3rd Degree - James Patterson [26]
I waited through the remainder of some business conversation, my anger growing as he peppered his call with overused tech clichés like “Sounds like you’re trying to boil the ocean on that one, buddy.”
Finally he signed off and spun around in his chair. “Lindsay,” he said, eyeing me, as though he wasn’t sure what was going on.
“Cut the crap, Steve, you know why I’m here.”
“No, I don’t.” He shook his head, then sort of shifted his expression. “Is everything all right with Jill?”
“You know, I’m doing my best not to lunge across this desk and cram that phone right down your throat. Jill told us, Steve. We know.”
He shrugged, innocently, crossing a pair of Bass Weejuns in front of my face. “Know what?”
“I saw the bruises. Jill told us what’s been going on.”
“Oh”—he rocked back and arched his eyebrows—“Jill did say she was going out with the gang last night.” He glanced at his watch. “Hey, I’d love to sit and take you through some of our personal shit, but I’ve got a twelve-thirty down the hall….”
I leaned my face across the desk. “Listen to me. Listen closely. I’m here to tell you it stops. Today. You lay another hand on her… she breaks a nail that she doesn’t want to discuss… she even comes into the office with a frown on her face, I’ll get your name on an assault charge. You understand me, Steve?”
His expression never changed. He twirled the end of his short curly hair and chuckled, “Gee, Lindsay, everyone always said you were a ballbuster, I just had no idea…. Jill has no right to bring you into this. I know this doesn’t hold much weight with you full-time career types, with a dog and all… but we’re in a marriage. Whatever goes on, it’s between us.”
“No longer.” I glared at him. “Battery’s a felony, Steve. I bust people like you.”
“Jill would never testify against me,” he said, then frowned. “Jeez, look at the time…. If you don’t mind, Lindsay, they’re expecting me down the hall.”
I got up. I didn’t know how he could act this way. We were talking about Jill. “I want to put this in a way you’ll understand,” I said. “You put one more mark on her, and the last thing you’ll have to worry about will be Jill testifying. You go out for a run, you’re in the garage late after work, you hear a noise that makes you jump… You’d better jump, Steve.”
I went to the door, barely taking my eyes off of him. Steve sat there, rocking, somewhere between speechless and inflamed. “Now, how’s that for boiling the ocean, Steve?”
Chapter 37
CINDY THOMAS SAT at her desk at the Chronicle, not quite feeling herself. She twisted the cap on her Fruitopia organic apricot juice and took a sip. Then Cindy opened the paper and scanned the front page. One of her bylines was in the right-hand column. Bold headlines: SECOND CEO MURDER HAS POLICE RE-EXAMINING THE FIRST.
She flipped on her computer to check her e-mail. The hunk in the bulging tank top and construction belt who acted as her screen saver came to life. Cindy clicked Internet Explorer and her e-mail came up.
Twelve new.
She noticed one from Aaron, whom she had split with four months ago. Having Pumpkinseed Smith at a recital at the church, 8:00 P.M., May 22. Can you make it? Pumpkinseed Smith was one of the best horn players around! You bet I’ll make it, Cindy typed back. Even if it means I have to hear a sermon from you.
She scrolled down the rest quickly. A response from a researcher who was doing background on Lightower and Bengosian. That bastard had been in court, fighting forty-six class actions from policyholders who were dumped in the past two years. What a sleaze!
She was about to delete the last message from an address she didn’t know when the headline caught her eye. SLAM@hotmail.com. It was titled, WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.
Cindy clicked on the message and prepared to send it to the ether grave of all spam. She took a swig of juice.
Don’t ask how we got your name or why we’re contacting you. If you want to do some good, you will do the right thing now.
Cindy rolled her chair