Swimsuit - James Patterson [19]
“Well, we hadn’t found any red backpack, and there were a lot of jokes about Carrie Willis having the nerve to report stolen drug money to the police.
“But Robby’s girlfriend was convincing. Carrie didn’t know that Robby was a dealer. She just knew that he was buying a piece of acreage by a creek and he was going to build a house there for the two of them. The bank papers and the full payment for the property — a hundred thousand dollars — were in that backpack because he was on his way to the closing. She put all that money in the backpack herself. Her story checked out.”
“So you asked your partner about the backpack?” Barbara prompted.
“Sure. I asked him. And he said, ‘Well, I sure as hell didn’t see a backpack, red or green or sky blue pink.’
“So, at my insistence, we went to the impound, took the car apart, found nothing. Then we drove in broad daylight out to the woods where the accident happened and we searched the area. At least I did. I thought Denny was just rustling branches and kicking piles of leaves. That’s when I remembered his face getting foxy the night of the accident.
“I had a long, hard talk with myself that night. The next day I went to my lieutenant for an off-the-record chat. I told him what I suspected, that a hundred thousand dollars in cash might have left the scene and was never reported.”
Levon said, “Well, you had no choice.”
“Denny Carbone was an old pit bull of a cop, and I knew if he learned about my conversation with the lieutenant he’d come at me. So I took a chance with my boss, and the next day Internal Affairs was in the locker room. Guess what they found in my locker?”
“A red backpack,” said Levon.
I gave him a thumbs-up. “Red backpack, silver reflecting tape, bank papers, heroin, and ten thousand dollars in cash.”
“Oh, my God,” said Barbara.
“I was given a choice. Resign. Or there would be a trial. My trial. I knew that I wasn’t going to win in court. It would be ‘he said/he said,’ and the evidence, some of it, anyway, had been found in my locker. Worse, I suspected that I was getting hung with this because my lieutenant was in on it with Denny Carbone.
“A very bad day, blew up a lot of illusions for me. I turned in my badge, my gun, and some of my self-respect. I could’ve fought, but I couldn’t take a chance I’d go to jail for something I hadn’t done.”
“That’s a sad story, Ben,” said Levon.
“Yep. And you know how the story turns out. I moved to L.A. Got a job at the Times. And I wrote some books.” “You’re being modest,” Barbara said, and patted my arm. “Writing is what I do, but it’s not who I am.”
“And who would you say you are?” she asked.
“Right now, I’m working at being the best reporter I can be. I came to Maui to tell your daughter’s story, and, at the same time, I want you to have that happy ending. I want to see it, report it, be here for all the good feelings when Kim comes back safe. That’s who I am.”
Barbara said, “We believe you, Ben.” And Levon nodded at her side.
Like I said, Nice people.
Chapter 24
AMSTERDAM. Five twenty in the afternoon. Jan Van der Heuvel was in his office on the fifth floor of the classic, neck-gabled house, gazing out over the treetops at the sightseeing boat on the canal, waiting for time to pass.
The door to his office opened, and Mieke, a pretty girl of twenty with short, dark hair, entered. She wore a small skirt and a fitted jacket, her long legs bare to her little lace-up boots. The girl lowered her eyes, said that if he didn’t need her for anything she would leave for the day.
“Have a good evening,” Van der Heuvel said.
He walked her to the office door and locked it behind her, returned to his seat at the long drawing table, and looked down at the street running along the Keizersgracht Canal until he saw Mieke get into her fianc