Джеймс Паттерсон - Three Women Disappear

I logged on, found Sarah’s case file, saw that I was too late: the content had already been reviewed by the new investigation team. By Heidi. This morning. Just out of curiosity, I clicked on the icon beside Sarah’s name. Nothing happened. I clicked on it again. And again. And again.

I’d been blocked.

“Christ,” I whispered.

There’s nothing I enjoy less than feeling sidelined. I opened a game of solitaire to calm myself down, made it halfway through the deck before my phone started vibrating. I pulled it out of my pocket, checked the caller ID: OLD SCHOOL. My nickname for Vincent Costello.

Great , I thought. Exactly what I need .

I didn’t answer, and he didn’t leave a message. Or rather the call itself was his message: I had five minutes to find a secure line and a private place to talk. I stood, headed for the elevator, did my best to look casual. When the doors opened, my legs nearly buckled: Heidi was standing there, scowling as though I was blocking her way on purpose. Or at least the woman standing there looked like Heidi. Same height, same physique, and a pantsuit right out of Heidi’s wardrobe. But this woman was older by a decade, and she was wearing tennis shoes instead of pumps. And Heidi was still in the interrogation room, trying to break my wife.

I smiled to myself as the doors closed. Jumpy much? I thought. I was doing exactly what our marriage counselor had accused me of during our one and only session: looking for danger where there was none.

I speed-walked across the parking lot, got behind the wheel of my Jeep, and pulled a burner phone from the glove compartment. Costello picked up on the second ring.

“I shouldn’t have to chase you down like this,” he said.

He had a painfully deliberate way of speaking—like Jimmy Stewart at half speed.

“I told you I’d call when I had an update,” I said. “So far there’s nothing.”

“Your wife hasn’t confessed?”

“My wife didn’t kill Anthony.”

“For your sake, I hope you’re right. Still, you don’t seem to be bending over backward to prove her innocence.”

“I’m doing what I can,” I told him. “Have you found Anna?”

“My men are on the scent. She knows damn well how I feel about her, so I imagine she’s being extra cautious. What about the maid?”

“Serena?”

“Is there another?”

“She’s in the wind,” I said. “But she couldn’t afford a bus ticket on what Anthony paid her. I’ll find her. Soon.”

“Make sure that you do, Detective. I’m running out of reasons to keep you around.”

CHAPTER 5

ANNA COSTELLO

October 14

Noon

Interview Room A

“GAWK AT me all you want,” I told her, “but I’m not spinning some story just to make your life easier. And if you keep lying to me, telling me there’s proof when there is none, then I promise this’ll end very badly.”

Haagen flashed another blank stare. That seemed to be her specialty.

“Are you threatening me, Mrs. Costello?” she said.

“Oh, Detective, if I was threatening you,” I told her, leaning forward so she could see my baby browns, “you wouldn’t have to ask.”

I leaned back. She sat up straighter. The upright citizen, glaring down her nose. Detective Heidi Haagen, the kind of married-to-her-work sad sack who could suck the fun out of a children’s birthday party. I almost felt sorry for her: two days in the box with me and not a thing to show for it. The higher-ups must’ve been giving her hell.

“Mrs. Costello,” she said, “the minimum penalty for threatening an officer is 365 days in jail.”

“Yeah, but you won’t press charges.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m guessing you’re already a source of laughs around the watercooler. You really want to arrest a grieving widow because she hurt your feelings?”

“No,” she said. “I want to arrest you because you murdered your husband.”

I laughed in her face.

“Dirty Harriet,” I said. “God, I could use a cigarette.”

Haagen looked away as if she was afraid that too much eye contact with me might turn her to stone. She was itching to clock me, but there was a two-way mirror and cameras in every corner. I grinned. With biceps like that, it was a good bet she hit harder than Anthony.

She made a show of sifting through my folder, then started rehashing bits of yesterday’s session.

“I asked you about your husband’s business affairs,” she said. “You refused to answer. That alone is obstruction.”

“You asked what part I played in his business. I didn’t play any part.”

She looked suddenly very glum. I decided to throw her a bone.

“But I never said I wouldn’t talk about Tony’s affairs.”

I waited for the nod.

“Anthony was creative with numbers,” I said. “He round-tripped for window dressing while diverting phantom tax obligations offshore.”

“English.”

“He was an accountant for the mob. He moved money around. More money than his employers knew about.”

She wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead. They must have kept the heat in that room at triple digits.

“If that’s true, it would have made him some powerful enemies,” she said.

I shrugged.

“My husband thought he was invincible.”

“Just to be clear: you’re saying he stole from Vincent Costello?”

“I’m saying he got clever in ways the family might not have liked. I never said anything about Vince. Vince isn’t someone we talk about.”

“I’m sure you’ll make an exception,” Haagen said. “Let me remind you that you’re facing a murder charge.”

I hit the table so hard her papers jumped.

“Good,” I said. “Go ahead and put me in jail. I’d be safer there. And so would you, if you’re hunting Vincent Costello. You think he’d care about your shield? His motto is Buy Them or Bury Them.”

“ Them being cops?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Which cops?” she asked. “Who’s he bought?”

“Are you Internal Affairs or Homicide?”

She saw I had a point.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll come back to that. Who do you think killed Anthony?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. But if I were you, I’d be looking really hard at his little black book.”

“Little black book?”

The question wasn’t rhetorical—I could tell she’d never heard the expression.

“You’ve gotta get out more,” I said. “The women he was screwing behind my back. Except it wasn’t really behind my back. If anything, he flaunted it. And he wasn’t a stickler about age or marital status or even consent.”

“I see,” she said, seeming full-on flustered for the first time since we’d started talking. “Do you have any particular women in mind?”

I looked at her as if I didn’t know people could be so dumb and still dress themselves.

“Are you interrogating me, or getting me to do your job for you? Think about it. The place wasn’t broken into, right? So whoever killed him had access to the house. I’m telling you it wasn’t me. Who does that leave?”

A lightbulb switched on.

“Sarah,” she said. “He was sleeping with Sarah.”

“And?” I asked. “Who else had a key and the alarm code?”

“Serena. The maid.”

I gave her a quiet round of applause.

“Then that’s where I’d start,” I said.

CHAPTER 6

“LET’S GET back to you for a moment,” Haagen said. “Tell me again where you were that morning.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Asleep,” I said. “Medicated. Drugged. I take a nice little cocktail every night. You would, too, if you lived with a monster.”