Read Online Private: #1 Suspect by James Patterson Maxine Paetro - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Patterson Maxine Paetro
Ads: Link
to hell on one side. Parked in the back northeast corner. I didn’t want to be too obvious, but I walked by it.”
“Jesus,” said Cruz. “You do a lot with fifteen minutes, dude.”
“Let’s get this fifty-thousand-dollar ride off this block,” Scotty said. “I got pictures.” He showed his phone. “Maybe we can work up some ideas.”
CHAPTER 31
I DROVE THE Lamborghini into my short stub of a driveway and swiped the key fob across the pad. The iron gates rolled open, and I saw a notice taped to my front door. I wasn’t close enough to read it, but I knew what it said.
“Do Not Enter by Order of the LAPD.”
I turned off my engine and sat for a couple of minutes, trying to imagine my brother walking Colleen up to the door at gunpoint. I saw him jabbing a gun into her back, going into the house with her. And then I couldn’t see any more.
Was Tommy so sick, so morally corrupt, he could actually kill Colleen? Honest to God, I didn’t know.
I got out of my car and walked down the narrow side yard, along the fence and out to the beach. The sun was still bright at five p.m. Yesterday at about this time, someone had been readying Colleen for her last mile.
I headed south, parallel to the shoreline, passing two enormous houses and one small one that had resisted the real estate brokers and the bulldozers. The fourth house had a hybrid Victorian-contemporary design with a high profile and a wide deck.
It was where Bobbie Newton lived.
Bobbie was a gossip columnist, the queen of prime-time celebrity news, and the ex-wife of some Wall Streeter back east. She was sitting out on her deck, tall drink in her hand, feet up on the railing. She wore an open shirt over her hot-pink bikini, a white visor in her blond curls, dark glasses, and a Bluetooth cuddling her left ear.
She was talking and watching the waves.
I called to her and she took down her feet, sat upright.
“Bobbie—can I come up? I need to speak to you.”
“I’ll come down,” she said. “Call ya later,” she told whoever she was talking to. “I gotta go.”
She set her drink on the deck and came down the short flight of wooden steps, holding on tight to the handrail.
I thought about my history with Bobbie. It had happened after my first breakup with Justine, way before Colleen. I thought it had ended okay—no-fault incompatibility. But when I found the envelope at my back door without a note, my key inside, it was a crystal-clear “Screw you.”
Bobbie was combustible, and I didn’t like that about her. I’m sure there were a few things she didn’t like about me. But we’d been neighborly since our split.
Now, as she crossed the beach and came toward me, seabirds flew up from the sand. And I saw from her expression that we weren’t friends.
She put her hands on her hips and said, “If you want to know if I told the police I saw you last night, the answer is yeah, Jack, I damn well did.”
CHAPTER 32
“I WASN’T ON the beach last night,” I told Bobbie Newton. She had taken off her glasses, and I was looking into her little bloodshot eyes. She drank early and often. Another thing I hadn’t liked about Bobbie.
“I wasn’t hallucinating,” she said. “You were on your phone. I heard it ring. I ran by and called out to you, ‘Hey, Jack.’ You pointed to your phone, like, ‘I’m talking.’ And then you waved . That signature wave of yours.”
“What? You’re saying I have some kind of…wave?”
“Like this.”
She lifted her right arm, cocked her hand back, fingers spread like she was holding a football.
I used to play college ball. Tommy didn’t.
“Nobody ever told me I have a unique wave.”
“Yeah, well, I’m telling you. I’ve seen you wave, what? A hundred thousand times?”
“It was past six o’clock, Bobbie. That’s what you told the police.”
“So?”
“The sun was going down. Maybe you thought it was me because you expected to see me. It wasn’t me, Bobbie.”
“Tell it to the
“Jesus,” said Cruz. “You do a lot with fifteen minutes, dude.”
“Let’s get this fifty-thousand-dollar ride off this block,” Scotty said. “I got pictures.” He showed his phone. “Maybe we can work up some ideas.”
CHAPTER 31
I DROVE THE Lamborghini into my short stub of a driveway and swiped the key fob across the pad. The iron gates rolled open, and I saw a notice taped to my front door. I wasn’t close enough to read it, but I knew what it said.
“Do Not Enter by Order of the LAPD.”
I turned off my engine and sat for a couple of minutes, trying to imagine my brother walking Colleen up to the door at gunpoint. I saw him jabbing a gun into her back, going into the house with her. And then I couldn’t see any more.
Was Tommy so sick, so morally corrupt, he could actually kill Colleen? Honest to God, I didn’t know.
I got out of my car and walked down the narrow side yard, along the fence and out to the beach. The sun was still bright at five p.m. Yesterday at about this time, someone had been readying Colleen for her last mile.
I headed south, parallel to the shoreline, passing two enormous houses and one small one that had resisted the real estate brokers and the bulldozers. The fourth house had a hybrid Victorian-contemporary design with a high profile and a wide deck.
It was where Bobbie Newton lived.
Bobbie was a gossip columnist, the queen of prime-time celebrity news, and the ex-wife of some Wall Streeter back east. She was sitting out on her deck, tall drink in her hand, feet up on the railing. She wore an open shirt over her hot-pink bikini, a white visor in her blond curls, dark glasses, and a Bluetooth cuddling her left ear.
She was talking and watching the waves.
I called to her and she took down her feet, sat upright.
“Bobbie—can I come up? I need to speak to you.”
“I’ll come down,” she said. “Call ya later,” she told whoever she was talking to. “I gotta go.”
She set her drink on the deck and came down the short flight of wooden steps, holding on tight to the handrail.
I thought about my history with Bobbie. It had happened after my first breakup with Justine, way before Colleen. I thought it had ended okay—no-fault incompatibility. But when I found the envelope at my back door without a note, my key inside, it was a crystal-clear “Screw you.”
Bobbie was combustible, and I didn’t like that about her. I’m sure there were a few things she didn’t like about me. But we’d been neighborly since our split.
Now, as she crossed the beach and came toward me, seabirds flew up from the sand. And I saw from her expression that we weren’t friends.
She put her hands on her hips and said, “If you want to know if I told the police I saw you last night, the answer is yeah, Jack, I damn well did.”
CHAPTER 32
“I WASN’T ON the beach last night,” I told Bobbie Newton. She had taken off her glasses, and I was looking into her little bloodshot eyes. She drank early and often. Another thing I hadn’t liked about Bobbie.
“I wasn’t hallucinating,” she said. “You were on your phone. I heard it ring. I ran by and called out to you, ‘Hey, Jack.’ You pointed to your phone, like, ‘I’m talking.’ And then you waved . That signature wave of yours.”
“What? You’re saying I have some kind of…wave?”
“Like this.”
She lifted her right arm, cocked her hand back, fingers spread like she was holding a football.
I used to play college ball. Tommy didn’t.
“Nobody ever told me I have a unique wave.”
“Yeah, well, I’m telling you. I’ve seen you wave, what? A hundred thousand times?”
“It was past six o’clock, Bobbie. That’s what you told the police.”
“So?”
“The sun was going down. Maybe you thought it was me because you expected to see me. It wasn’t me, Bobbie.”
“Tell it to the
Similar Books
