Джеймс Паттерсон - NYPD Red 6

“What makes you think it was a fan of Erin’s?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Do you think it was the kidnapper?”

“It turns out the kidnapper is a fan. Have you ever heard of a man named Bobby Dodd?”

“Dodd? He’s not a fan. He’s a stalker. Is he the one who took Erin?”

“We’re pretty convinced he is.”

“How long have you known it was him?”

“We’ve known for a while, but it’s not the kind of information we can share with the public.”

“I’m not the public. I’m her husband. Why couldn’t you have told me?”

“Jamie, you spoke to him on the phone. We couldn’t take a chance on you blurting out his name. He might have killed Erin on the spot.”

Jamie thought about it. The look on his face made me think our explanation actually made sense to him.

“Well, the next time I talk to Mr. Dodd, I’m going to let him know that he’s a total idiot. When my mother was alive, I might have had a chance to change her mind and convince her to give me the money, but now that she’s dead, her estate will be tied up for years before I ever see a dime.”

“Is there anything else you can think of that might help us?” I asked.

“Just that I never should have gone into cahoots with the network. They said they were going to help me, but all they did was vilify my mother on national TV. Dodd might have killed my mother, but Harris Brockway painted a target on her head. It’s his fault that she was murdered.”

I gave him an understanding nod, but I wondered if Kylie and I shared some of the blame. Would the security guards who were scanning the crowd at the Brooklyn Army Terminal have spotted Dodd if we had released his identity?

I shook the thought out of my head. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s never to second-guess your decisions. I wasn’t about to start now.

CHAPTER 49

HONEY, I’M HOME,” Bobby called out as he came through the front door. A wide smile crossed his face. She couldn’t hear him, of course. She was locked in a soundproof room. But one day, he thought, one day, this is the way it would be.

The travel websites had painted the picture of white sands, golden skies, and turquoise water. Bobby could picture the rest: Erin, wearing something sexy, greets him at the door when he comes home from an afternoon on his fishing boat. The baby, playing on the floor, reaches up to him, and she gurgles and giggles as he lifts her high in the air. A glass of chilled white wine. The heady smell of bread baking in the oven.

Soon , he thought. Soon .

He unlocked her door. “I have good news,” he said.

She sat up in bed.

“I just solved our problems,” he said, sitting down on the bed beside her. “Mama’s money is now Jamie’s money. All of it. Every penny.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Veronica is dead.”

She threw her legs off the side of the bed and stood. “How did she—oh God, no! You killed her. Did you? Did you kill her?”

Bobby stared at her, confused. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“You thought I wanted you to commit murder? Are you insane?”

“But she was evil. You hated her.”

“I hated how she treated me. I hated that she wouldn’t help Jamie pay the ransom. But who in their right mind kills someone just because you don’t like them?”

She buried her face in her hands and began to sob. “Why would you do this to Jamie? She was his mother . He never understood her, but he loved her.”

“I’m sorry,” Bobby said, kissing the top of her shoulders.

“Get away from me. You’re disgusting.” She pulled away hard and ran into the bathroom.

There was no door, and he watched as she tore off her clothes and flung them to the floor. She turned on the shower and stepped inside.

They all get crazy , his father had taught him. Your job is to do whatever it takes to make them happy again .

Bobby stood there watching the steam fill up the bathroom. The hot water would calm her down. Plus he knew how to make her feel good. Real good.

He peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower. She didn’t say a word. He took the soap and washed her back. Then he lathered up his hands and ran them over her breasts. Her nipples responded, and she arched her back and moaned.

“Turn around,” she said. “Let me do you.”

He turned, and she ran her nails up and down his back.

He was rock hard. She reached down between his legs, and he thrust himself into her soft, slippery palm and gyrated his hips as she licked his ear.

“Oh, Bobby,” she said, her hand expertly sliding up and down the length of his shaft. “I love you. I love you so much.”

The words exploded in his ears. He couldn’t hold back. He spasmed once, twice, again, and then she felt his body go limp.

“Feel the water on your skin,” she said, tipping his face up and massaging his scalp. “Let it relax you.”

He let out a long slow moan. Without warning, she clutched a fistful of his hair, snapped his head back, and, in one swift stroke, raked the blade she held across his neck. Just like Ari had taught her fifteen years before.

His fingers clutched at his throat, but all he could feel was the flap of severed skin and the warm blood. He threw himself backward, bringing them both down hard on the tile floor, her body beneath his.

Bobby Dodd was a combat-trained Marine. He knew what she had done. He knew he was about to die. What he didn’t understand was why.

Air bubbled through the blood that was spilling from his neck as he exhaled. He gasped and tried desperately to inhale, which only caused him to choke.

Forty-seven seconds after Erin Easton drew the makeshift blade across her captor’s neck, he died.

She crawled out from under his body and slowly stood, the water still beating down hard. Then she stumbled from the shower, threw on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, and ran out the front door to freedom.

Part Three

THE BOBBY DIARIES

CHAPTER 50

SNIPER SHOOTS FASHION Mogul” was more than just a local headline. It was breaking news from Paris to Milan to Tokyo. And with the eyes and ears of the world focused on its biggest case in years, Brooklyn Homicide pulled out all the stops.

By the time Kylie and I finished talking to Jamie, the terminal was packed with detectives, patrol, ESU, CSU, EMS, and whatever other letters of the alphabet Brooklyn could throw at the case. They certainly didn’t need us. But we couldn’t leave.

Our bosses in Manhattan would be asking who, what, when, where, and why. And despite the fact that they had all signed off on our strategy not to release Bobby Dodd’s identity across the department, every one of them would be demanding to know how the hell the most wanted man in the city could get past a detail of twelve tactically trained police officers who were assigned to secure an event that Erin Easton’s husband was attending.

They’d bombard us with questions, and we couldn’t exactly respond by saying, We’ll call Brooklyn and see if they know . So we stuck around for a few more hours and gathered our own data.

Jamie didn’t leave either. “My mother would never want me to abandon her at a time like this,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere until her body is removed from the area.”

He said it reverentially, as if he expected two attendants in black suits to carefully place Veronica on a gurney and silently wheel her into the back of a white-curtained hearse. But the reality was that this was a crime scene, and when the techs were finished, someone was likely to yell, Bag her and throw her in the meat wagon .

I gave the medical examiner’s team a heads-up that the next of kin was watching their every move and to keep it toned down. Just to be sure, Kylie and I decided to wait with Jamie.