Read Online 18th Abduction (Women's Murder Club) by James Patterson - Free Book Online
Authors: James Patterson
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crime. It happens.
I looked at my watch as I went back to Tuohy’s office. It was 6:00 p.m. We’d been here for three hours. A big twenty-four-hour gap had opened in our timeline. Carly had been somewhere before she was brought here. Where were her two missing friends?
I told Tuohy that I’d need the housekeeper’s contact info.
He tapped on his phone, scribbled a number on the back of a card, and handed it over. “That’s all I’ve got. Anything else I can do for you?”
His growl was heavy with sarcasm.
“Do you have a record, Mr. Tuohy?”
“I’ve been pristine for twenty years.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. We’re going to need you to come with us down to the station. You spoke with the dead woman. Your fingerprints are on the doors. This makes you a material witness to a homicide. Let’s get your statement on the record.”
“Son of a bitch.”
Tuohy glowered at us. My gut tensed up. I could see him killing a prostitute, easy.
It might have been a murder of opportunity, then he’d staged a cover-up. Or maybe it was personal and he thought he could get away with it.
I watched Tuohy think through his options. Guys in jobs like this were streetwise. He knew he didn’t need to come to the station, but if he didn’t, we would double down. Get a search warrant for his home and car while we were at it. We could take his life apart.
Tuohy texted his boss.
Then he put on his hat and jacket, and we walked him out to our car.
CHAPTER 24
Conklin took the wheel, and as we crawled through rush hour to the Hall, I checked Tuohy’s arrest record on the MDC.
Jacob “Jake” Tuohy had spent time at Folsom for possession, holding up an all-night convenience store armed with his finger in his pocket, and around that time his ex-wife had gotten a restraining order against him.
I expected more and worse, but as he’d said, his sheet had been clean for twenty years. “Pristine.”
While I liked Tuohy for Carly Myers’s murder, I didn’t see him as organized, a master planner, or a serial killer. But Jake Tuohy was all we had.
We left the squad car parked on Bryant in front of the Hall and escorted Tuohy upstairs to Homicide. The squad room was nearly empty, all hands on the street, talking to their informants, trying to locate the missing and possibly dead schoolteachers.
Conklin made Tuohy comfortable in Interview 1, while Iwent out to the observation room behind the glass and watched with Jacobi as Conklin questioned our person of interest.
He started off with softball questions, then mixed in the harder ones—pitching them right across the plate.
Tuohy stuck to his story; he had not killed Carly Myers and didn’t know who had. He hadn’t seen anyone go into her room. Furthermore, he’d never heard of Susan Jones or Adele Saran. He scrutinized their photos and said he didn’t recognize either of them.
I didn’t see a tell. I didn’t smell a lie. But men who ran no-tell motels were streetwise and cop-wary. They made deals with their guests, sex in exchange for drugs or a free overnight. Lies came easy to them.
Conklin joined us behind the glass, and Jacobi took his place in the interrogation room. Jacobi was a pro who’d spent most of his career in a squad car, and much of that time in the Tenderloin. Some of that time I’d been sitting next to him in the car. He was tough.
At this time, Jacobi was just over fifty, and any sympathy he may once have had for down-and-out psychos had disappeared.
Jacobi took a turn at Tuohy, with one new result.
Tuohy now remembered that he might have seen a man standing in the parking lot when Carly checked in. He only saw the guy from the back. Tuohy said he was big, with square shoulders. He didn’t remember seeing him before. He wondered now if Carly had freelanced this date.
A big man, seen from behind. Christ.
Was he throwing Jacobi a bone so we would let him out of the box?
Jacobi asked Tuohy, “Did you see his
I looked at my watch as I went back to Tuohy’s office. It was 6:00 p.m. We’d been here for three hours. A big twenty-four-hour gap had opened in our timeline. Carly had been somewhere before she was brought here. Where were her two missing friends?
I told Tuohy that I’d need the housekeeper’s contact info.
He tapped on his phone, scribbled a number on the back of a card, and handed it over. “That’s all I’ve got. Anything else I can do for you?”
His growl was heavy with sarcasm.
“Do you have a record, Mr. Tuohy?”
“I’ve been pristine for twenty years.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. We’re going to need you to come with us down to the station. You spoke with the dead woman. Your fingerprints are on the doors. This makes you a material witness to a homicide. Let’s get your statement on the record.”
“Son of a bitch.”
Tuohy glowered at us. My gut tensed up. I could see him killing a prostitute, easy.
It might have been a murder of opportunity, then he’d staged a cover-up. Or maybe it was personal and he thought he could get away with it.
I watched Tuohy think through his options. Guys in jobs like this were streetwise. He knew he didn’t need to come to the station, but if he didn’t, we would double down. Get a search warrant for his home and car while we were at it. We could take his life apart.
Tuohy texted his boss.
Then he put on his hat and jacket, and we walked him out to our car.
CHAPTER 24
Conklin took the wheel, and as we crawled through rush hour to the Hall, I checked Tuohy’s arrest record on the MDC.
Jacob “Jake” Tuohy had spent time at Folsom for possession, holding up an all-night convenience store armed with his finger in his pocket, and around that time his ex-wife had gotten a restraining order against him.
I expected more and worse, but as he’d said, his sheet had been clean for twenty years. “Pristine.”
While I liked Tuohy for Carly Myers’s murder, I didn’t see him as organized, a master planner, or a serial killer. But Jake Tuohy was all we had.
We left the squad car parked on Bryant in front of the Hall and escorted Tuohy upstairs to Homicide. The squad room was nearly empty, all hands on the street, talking to their informants, trying to locate the missing and possibly dead schoolteachers.
Conklin made Tuohy comfortable in Interview 1, while Iwent out to the observation room behind the glass and watched with Jacobi as Conklin questioned our person of interest.
He started off with softball questions, then mixed in the harder ones—pitching them right across the plate.
Tuohy stuck to his story; he had not killed Carly Myers and didn’t know who had. He hadn’t seen anyone go into her room. Furthermore, he’d never heard of Susan Jones or Adele Saran. He scrutinized their photos and said he didn’t recognize either of them.
I didn’t see a tell. I didn’t smell a lie. But men who ran no-tell motels were streetwise and cop-wary. They made deals with their guests, sex in exchange for drugs or a free overnight. Lies came easy to them.
Conklin joined us behind the glass, and Jacobi took his place in the interrogation room. Jacobi was a pro who’d spent most of his career in a squad car, and much of that time in the Tenderloin. Some of that time I’d been sitting next to him in the car. He was tough.
At this time, Jacobi was just over fifty, and any sympathy he may once have had for down-and-out psychos had disappeared.
Jacobi took a turn at Tuohy, with one new result.
Tuohy now remembered that he might have seen a man standing in the parking lot when Carly checked in. He only saw the guy from the back. Tuohy said he was big, with square shoulders. He didn’t remember seeing him before. He wondered now if Carly had freelanced this date.
A big man, seen from behind. Christ.
Was he throwing Jacobi a bone so we would let him out of the box?
Jacobi asked Tuohy, “Did you see his
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