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

over titles. Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?”

Mind you, James and I were standing on a fairly empty stretch of beach. Before I approached him, he was sitting on a wicker lounge chair, staring at the ocean, eating seafood salad out of a plastic container. We had all the privacy you could want. But I wanted to see if James was spending his lunch hour here for a specific reason.

“We can talk here. May I see some identification, Special Trooper Selznick?”

Eh, close enough. But I have the feeling James is mangling it on purpose. He seems like the type who pays close attention to the details.

I flip open the leather badge holder with the state ID. I’m sure James has been interviewed by more than a few federal agents over the past few days. I want to present myself as someone from an agency he wouldn’t be familiar with.

“I understand you were the last person to see Paige Ryerson alive.”

“As I’ve told countless others, Trooper Selznick, I don’t know if that’s true. I did meet Ms. Ryerson late Friday evening, but when we parted she was headed back to the party to join her friends. I offered to escort her, but she refused my assistance.”

“And you’re not the type to force yourself on a lady,” I say.

James just stares up at me. I was throwing a left jab, and he took it like a pro. No reaction whatsoever.

So I pull up another wicker lounge chair and sit down. I’m facing the ocean, just like James, and pretending to admire the view.

“Damn, this is pretty spectacular,” I say. “I can understand why you’d want to take your lunch breaks here.”

“And I’m afraid I must return to duty,” he says, then licks his fork clean.

“Hold on, Detective. I need to clear up a few minor details, and I was hoping you could help me.”

James snaps the lid shut over his half-eaten salad. “Go on.”

I look around, pretending like I’m a tourist getting his bearings. “Okay, so the infamous yacht party was over that way,” I say, pointing to the right.

James nods. “Our marina is in that direction, correct.”

“And,” I say, turning my head back and forth, “if I’m not mistaken, the girls were at a beach party over there.” I point to the left.

“Correct.”

“So…when Paige left your company, she must have wandered down this very same stretch of beach, am I right? And if someone were to have murdered her, this would have been a very convenient place to bury her body.”

James stares at me with eyes that have transformed into red-hot daggers. “Good afternoon, Mr. Selznick,” he says, standing up.

Ooh, we’re back to mister now. I have upset the poor detective.

“I think I know what happened, Detective. And I don’t blame you. She was drunk and things got out of hand. You were just trying to calm her down, but the more you tried, the more she freaked out, and…well, you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t know his own strength.”

Now James was walking away. But upon hearing that last bit, he turns around to face me. I get the distinct feeling he’d like to bury me in the sand.

“We are both policemen, Mr. Selznick, trained in the same techniques. Do you really think your wild conjectures will spark some sort of reaction out of me?”

“No,” I say. “But I do think you’re nervous about the idea of men with shovels down on this beach, which is why you camp out here every chance you get. And let me tell you, as a fellow comrade in law enforcement—they’re coming. Somebody very important would like closure, and they’re willing to pay as much as it takes to get it.”

Chapter 16

THEO (continued)

“Are you formally accusing me of a crime, Mr. Selznick?” James asks.

“No, no, of course not,” I say, backing off like I’m a pipsqueak who’s just taken a cheap shot at the heavyweight champion of the world and needs to retreat to the safety of his own corner.

That seems to satisfy him. Until I follow up with a right hook.

“But, Detective, I know you were involved in Paige Ryerson’s murder. Either you did it yourself, or you covered up evidence to protect the real killer. And the evidence is going to surface very soon. You’re going to want to hire a top-drawer criminal defense lawyer or start running.”

Finally…finally…that cool, finely muscled exterior begins to crack. Exactly what I’ve been waiting for.

“I could have you arrested,” James snarls. “You’re out of line, and way out of your jurisdiction, Selznick.”

I hold out my wrists. “Oh, that would be great. Do it! I could use a vacation. Better a nice, warm jail cell than a cold and bitter trooper station, believe me.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“No! I want you to arrest me, Detective. Even better, should I try and resist? Would that make it more fun for you? Or do you only get your jollies when it’s a young girl struggling for her life?”

Now James’s thoughts are as clear as a two-story neon sign: I VERY MUCH WANT TO RIP OFF YOUR HEAD AND PLACEKICK IT INTO THE SEA.

And for a minute, I think he’s actually going to do it. I sit there mentally plotting some countermoves in case this cop decides to pounce on me. I would never forgive myself if the grand adventure that is my life were to come to a sudden end in a stupid wicker chair.

But James recovers his senses, takes a deep breath, and then turns his back on me. He walks away—away from the surf. I stay seated but turn around and watch him carefully. You’re going to do it, aren’t you? You’re not going to be able to resist. The weight of it is too much.

And then he does—he glances back one last time.

Not at me.

But at the sandy beach, where I’m now certain we’re going to find Paige Ryerson’s body very soon.

When James is gone, I call Quinn to update him on everything.

“Mark my words,”