Джеймс Паттерсон - The 19th Christmas

I was thinking of phoning Joe just to say hello when dispatch called on our radio channel. I grabbed the mic, and day-shift dispatcher May Hess said, “Sergeant, can you take a call? There’s a woman named Cheryl Sandler on the line. She claims to be a close friend of Julian Lambert, deceased.”

“Put her through.” I couldn’t say it fast enough.

Chapter 68

A tearful female voice said, “Sergeant, the medical examiner’s office told me to talk to you. What should I do?”

An hour later Conklin and I were in the box with Cheryl Sandler. Tall, thirty, and pretty, she had boy-cut platinum-blond hair and wore a black dress and jacket; her eye makeup was smudged. She had an arrest record for running out on a restaurant check as well as convictions for shoplifting and returning the stolen merchandise for cash.

She and Lambert had petty theft in common.

I asked routine questions about where she lived and worked, and after she’d filled in those blanks, she told me about Julian.

He had a wonderful spirit. She loved him. They’d spent the night together at his place five days ago, before we’d pulled him in for his grab-and-dash on Geary. She told us that Lambert had called her from the jail and they had made plans to get together after his release, but he had stood her up. That wasn’t like him. At all. She went to his place and looked around. Nothing had been disturbed since she’d been there last. She was going insane worrying about him but figured maybe the police had moved him. Maybe he couldn’t use a phone.

And then, this morning, she’d seen the TV report about the man’s body being pulled from a car trunk. She’d called the hotline that was on the screen and was transferred to the ME; she’d ID’d Lambert from his morgue shot.

Cheryl’s story seemed logical. She was understandably distraught and jittery. I suspected she was coming down off a drug high.

“I never, ever, ever expected this , ” she told us.

I asked, “When you last saw Julian, how did he seem to you?”

“Excited.”

“Excited about what?”

“Christmas was coming and…” She shook her head, wrapped her arms around herself, and cried. “He was the sweetest boy. Ever.”

Conklin handed Cheryl a box of tissues and said, “Can I see you for a minute, Sergeant?”

I left the room with Conklin, and we took up a position on the other side of the mirrored observation window. The young woman had put her head on the table and seemed to be sobbing.

“What’s your BS meter saying?” he asked.

“Too soon to tell,” I said. “What do you think?”

“If it’s an act, it’s a good one. I’ll get her some tea.”

“When you come back, why don’t you take over?”

Conklin has a way with women. In fact, he’s famous for it. I went back into Interview 1 and told the young woman that Inspector Conklin would be right back.

She said, “How can Jules be dead? How did this happen?”

I said, “Let’s try to figure it out.”

Conklin hip-bumped the door and came in with tea for three in paper containers. He found a clean ashtray for the tea bags, set down a dish of sweeteners, and took his seat across from Cheryl.

He said, “Sorry to have to ask you personal questions, but you may be the only person who can help us.”

She nodded. Wiped her eyes. “I want to help.”

Conklin asked, “How long have you known Julian?”

“We’ve been together about three months, but I’ve known him for a year or so. We hung out at the same bar. Had some bar talk, you know. Flirting.”

Conklin said, “Did he seem worried about anything or anybody? Had he been threatened at all?”

“No, that’s the crazy thing. Everyone liked Jules. He was friendly. He was funny, too. But can I tell you something off the record?”

She was talking to Richie now. Asking him if she could trust him. The camera in the ceiling was rolling.

Conklin said, “Of course, Cheryl. Go ahead.”

“I think there’s going to be a big robbery at the airport. Something to do with US Customs.”

“Julian told you that? He specified customs?”

“I think he was going to be a lookout. He told me that the crew chief is a big-time robber and that he’s cold-blooded. You know what really scares me? If he found out that Jules talked to the police when he was arrested…”

Conklin was still giving Cheryl Sandler his full attention.

He asked her, “You’re sure he wasn’t making stuff up to impress you?”

“He isn’t like that.”

“Okay. Anything else?” Conklin asked her. “Do you know the boss’s name?”

She shook her head. I wasn’t convinced.

“It’s okay to tell us,” said Conklin. “You won’t be connected to this guy. I promise you.”

Cheryl leaned across the table and whispered to my partner. Conklin said, “Got it. Thank you. I’ll call you if we have further questions. Wait right here, Cheryl. I’ll get a police officer to drive you home.”

“I shouldn’t be seen in a police car,” she said.

“Here’s my number. If you think of anything we should know,” he said, handing her his card, “call, day or night.”

She tucked the card into her bag and blew her nose.

Richie said, “Sit tight. I’ll call you a cab.”

Chapter 69

Dick Russell took note of the active police presence as he drove slowly along the arrival lane outside the International Terminal.

Cruisers lingered in the taxi lanes. Uniformed officers talked to each other as they stood near curbside check-ins. No one even glanced at the seven-year-old gray Prius.

Then again, a number of these “cops” were on Willy’s payroll.

There was rapid movement up ahead: Willy sprinting across the street to the curb and hailing him. Dick brought the car to a stop but kept the motor running as his partner got into the passenger seat.

Dick quipped, “I guess I should ask you: How was the trip?”

“Short and sweet,” said Willy, snorting a laugh.

Dick had dropped Willy off an hour earlier, then parked in a short-term lot and waited for his partner to inspect the site one last time, making sure it was all a go.

“I had a latte and did some people-watching,” Willy said.

Both men were dressed in casual business attire, sports jackets and ties. Willy had on wraparound sunglasses and a billed cap, Dick a toupee and a fake mustache, items that were good enough to thwart facial-recognition software if the security footage was scrutinized.

But the airport was teeming with travelers taking the last possible flights to their family Christmases. No one was watching them. They wouldn’t stand out on video.

Dick said to Willy, “Let’s take another spin around the terminal. We still have plenty of time.”

Willy said, “Sure. Let’s go.”

He buckled his seat belt, then tapped a number into his burner phone. A sweet young voice said, “Hi there, Mr. Loman.”

“Hi, Cheryl. How’d it go?”

“In my humble opinion, I think I was very good. Even I started to believe it. Poor me, losing Julian like that. I felt sorry for myself.”

She laughed, and Willy said, “I’m sure he would have liked you. Now tell me everything.”

Cheryl described it all, how she’d called the hotline, spoken to Sergeant Boxer, one of the cops who had arrested Julian. She told Mr. Loman about being interviewed in the Homicide interrogation room and how she’d cried over her dead boyfriend.

“I let them drag the airport job out of me,” she said. “They totally bought it, Mr. L.”

“And why do you think they believed you?”

“Because they didn’t grill me. They didn’t hold me. They didn’t give me a polygraph. They gave me green tea and a cab ride home. Oh, and they’ll keep me posted on how the case goes.”