The 6th Target - James Patterson [27]
Conklin and I joined the canvass, and between us all, we talked to every nanny and child who knew Madison, including one nanny with the initials ME, the friend Paola had mentioned in her diary.
Madeline Ellis broke into tears, telling us about her fear for Paola and Maddy.
“It’s like everything I know has been turned upside down,” she said. “This place is supposed to be safe!”
Madeline rocked the carriage with a baby inside, her voice choking as she said, “She’s a nice girl. And she’s very young for her age.”
She told us that the “G” in Paola’s diary was George, last name unknown, a waiter at the Rhapsody Café. He had flirted with Paola, and she with him — but Madeline was positive that Paola and George had never had a date.
We found George Henley working the tables outside the Rhapsody Café on Fillmore, and we questioned him. We drilled him, tried to scare him, but my instincts told me he wasn’t involved in a kidnapping or a murder.
He was a kid, just a regular kid, working his way through night school, trying to get his degree in fine arts.
George wiped his hands on his apron, took Paola’s driver’s license from my hand, looked at her picture.
“Oh, sure. I’ve seen her around here with her girlfriends,” he said. “But until this minute, I never knew her name.”
Chapter 37
THE SUN WAS GOING DOWN on Pacific Heights as we left the apartment of a handyman named Willy Evans who lived over the garage of one of the Tylers’ neighbors. Evans was a creep with unbelievably dirty fingernails and two dozen terrariums inhabited by snakes and lizards. But as slithery as Willy Evans was, he had a solid alibi for the time Madison and Paola were abducted.
Conklin and I buttoned our coats and joined the canvass of the neighborhood, showing pictures of Paola and Madison to homeowners just returning from work.
We scared the hell out of a lot of innocent people and didn’t get a single lead in return.
Back at the Hall, we converted our notes and thoughts into a report, noting the interviews we’d done and that the Devines, a family living next door to the Tylers, were on vacation before, during, and after the abduction and weren’t interviewed, and that Paola Ricci’s friends thought she was a saint.
A deep sadness was weighing on me.
The only witness to the abduction had told Jacobi that she’d heard a pop and saw blood explode on the inside of the rear window of the van at nine this morning.
Did the blood belong to Paola?
Or had the child put up a struggle and gotten a bullet to shut her up?
I said good night to Conklin and drove to the hospital.
Claire was sleeping when I came into her room.
She opened her eyes, said, “Hi, sugar,” and fell back asleep. I sat with her for a while, leaned back in the leatherette armchair and even dozed fitfully for a moment or two before kissing my friend’s cheek and telling her good-bye.
I parked my Explorer on the uphill slope a few doors from my apartment and got out my keys, thoughts of Madison Tyler still cycling through my mind as I walked up the hill.
I had to blink a couple of times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
Joe was waiting outside my apartment, sitting on the steps, a leash looped around his wrist, an arm around Martha.
He stood and I walked into his big hug, swayed with him in the moon shadows.
It felt so good to be in his arms.
Chapter 38
AS FAR AS I KNEW, Joe had never found out about my misadventure in Washington, and now didn’t seem like the time to tell him.
“You’ve fed Martha?” I asked, hugging him closer, reaching my arms up around his neck for his kiss.
“Walked her, too,” he murmured. “And I bought a roasted chicken and some vegetables for the human folk. Wine’s in the fridge.”
“Someday, I’m going to walk into my apartment and shoot you by accident.”
“You wouldn’t do that, would you, Blondie?”
I pulled back, smiled up at his face, saying, “No, I wouldn’t do it, Joe.”
“You’re my girl.”
Then he kissed me again, a true toe curler, and my body melted against his. We walked up the stairs to my apartment,