1st to Die - James Patterson [62]
“You’ve got nothing right now,” he came back. “All of it. It’s beyond circumstantial.”
“His name has popped up in connection with four dead people. We could get face to face, like I would with anyone else. We could talk to the district attorney.”
Roth held up a hand. Nicholas Jenks was one of San Francisco’s most prominent citizens. Implicating him on a murder charge was dangerous. We’d better be right. I didn’t know what Cheery was thinking. Finally, there was the slightest relaxation in his neck, only a tight swallow, but in Roth-speak it was a go-ahead. “You could talk to the D.A.,” he agreed. “Call Jill Bernhardt.”
He turned to Raleigh. “This can’t get out until we have something really firm.”
Unfortunately, Assistant District Attorney Jill Bernhardt was stuck in court. Her secretary said she wouldn’t be out until the end of the day. Too bad. I knew Jill a little, liked her. She was tough, with dazzling smarts. She even had a conscience.
Raleigh and I got a cup of coffee, going over what we should do next. Roth was right. As far as a warrant was concerned, we had nothing. A direct confrontation could be dangerous. A guy like this, you had to be sure. He would fight back.
Warren Jacobi shuffled in, a self-satisfied smirk puffing up his face. “Must be raining champagne today,” he muttered.
I took it as another sardonic zinger aimed at Raleigh and me.
“For weeks, I can’t even get a bite on this shit.” He sat down and cocked his head toward Raleigh. “Bite… champagne… that works, Captain, doesn’t it?”
“Works for me,” Raleigh said.
Jacobi continued, “So yesterday Jennings comes back with three places that had sold a few cases of the bubbly in question. One of the buyers is this accountant in San Mateo. Funny thing is, his name’s on file. Ends up he did two years up in Lampoc for securities fraud. Kind of a reach, isn’t it? Serial killing, securities fraud…”
“Maybe the guy’s got a thing against people who file joint returns,” I said, and smiled at Jacobi.
He puckered up his face. “The second is some woman manager at 3Com who’s stocking up for a fortieth-birthday bash. This Clos du Mesnil is a real collectible. It’s French, I’m told.”
I glanced up, waiting for him to get to the point.
“Now the third one, that’s what I mean by raining… big auction house, Butterfield and Butterfield. Three years back sold two cases of the eighty-nine. Went for twenty-five hundred per case, plus commish. Private collector. At first they wouldn’t give out the name. But we squeezed. Turns out he’s a big shot. My wife, she happens to be a fan. Read every one of his books.”
Raleigh and I froze. “Whose, Warren?” I pressed.
“I figure, I check it out, I can be a hero, bring home a signed copy. You ever read Lion’s Share by Nicholas Jenks?”
Chapter 69
JACOBI’S STATEMENT felt like an elbow to my solar plexus. At the same time it removed all doubt for me.
Kathy Kogut, Sparrow Ridge, the Clos du Mesnil champagne. Jenks was now tied in to all three murders.
He was Red Beard.
I wanted to run and confront Jenks, but I knew I couldn’t. I wanted to get up close, glare in his smug eyes, let him know I knew.
At the same time, a suffocating tightness swept up into my chest. I didn’t know if it was a flash of nausea, Negli’s, or the release of my bottled-up rage.
Whatever it was, I knew I had to get out. “I’m leaving,” I said to Raleigh. I was scared.
He looked stunned and confused as I rushed out.
“Hey, I say something wrong?” I heard Jacobi say.
I grabbed my jacket and purse and ran down the steps to the street. My blood was rioting inside me like an angry demon. A cold sweat had broken out all over me.
I ran out into the cool day, started to walk fast down the street.
I had no idea where I was going. I felt like a foreign tourist wandering in the city for the first time. Soon, there were crowds, stores, people rushing by who knew nothing about me. I wanted to lose myself for a few minutes. Starbucks, Kinko’s, Empress Travel.