I get.

“Sure, so I’d like to bring it to you after work tonight. Will you be at home?”

“Sí.”

“And will tu madre be there, too?”

“Sí.”

“Okay, good. I will try to be there by seven. Is that okay?”

“Sí.”

“Good. Bueno. I’ll see you then,” and hang up.

Takes me just fifteen minutes to pack my stuff. I spend another minute catching my breath. Five years, five more good years here, and boom, it’s done. It’s hard to be excited when my entire universe has caved in on me. I’ve got one chance to make it right, and that’s the new job at Kaplan-Thaler.

Thank God for minor miracles, I think, and head for the elevator.

But no quick escape—because Detectives Quinn and Garrison are there waiting for me. How the hell’d they get back here so fast?

“Pete?”

“Let’s make it Detective Quinn, MacGhee. And I’m afraid we’ve got some more questions for you.”

“Well, sure. What else can I tell you? Let’s go back to my cubicle where we can talk.”

“No, not quite. We’re going to need to take you down to the station, where we can be sure our conversation is completely private.”

“Seriously? Well…of course, if that’s what it takes. As you can see I’m in the process of leaving the agency.”

“Yes, like you told us. And we want to make this as easy as possible, and attract as little attention as possible. So first, we’re going to ask you to drop off your things back in your cubicle. And then we’ll escort you downstairs to our car.”

“And I’ll take that bag,” this from Detective Garrison. I hand it to him. Nothing in it except my laptop.

Jesus—is this their way of showing me how valuable I am to their investigation?

By the time we head back to the elevators the entire fifth floor is watching us, with a range of expressions—curiosity, surprise, some smirks. Mary Claire, Julie Reich. All of them. Clay stands up and I get the raised fist and arm slap of indignation—the old Iberian finger, which Ramon would appreciate.

Downstairs we pass Mo on the way out. I can’t bear to look at her, but I can see she’s clapped her right hand over her mouth in genuine concern.

“It’s okay, Mo. We’re just going to find a more private place to talk.”

Out on the street, Garrison locks my bag in the trunk, opens the front door, gets into the driver’s seat of their unmarked car and cranks up the engine. Quinn opens the back door so I can climb into the backseat. It’s caged, with no way to open the doors from the inside.

What the hell is going on?

Chapter 36

Off we go.

“I’m a little confused at why all this security stuff is necessary,” I ask.

“Not to worry, MacGhee. Just official procedure. We want to get you away from the office so we can get down to business.”

“Got it…I guess. What’d you do with Berardo?”

“Sent him with two other officers.”

We pull up in front of the precinct office on East 21st Street. Quinn opens the door for me and walks me inside. Garrison gets my bag out of the trunk and turns it in at the front desk.

“Coffee? Water?” Quinn offers.

How ’bout a cocktail?

“Ah, water’s fine, thanks.”

“Come with me.” I follow him over to the watercooler and then down the hall to a private…interrogation room?

“Have a seat, MacGhee. My partner will be here momentarily.”

I take a seat and Quinn sits down on the other side of the table. This room has no windows, bare walls, a table, and four chairs. Just like the interrogation rooms you see on TV.

Two knocks on the door and Garrison joins us without waiting for a response.

“Detective Scott Garrison, 21st Precinct.” A formal introduction again, and this time he presents his badged credentials to me.

Quinn sets his Samsung smartphone on the table, taps one of the apps and then taps it again.

“I’m going to record our conversation, MacGhee. Understand?” He slides the phone toward me, so it’s in the middle of the three of us.

“Okay, sure…”

“Okay, let’s get down