Read Online 14th Deadly Sin: (Women’s Murder Club 14) by James Patterson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Patterson
Ads: Link
would it be before another low-tech, high-cash business was shot all to hell by men portraying themselves as San Francisco’s finest?
My partner and I waved good-bye, got into our respective cars, and exited the lot.
As I made the turn up Bryant, I glanced up at the Hall and saw that Jacobi’s office light was still on. I felt bad for him. The job was my former partner’s entire life.
We had to get these shooters for a number of reasons, and one of them was surely that we had to do it for Jacobi, before he retired as chief of detectives.
CHAPTER 28
LIFE WAS GOOD chez Molinari. Martha, our loyal doggy, was asleep on the sofa next to my dear husband, and although he was on the phone, the wonderful aromas coming from the kitchen told me dinner was ready.
“Heyyyy, Blondie,” said my husband, cupping the phone. I blew him a kiss and went to the baby’s room.
Julie was sleeping on her back. She had kicked off her blanket, so I pulled it up to just under her arms. She waved a fist in her sleep and I kissed her sweet forehead. She pushed me away. I took this as a sign that my little girl was asserting her personality, even in her sleep.
Go, Julie.
But seeing my beautiful child brought me straight back to Maya Perez’s apartment. I visualized the small, windowless room she had turned into a chick-yellow nest for her baby, who would never be.
I watched Julie breathing for more than a few minutes. Then I shucked my clothes and hit the rain box for fifteen delicious minutes. When I returned to the living room in my man-in-the-moon-patterned PJs, Joe was dishing up the chicken cacciatore.
I went over to him and got a big hug, a kiss, and a belated jumpety howdy-do from Martha.
I said, “Lucky, lucky me.” And I meant it.
“Vino?” Joe asked me.
“You don’t have to twist my arm,” I said. “So what did the home team do today?”
“I’ve been doing a little work,” he told me.
“Really?”
“Free work. I’ve been looking into the CBM case.”
Joe seemed to be in a very perky mood. He pulled out a bar stool for me and another for himself and we sat down at the kitchen island to eat.
“What, I have to ask, is CBM?”
He poured out the glasses of wine and explained, “Claire’s Birthday Murders.”
“Really?” I said, repeating myself. “And you came up with something?”
“I think so,” he said. “The start of something, anyway.”
I liked what I was hearing, but at the same time, I felt a little bad. Here was this big-time law enforcement guy on the bench, now doing unpaid busy work—for me. But he wasn’t complaining.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“I’m gonna do that. Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”
I tucked in. Joe leaned closer and said, “I went back five years and found every crime that happened on the twelfth of May in San Francisco. A lot of shit happened, Linds.”
“I’m guessing fifty-sixty murders a year,” I said.
“Sixty-eight last year,” he said.
We grinned at each other. I loved working with Joe. I was even a little envious that my husband had the time to focus on this case and work it from home.
“Although there was no shortage of violent crime, very little of it resembled the murder of your victim on Balmy Alley. Along with the three fatal stabbings from this year and the previous two, I found a stabbing fatality in each of the two previous years that met my narrowly defined parameters. And I didn’t find any stabbing fatalities just like it on any other days or in the years preceding the one that happened five years back.”
“Tell me about the stabbings in years one and two.”
Joe grinned. “You don’t have to beg.”
He took our empty plates to the sink and brought two slices of pie to the island. It was apple pie, and he’d stopped to put ice cream on top. I looked up at him like,
Is this for real?
“Nope. I didn’t make the pie. But then, I was busy on a very twisted and highly interesting case.”
I laughed at him,
My partner and I waved good-bye, got into our respective cars, and exited the lot.
As I made the turn up Bryant, I glanced up at the Hall and saw that Jacobi’s office light was still on. I felt bad for him. The job was my former partner’s entire life.
We had to get these shooters for a number of reasons, and one of them was surely that we had to do it for Jacobi, before he retired as chief of detectives.
CHAPTER 28
LIFE WAS GOOD chez Molinari. Martha, our loyal doggy, was asleep on the sofa next to my dear husband, and although he was on the phone, the wonderful aromas coming from the kitchen told me dinner was ready.
“Heyyyy, Blondie,” said my husband, cupping the phone. I blew him a kiss and went to the baby’s room.
Julie was sleeping on her back. She had kicked off her blanket, so I pulled it up to just under her arms. She waved a fist in her sleep and I kissed her sweet forehead. She pushed me away. I took this as a sign that my little girl was asserting her personality, even in her sleep.
Go, Julie.
But seeing my beautiful child brought me straight back to Maya Perez’s apartment. I visualized the small, windowless room she had turned into a chick-yellow nest for her baby, who would never be.
I watched Julie breathing for more than a few minutes. Then I shucked my clothes and hit the rain box for fifteen delicious minutes. When I returned to the living room in my man-in-the-moon-patterned PJs, Joe was dishing up the chicken cacciatore.
I went over to him and got a big hug, a kiss, and a belated jumpety howdy-do from Martha.
I said, “Lucky, lucky me.” And I meant it.
“Vino?” Joe asked me.
“You don’t have to twist my arm,” I said. “So what did the home team do today?”
“I’ve been doing a little work,” he told me.
“Really?”
“Free work. I’ve been looking into the CBM case.”
Joe seemed to be in a very perky mood. He pulled out a bar stool for me and another for himself and we sat down at the kitchen island to eat.
“What, I have to ask, is CBM?”
He poured out the glasses of wine and explained, “Claire’s Birthday Murders.”
“Really?” I said, repeating myself. “And you came up with something?”
“I think so,” he said. “The start of something, anyway.”
I liked what I was hearing, but at the same time, I felt a little bad. Here was this big-time law enforcement guy on the bench, now doing unpaid busy work—for me. But he wasn’t complaining.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“I’m gonna do that. Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”
I tucked in. Joe leaned closer and said, “I went back five years and found every crime that happened on the twelfth of May in San Francisco. A lot of shit happened, Linds.”
“I’m guessing fifty-sixty murders a year,” I said.
“Sixty-eight last year,” he said.
We grinned at each other. I loved working with Joe. I was even a little envious that my husband had the time to focus on this case and work it from home.
“Although there was no shortage of violent crime, very little of it resembled the murder of your victim on Balmy Alley. Along with the three fatal stabbings from this year and the previous two, I found a stabbing fatality in each of the two previous years that met my narrowly defined parameters. And I didn’t find any stabbing fatalities just like it on any other days or in the years preceding the one that happened five years back.”
“Tell me about the stabbings in years one and two.”
Joe grinned. “You don’t have to beg.”
He took our empty plates to the sink and brought two slices of pie to the island. It was apple pie, and he’d stopped to put ice cream on top. I looked up at him like,
Is this for real?
“Nope. I didn’t make the pie. But then, I was busy on a very twisted and highly interesting case.”
I laughed at him,
Similar Books
