Джеймс Паттерсон - NYPD Red 6

“Which means she thinks she’s got something good, and she wants to barter,” I said.

“I think she knows she’s got something good,” Koulermos said. “The word is out that Erin Easton was abducted.”

“Bring her over, and let’s find out.”

The cop went back to the squad car, and I turned to Kylie. “You want me to take this?” It was more of a statement than a question. Kylie’s batting average interviewing hookers was hovering somewhere around .000.

“Good idea. They all hate me.”

“Don’t take it personally. They just respond better to male authority figures.” I turned to McMaster. “You’re male, but you’ve got no authority, so let me do the talking.”

He nodded. He was lucky to be along for the ride, and he knew it.

Venetia Jones stepped out of the squad car wearing a purple cocktail dress and fuck-me pumps. Prostitutes in tight short shorts and fishnet stockings are from an era gone by; the women today dress like they’re going out for an evening of clubbing.

Her ID card said she was thirty-four, but up close she looked a lot older. She’d probably been on the streets for half her life, and the hazards of her trade had taken their toll. I studied her face and looked into her eyes. I could see the mileage and the battle scars, but if there was ever a fire in her soul, it wasn’t there that night.

“The officer tells me you saw someone get out of that truck,” I said.

“Yeah. One male, one female, both white.”

“Can you describe the woman?”

“Downtown hair, fake-ass titties.”

“Come on, Venetia, I need more than that.”

She smiled. “I know what you need, baby, but you gotta pay me to care.”

On the street, information is currency, and when a hooker has something she thinks a cop can use, she negotiates.

“Do you take gold?” I handed her my card with the gold detective shield on it. “It’s a get-out-of-jail-free card. Call me if you’re ever in a jam. It’s good for one time only.”

She looked at the card and handed it back. “Sorry, Zach. I don’t need any juice down the road. I have an ongoing situation that needs tending to immediately. If you want to help me with that, we can talk.”

She was playing hardball. She knew she had what I wanted. “Tell me your situation, and we’ll take it from there,” I said.

“A few weeks ago I met this nice white boy at a bar. We hit it off, went to his hotel room, did a little partying, and he must have been exhausted, because he passed out cold.”

“Maybe it was something he drank,” I said.

“Well, he don’t pay me to fix him breakfast, so I pack up and leave him sprawled on the bed.”

“Define pack up ,” I said.

She laughed. “You a damn smart cop. I was in a big hurry, and by accident his Rolex fell into my purse while I was gathering my things.”

“Did you run right back and return it?”

“I was gonna, but the next day the cops came down on me. Can you believe it? This pencil-dick rich boy is pressing charges against me, a poor working girl.”

“The married ones keep it quiet, so I’m guessing he doesn’t have a wife and kids,” I said.

“No—just a broom up his ass. Damn fool wants to make a whole federal case out of it. Now, if you know someone at the DA’s office who could make it go away, my memory just might come back, and I could tell you about them white folk who got out of that truck.”

“How about the Rolex? Can that come back too?”

“You drive a hard bargain, Zach, but hell, why not?”

“I have a friend at eighty Centre Street. If what you’ve got is good.”

“Baby, what I got is so good, you gonna tell me to keep the Rolex.” She took an iPhone out of her purse, tapped in her password, and pulled up a photo. I leaned over her left shoulder, and Kylie came around the other side. McMaster didn’t wait for an invitation. He poked his head above Kylie’s.

The picture was dark, but we could see Erin Easton in her sparkling pink top being helped out of the back of the box truck by a man. His face was turned away from the camera, but he was wearing the same baseball cap we had seen in the surveillance video.

“It gets better,” Venetia said. She swiped the screen, and this time Erin and her abductor were in close-up, their faces lit by one of the glaring overhead parking-lot lights.

“Shit, shit, shit!” McMaster said. His hand swooped in and grabbed her phone.

Venetia immediately let loose a barrage of F-bombs and tried to wrestle it back. Koulermos jumped in and pulled her off him.

In less than three seconds, I went from the high of catching a break to full-blown rage at a rogue retiree.

I wheeled around. “Phone!” I said.

McMaster handed it over. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Not now!” I turned back to Venetia. “You okay, Ms. Jones?”

“I’m good,” she said. “You good?”

“Real good. I’m going to need to keep your phone.”

“No problem. I got a backup … or two.”

“Did you see where they went?”

“Sorry, honey. I got a business call just then. By the time I looked up again they was gone. One thing I can tell you—wherever they went, they wasn’t walking. That girl was not too steady on them red-bottom stilettos.”

“Thanks. Officer Koulermos will take you to the precinct. I want you to write up everything you saw. He’ll also take the case number on that little Rolex misunderstanding.”

She flashed me a smile that was one part gratitude and three parts victory.

I handed the cop a twenty. “Buy Ms. Jones some dinner.”

“There’s a real fine sushi-takeout place on Amsterdam,” she said, “but it’s not cheap.”

I handed the cop another twenty. It was a small price to pay for a picture of the kidnapper.

As soon as Koulermos led Venetia to the car, I turned to McMaster and held her phone to his face. “Who is he?” I said. “And where do I find him?”

CHAPTER 13

HIS NAME IS Bobby Dodd,” McMaster said. “He’s been obsessed with Erin for years. It goes back long before I started working for her. He’s broken into her home four times. Once here in New York, another time at her house in Aspen, and twice at her villa in Tuscany.”

“Was he ever collared?” I asked.

“No. We knew it was him, but we never had enough proof.”

“Erin’s doing pretty well for herself if she’s got three homes,” Kylie said.

“She’s got five. It used to be six, but Hurricane Irma destroyed the beach house on Anguilla. Insurance covered less than twenty percent of the loss. Erin is a real estate junkie. As soon as she pulls together four or five million dollars, she starts looking for something new to buy or renovates and redecorates one of the houses she already owns. She makes a lot of money, but she has almost no liquid assets.”

“Maybe that’s why Dodd waited till after the wedding ceremony before he abducted her,” Kylie said. “She doesn’t have ransom money. Her new husband does.”

McMaster shook his head. “I had the same thought, and now I’m kicking myself for it. As soon as we knew she was kidnapped, my mind jumped to the ransom demands. That’s why I didn’t immediately think of Dodd. She’s got more than one stalker, and Dodd isn’t the type to do this for money.”

“Then what does he want?”

“Her,” McMaster said.

“You don’t think he’ll ask for ransom money?” Kylie said.

“He might. But that doesn’t mean he’ll let her go if we pay. The man’s got a PhD in crazy. I don’t know if God told him this or he just came up with the idea on his own, but he’s positive that he and Erin are soul mates and they’re destined to be together forever. He’s told her that in the letters and e-mails he’s sent her and in person every time he’s gotten close enough.”