Джеймс Паттерсон - 14th Deadly Sin:

“Yes. Until I raped her, she didn’t know I was alive.”

“And so why did you kill her?”

“I was leaving the police a clue,” he said.

“Because?”

“It was time.”

At the end of an hour, Clement Hubbell had told us in great detail about each of the murders he had committed. He never asked for a lawyer. After a while, he put his head down on the table and nodded off. Wang woke him up, and Michaels charged him with five homicides. Before he was taken out of the room, Hubbell thanked me. That was a first.

“You’re very welcome,” I told him.

I left the box and found Joe and Brady waiting for me.

“Good job, the two of you,” Brady said. “All is forgiven. Don’t ever put me in this position again.”

He shook Joe’s hand. He shook mine. He squeezed my arm.

All in all, it was a good day to be a cop.

CHAPTER 89

YUKI WAS HIGH from the thrill of it.

She had just faced off with Red Dog Parisi across his leather-topped desk and negotiated a three-point-five-million-dollar settlement and a public apology for the Kordell family, which, during two intense phone calls, they had accepted.

She texted Brady before she left the Hall, again from the street, and another time from the parking lot at Whole Foods on Fourth Street. No reply.

During her drive home to Telegraph Hill, she revisited highlights of her meeting with Parisi, especially the part when he’d said, “I think two million is the right number.” And she had said, “No, it’s not, Len. No freaking way.”

Yuki hardly remembered arriving home, but after putting away the groceries, she checked her landline and saw that Brady still hadn’t called. And now she was getting annoyed about that.

She took a bottle of coconut water from the fridge, got into her comfy chair, and was opening her e-mail when the doorbell rang. She bounced up, looked through the peephole, and saw a teenager standing in the hallway with a clipboard and a gigantic bouquet of flowers.

This was more like it.

She exchanged her signature for the flowers and read the note on her way to the kitchen. Damn, Yuki. Hiring you was the best thing I ever did in my life. Congratulations. Zac.

Yuki liberated the flowers from the wrapping and carried the vase to the console table behind the sofa. Then she returned to her laptop and opened her mailbox.

There was an e-mail from Chief Jacobi.

Yuki, thought you’d like to know that Inspector Brand is on suspension pending an investigation. I’ve got your young Arturo Mendez in protective custody until I can park him someplace safe. Sorry to tell you Li’l Tony Willis passed. As for you, young lady, hell of a job. Hell of a job.

Yuki’s eyes stung.

She palmed them and tried to hold back the tears. She thought about Li’l Tony, with tubes in his nose and his arms, asking her to get him moved to another prison. That was all he’d wanted. When she opened her eyes again, she had a new e-mail.

Yuki, we’re moving as soon as we can to a better place for our child. I am sorry Aaron-Rey never met you. He would have loved you like we do. We will never forget you.

Love, Bea Kordell

That was when Yuki really started to cry. She went to the bedroom, undressed, and got into bed. She was sleeping deeply when she was awoken by a kiss on the cheek.

Brady was sitting next to her, looking at her in a way he hadn’t looked at her since before she took the job at the Defense League. She backed up to the headboard and sat up.

“I’m a dumb dick,” he said.

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m dumb, I’ve been a dick, and I’m sorry.”

She was still mad. She reached for a tissue and blew her nose. She said, “It wasn’t anyone’s fault that we weren’t allowed to talk about our cases.”

“I could have made tea. We could have watched movies together. Had pillow fights. Something.”

“I’m not that mad at you,” she said.

“You are. You should be. You know why I couldn’t take your calls today? Because I was in nonstop meetings. Because you cracked this dirty-cop murder case that I’ve been working—me and the entire Southern Station—”

“I didn’t do all that.”

“You kicked the door down, darlin’. We’ve got a chance now of closing this whole nasty thing. Thanks to you.”

“I’m glad.” She liked his voice. That southern thang. She couldn’t take her eyes away from him, either.

Brady put his hand along her cheek, under her chin. She looked up at him.

“I was a dick,” he said, “but it was killing me. I’ve really missed you.”

“Me, too.” Her voice cracked.

Brady got up and closed the blinds. He took off his tie, then his jacket, threw them onto the chair, unstrapped his holster, kicked off his shoes, and opened his shirt. He went for the button at his waistband.

Yuki said, “Wait, Brady. I have to be somewhere.”

“Really?” he said.

Yuki laughed. “No.”

Brady stepped out of his pants and she gazed at him adoringly. He opened the envelope of blankets and sheets and got into bed. Yuki put her arms around his neck, fitted herself against him, and let him take it from there.

He always knew just what to do.

CHAPTER 90

JOE AND I were in bed. It was early, ten something o’clock, but I was too tired to go for a run, too edgy to sleep. Joe yawned and stretched beside me. He was feeling wonderful. In fact, the last time he’d been in this kind of mood was when he’d first seen the face of his baby girl.

My version of Joe’s day had been terrifying.

I could still hear his breathless voice over the phone saying I had to come quick—he had Clement Hubbell in custody.

I had moved like there was a bomb tied to my tail. I got hold of the SWAT commander and said I’d get authorization later. I hoped to hell I could. I’d jumped into the lead SUV for the warp-speed race to Edgehill Mountain, the whole way hoping we would get there in time.

Now that it was behind us, I pictured SWAT battering down the red door, the hinges popping, the door lying down like a big red tongue on the floor as a dozen men with shields up and guns drawn stormed the kitchen. Joe was at the table with a muffin in his hand, sitting beside a shocked old woman, who’d huffed, “You could have knocked. ”

Joe had started grinning like a kid who’d unlocked the parental controls on the adult entertainment channels—and that was before Hubbell had been booked.

I was still in post-adrenaline shock and kept thinking about how badly it could have gone. My husband could have died.

“You’re so tense,” Joe said, stretching out an arm, pulling me toward him.

“Pretty happy with yourself, aren’t you, hon?”

He laughed. “You bet I am. After all these years as a desk jockey, I still have the goods.”

He wrapped both arms around me, and I lifted my face for his kiss. His mouth and hands felt so good, I tried to let my thoughts go, but I couldn’t.

I was wired: flashing from the Calhoun family massacre, to the Windbreaker cops, to the notes from anonymous cowards accusing me of crossing the thin blue line.

“Lindsay?”

“I’m sorry, Joe. My mind’s still cranking. How about in the morning?” I said. “OK?”

He stroked my hair with his big paw.

“Course it’s OK. Talk to me,” he said.

I snuggled up to him and said the cases involving the dirty cops were still making me crazy. “I no longer know who to trust in the SFPD, not even in our own department.”

I hadn’t been talking long when I realized that Joe’s breathing had deepened and he’d dropped into sleep.

I got out of bed quietly and went to look in on Julie.