Джеймс Паттерсон - Ambush

“But we all make mistakes. I would think a man of your advanced years would know that by now.”

That made me smile. Only for a moment. Mary Catherine was absolutely right, but I was still a father worried about his daughter.

Mary Catherine said, “Is there something here I don’t understand? Or are you just trying to set a certain bar for the other girls as they get older and start to date?”

I dropped my head into my hands and admitted, “I just don’t want to make the same mistakes I made with Brian.”

“What mistakes? You’re a great father. You did everything you could to be a good father to Brian. Sometimes people make poor choices. They make mistakes. Hopefully they learn from them and move on. I think that’s the position you might have to take with Juliana.”

“I know. That makes sense. I was just considering my other options.”

“Such as?”

“Having one of my buddies arrest this young man and maybe losing him in Rikers Island for a few months. Is that a realistic possibility?”

Mary Catherine let out a short giggle and hugged me. Maybe things might work out after all, if I gave them a chance.

Alex relaxed in a chair near the hotel-room door, watching the unconscious young man tied to a chair next to the bed. It was amazing what a cabdriver would accept when he was afraid your “drunk little brother” would throw up in his cab.

This hotel in East Harlem looked like it was generally used by prostitutes and pushers. There was no hourly rate posted, but based on Alex’s interaction with the clerk, any amount of time could be negotiated.

By the time she walked into the hotel, her captive was stumbling along with her. She’d undone her ponytail and allowed her hair to fly wildly around her shoulders and face. The wide dark sunglasses obscured what little part of her face was visible. And the hundred-dollar bill she handed directly to the clerk ensured that he didn’t pay much attention.

Now she waited patiently for the young man to completely regain his senses. He had lolled in and out of consciousness since they’d entered the room and she’d secured him with the cord from a lamp.

Then the young man’s head snapped upright, his eyes open wide.

He was much younger than she had originally thought. Probably around twenty. He was a good-looking boy with thick lips and a long, straight nose.

She wasn’t sure what to expect. Usually it was begging, and sometimes it involved offers of fast wealth if she would let him go. He went in a different direction and surprised her.

He snarled with a remarkably clear voice, “You will release me right now. If you don’t, you’ll regret your decision the rest of your short, miserable life.”

Alex was speechless for a moment. “Did I hit you too hard? You’re not making any sense. You’re the one who’s tied up.”

“And you’re the one who’s not making any sense. I was thinking I might sleep with you until you started acting like such a bitch.”

Alex just stared at the young man.

“I’ll still let you suck my dick, but you better untie me right now.”

Alex said slowly, “I’m confused. Are you trying to scare me or make me think you’re crazy?”

“I am crazy, and you should be scared. You have no idea what I’ve done to other women who disrespected me.”

“I probably have an idea. But I’m not one of those women. The only reason you’re not dead is because I have a few questions. There’s a chance, if you answer my questions, that you’ll see the sunrise in the morning. But if you’re going to keep up this attitude, I will not waste any more time.” She stood up and made a show out of opening her stiletto. It still had his friend’s blood on the blade.

Alex saw his eyes open wide and realized she was on the right track. She knelt down in front of him and unbuckled his pants. She thought that was all she’d need to do.

Then the young man said, “You better start sucking or you’ll be the one who regrets this.”

She couldn’t believe how some men acted toward women. She jabbed him in the leg with the stiletto. Nothing too serious. But she still had to put her hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming. Then she tilted the chair back so his head banged against the bed.

Alex put the point of the stiletto onto his groin and pressed slightly.

The man let out a yelp.

She knew he’d tell her anything she wanted now.

“Why were you and your friend after me?”

“We know you killed Cesar Ramos in his hospital bed.”

“Who is we? ”

“The boys in our crew.”

“The Dominican gunmen?”

“There’s no way you get away with this. One word from me and you’ll live in misery for a week before they let you die.”

“Then I guess I better not let you give the word.”

When she was finished, she left the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door and casually walked out the hotel’s rear exit.

Now she had another complication with this contract.

I arrived at the hotel in East Harlem about two o’clock in the afternoon. No one in this neighborhood seemed terribly surprised to see police activity around the building. There were a few hotels in every neighborhood that attracted people interested in doing their worst.

I chuckled at the cheap neon sign. FINELLI BUDGET INN. FBI. It had to be on purpose.

I saw the young homicide detective I was looking for. Roddy Huerta was a solid investigator and had proved his reliability over the past few years. He wasn’t particularly big on imagination or finding creative ways to solve cases, but he was a good cop. He was the new breed. Young, fit, smart, and college-educated. But he went by the book. On everything.

I came from the school of investigation that said you had to clear cases and actually get murderers off the street. And to do that, sometimes you had to take chances.

But this was his show, and I was just trying to gather information.

Roddy glanced up from his notebook and pushed his glasses back onto his nose. He looked surprised and said, “Hey, Detective Bennett. What are you doing over here?”

“Just curious to see if it’s related to something I’m working on. Whatcha got, Roddy?”

He followed me as I walked into the hotel. Some detectives would be offended to have someone wander onto their crime scene, but I knew Roddy was more interested in showing me how smart he was.

The younger detective said, “I’ve got a Hispanic male victim laid out in the bed. It looks like he’d been bound at the wrists and died from a single-edge-weapon wound to the chest.”

I said, “Technically to the heart.”

“The ME will have to determine that. Why are you interested?”

“Not the first I’ve seen this week.”

He perked up. “A serial killer.”

“Drug war.”

He looked disappointed, and I understood why. He was one of those homicide detectives who worked a very specific geographic area and really didn’t want to know about anything else going on. To catch a serial killer in an area like that would be something to crow about. Drug wars were a little more common.

We stepped into the room, and I saw the forensics people, wearing complete biomedical suits, processing the scene.

Roddy said, “It was a little tight in there, and the body had been in the bed at least twelve hours. I did my initial examination and decided it would be better to let the forensics people do their thing.”

“Have you canvassed potential witnesses?”

“The clerk doesn’t remember anyone coming in, and there’s no record of this room being rented. There are so many patrons coming and going that we probably won’t get anything useful out of processing it.