Джеймс Паттерсон - The 18th Abduction

The Butcher of Djoba got into his car and started her up.

Joe switched on the Toyota as well. He was prepared to follow Petrović to his restaurant, as he’d done every morning this week, but the Jaguar had a new flight path.

Petrović drove west on Fell, took a left turn on Masonic, crossing the Panhandle, and took another left on Oak, heading back the way he had come.

Where was Petrović going?

Joe was three cars back as the Jag took the left on Oak, a wide residential street that ran parallel to Fell. Joe followed the Jag through the awkward turn but now had to hang back so as not to be seen. And then, damn it, he caught a red light while the Jag sailed through the intersection.

Joe checked the empty one-way cross street and ran the light. Once he was clear, he called his guys at the steak house to let them know that it looked like Petrović was heading into the Civic Center area.

His team was also tracking the Jaguar on their monitors, and while one car stayed in place on California, the other tore out of a side street and headed toward the straightaway of Van Ness.

The little Toyota SUV with the hot-rod engine was the most unremarkable-looking car on the road—if you didn’t know that it was loaded with a hundred thousand dollars of government electronics.

Right now the GPS was pinging the satellite and laying out the Jaguar’s route on the monitor. As Joe followed Petrović’s car through the crowded Civic Center area, passing Davies Symphony Hall and the War Memorial Opera House on the left, and City Hall on the right, he was concerned that Petrović was going off script.

Why? And what was his destination?

Chapter 78

Joe drove through Polk Gulch with a backup team behind him, both cars tailing the Jag, when Petrović took a right on Union where it crossed Van Ness.

Was Petrović trying to lose them? Or was this a ruse, a deliberate joke on them, taking them out of the way and then doubling back to his restaurant?

Or was this something else entirely?

Instead of looping back, Petrović stayed on Union, climbing uphill to the high-priced neighborhood of Russian Hill.

Joe exchanged words with his teams, instructing his follow car to speed up and pass him. If Petrović had picked up the Toyota in the rearview, he would now think that he’d lost his tail.

A church was up ahead on the left, and something was happening there. A half dozen limos interspersed with media trucks were parked out front. Reporters sat on high canvas director’s chairs, facing their cameras, makeup people touching up their hair. Traffic cops held up their hands to slow and detour traffic.

Just then the huge church doors swung open, and the newlyweds burst through with their wedding guests. The church emptied behind the new couple coming down the steps, waving, ducking rice, the bride pausing to turn around and toss the bouquet over her shoulder to a squealing crowd.

Joe recognized the couple, a Silicon Valley billionaire and a Hollywood movie star. He got a good look because the wedding party had produced a one-lane logjam that had slowed the flow of traffic to just under a crawl.

He was now at a dead stop. His backup team, just ahead of him, was also locked into the parking-lot variety of standstill.

Cursing to himself, Joe checked the GPS.

Petrović was zipping along Lombard within the speed limit, but at the same time was far, far away.

Joe sent the backup team to Tony’s Place and checked in with the team on Fell Street who were now waiting for another team to relieve them.

Once free of traffic, Joe took the next turn that would take him back to his office. He continued to watch the Jaguar’s contrail on his desktop computer, the little blip that was Petrović motoring back to the steak house.

Joe hoped that the Butcher wasn’t having a big laugh on him. But he couldn’t dismiss the possibility.

If Petrović had anything to do with the murdered schoolteachers, he was winning. And to prove it, he’d just given the Bureau a big fat middle finger.

Chapter 79

Fifteen minutes later Joe was with Steinmetz in his corner office, updating him on the day’s chase.

“I have a team on Petrović’s house. I have the second team watching the restaurant where Tony is now overseeing the lunchtime service.”

Joe told Steinmetz about the wedding party roadblock caused by newlywed celebrities and attendant paparazzi, the frustration of seeing a renowned mass murderer drive around San Francisco with impunity.

Joe said, “How can I stop him?”

Steinmetz muttered, “We’re a nation of laws.”

Joe nodded his agreement, then told his supervisor what he’d learned about the murder of Adele Saran.

Steinmetz said, “I’m on top of that case. The bottom line is that there were lots of footprints in the woods, no forensic evidence, no witnesses to the crime, and no video recorders out in the middle of Sierra Azul Open Space.”

“Correct,” Joe said. “Lindsay is of the opinion that Petrović may be involved in the schoolteacher murders.”

“Because?”

“Because Petrović liked to hang his victims.”

Steinmetz cracked a smile. “That would almost be too good to be true. You had eyes on him at the time of the Saran girl’s murder?”

“We had eyes on his house.”

“So no. He wasn’t sighted here in town. What do you know about his associates?”

“Guy who runs his restaurant, Marko Vladic, has no record. Petrović has some kitchen help that are also squeaky clean. No one wants to get caught up in an ICE sweep. The Boy Scouts have nothing on Petrović’s crew.”

Steinmetz said, “You’re not seriously thinking of bringing him in as a suspect in the Saran murder?”

“I’m waiting for him to give me any kind of excuse,” Joe said. “Littering. Jaywalking. Parking in a no-parking zone.”

“You get something resembling probable cause, get back to me,” said Steinmetz.

Joe said, “Will do,” and feeling totally ineffectual, he walked down the hall to his office, went in, and closed the door. He checked the GPS: Petrović’s car was still parked in front of the restaurant. The car staking out the back of the restaurant had been switched out for another bland-looking repurposed sedan, American brand this time. Team two was parked near the intersection of Fell and Scott in an old hippy bus, painted with swirls and flowers.

Joe checked in with the guys, got zippo, gave encouragement, and got off the phone. A moment later it rang.

Joe grabbed for the receiver. It was the security guard at the ground-floor desk saying, “She’s baaaaack.”

“Who?”

“Ms. Sotovina.”

Chapter 80

Joe met Anna at the elevator, then walked her back to his office, hoping that she had remembered something important or that Petrović had threatened her, something that would rise to the level of probable cause to investigate him with the full force of FBI resources.

He asked Anna if she had news for him as she took a seat.

She said, “No. I don’t have anything new, Joe. I thought you might have something for me.”

She looked expectant and very vulnerable. The tough “don’t tell me what to do” version of Anna wasn’t apparent today.

“Anna, do you have any friends in town?”

“A few. Why?”

“Because I know I’d worry less if you moved in with a friend instead of living in that house where Petrović can get to you at any time. He can simply cut through a few backyards.”

“You think he’s going to come after me?” Anna asked him. “He couldn’t care less about me, Joe. He’s had me. Many times. He could have killed me, many times. Petrović isn’t afraid of me. And he has no reason to fear, because if he doesn’t lay a hand on me now, I can’t touch him. He got a pass for all of his old crimes.”