Джеймс Паттерсон - The 18th Abduction

When the glue had dried on the six-picture array, Conklin and I returned to the interview room.

I put the photo array in front of Denny Lopez, and Conklin and I took our seats, my partner telling him to give the photos a good look. “Take your time.”

Lopez recognized a picture instantly, stabbed it with his right index finger. “Him. That’s the guy.”

“Be sure. Take another look,” said Conklin.

Denny said he was sure. The camera in the corner of the ceiling duly recorded that he’d identified Lieutenant Warren Jacobi, our friend and commanding officer.

Lopez asked me, “Is that him? Did I pick the right one?”

I answered his question with a question of my own.

“The big guy who bought the women drinks at the Bridge. Did he ever get lucky? Did any of those women ever leave with him?”

“Jeez, I don’t know. You think a lot of my powers of observation, Sergeant. And I’m not sure why.”

It was a funny remark, but I didn’t laugh.

My gut told me that Petrović was our killer, but that hunch wasn’t backed by evidence of any kind.

“Let’s go, Denny.”

Conklin and I drove Lopez back to the vicinity of Bud’s Bar and left him on the corner where we’d found him.

Chapter 83

Anna was at the Tesla dealership on Bush Street, off Van Ness, inside the office she shared with the copy machine.

At just before 5:00 p.m., she was finishing up the monthly books, entering last week’s expenses onto the spreadsheet. The numbers were facts: sales minus dollars spent on salaries, supplies, rent, advertising, even the birthday parties, including hers.

Anna excelled in this job, but socially she was a disaster. She understood all the reasons why. But setting her own catastrophic damage aside, other people were too peculiar for her. Too not from her world.

She’d tried and failed to explain this to Dale.

Dale Winston was behind his desk in the showroom, doing some paperwork. He liked her, and she liked him, too, but not in the way he wanted. She walked across the showroom floor in time to the bouncy music coming over the sound system.

“Hiya, Dale.”

He looked up. “Anna. Hey. You look good in purple. You know that?”

She thanked him, rearranged her coat and scarf, then said, “Dale, I need a favor.”

“Anything. I’m all yours.”

She smiled and said, “Seriously.”

“What do you need?”

She told him, and he was reluctant, very, but in the end he caved, telling her to bring back the vehicle before the shop opened in the morning.

“Not a problem.”

“It can’t be, or we’re both getting fired—or worse.”

“Do not worry, Dale. You can trust me.”

“I do trust you, Anna. Do you trust me? Wait. Hear me out. Maybe we could have dinner together this week. Just to celebrate your birthday.”

“Uh, you know we’re not allowed to fraternize, Dale. I’m sorry.”

He opened the drawer and took out a key ring. He waited for her to hold out her hand, then he gave her the keys, making a point of pressing her palm with his fingers.

She clutched the keys.

“Before 9:00 a.m.,” he said unnecessarily.

She nodded. “And will you call Roger? Say I’m on my way?”

Anna went back to her office, got her bag, and waved good-bye to Dale. She walked a block to the service department. Roger was behind the counter, phones ringing in the office behind him, the service bays still busy at the end of the day.

Roger looked through her without seeing her—her scar did that to people—but she was glad he didn’t want to make small talk.

She just wanted to go.

“You need pointers on the car, Anna?”

Anna told him she knew the Model X and had taken a couple of test-drives with Dale. That part was a lie, but Roger seemed satisfied. He pointed to the black Tesla Model X parked outside the service center. It was a prototype with a dinged-up front fender, and while Anna usually liked things to be perfect, she only cared that this car was fast and wasn’t her red Kia.

Roger said, “Have fun. But not too much.”

Anna nodded and touched the door handle, and the falcon wing rose silently, majestically, revealing the car’s sleek interior. Wow. Just wow. She took off her coat, placed it with her handbag in the passenger seat, and slipped in behind the wheel.

The car automatically adjusted the mirrors, the seat.

Anna buckled in, touched the button that started up the engine, and was rewarded by a subaudible hum and the sense that the car was alive and attuned to her.

It was magical.

Chapter 84

Because it was only 5:15 p.m. and the Butcher didn’t leave his house until 6:30 on weeknights, Anna decided to take the long way to Fell Street.

It wasn’t every day that she got to drive a hundred-thousand-dollar car. In fact, this might be the first, last, and only.

Smiling to herself, feeling self-indulgent and rich, she set her course for the Panhandle and pulled out of the garage. The engine was surprisingly silent, accelerating and decelerating like nothing she’d ever experienced. Like the car was reading her mind.

It did everything fast, so fast.

Anna wished she’d had the Model X that first day she saw Petrović and had chased him on her old bike. Now she had an urge to reverse course, take Highway 101 out of the city and up the coast, burn off all her frustration and anger, and let the Tesla out for an unforgettable run.

But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t avoid what seemed to be her appointment with Petrović.

Traffic parted for her as she drove through Pacific Heights to Fillmore, flying along in the perfect car, swooping downhill toward the Marina District. She gave the Tesla more pedal and felt the city blocks falling behind, becoming only faint images in her rearview mirror.

Five miles after getting behind the wheel, Anna was on Fell Street, three blocks from where she lived, and there, like a beacon, was Petrović’s yellow-and-blue Victorian house.

Best of all, his Jaguar was out front, exactly where she hoped it would be. There was only one vacant parking spot, and it was at the east end of the block. She didn’t get the best view of the house from there, but she would see the Jag leave, no matter what direction the Butcher took.

Anna parked the Tesla with ease and touched the image on the screen to lower her seat back a few degrees. Once she was as comfortable as she had ever been in her life, she shut down the engine and settled in to watch.

She had spied on Petrović, had followed him before through the dirty streets of the Tenderloin. But she’d always lost him, her bright-red car calling too much attention for a close pursuit. He wouldn’t imagine her in this Model X.

Sitting in front of his house, she imagined trailing him, watching to see what shady activities he must be involved in here in San Francisco. She suspected drugs, human trafficking, gambling. That’s who he was. A mass murderer. A monster.

Tonight she wouldn’t lose him.

Anna reached for her handbag, felt around, and took out the nut-and-chocolate bar she’d stashed for a moment like this. She ate, drank water, thought about Petrović and how much she hated him—when everything went wrong. There was a violent crash from behind, and she was thrown hard into the steering wheel.

What happened?

Anna righted herself, looked behind her, and opened her door, the falcon wing creaking now, injured in the crash. Filled with fury, she got out of the car and saw him. Not Petrović. It was the man in the Escalade, who had rammed the Tesla from behind. He was backing up, putting his vehicle in gear, getting ready to ram her again.

She’d been attacked again by that vicious soldier who had raped her. He buzzed down his window.