The 8th Confession - James Patterson [80]
Claire jumped in to report on her newly revised autopsy of McKenzie Oliver’s body, purring, “The bite mark was just above his shoulder blade. No one would have found those pinpricks unless they were purely looking for them.”
Just then, Cindy breezed in and found our table. She was out of breath but glowing as she slid in beside Yuki. Lorraine brought over another sweating pitcher of beer, saying, “We’re closing up, ladies. This is the last, and it’s on Susie.”
I filled Cindy’s glass, and she lifted it to all of us.
“To you guys, for saving Richie’s life.”
“What?” Claire sputtered.
“You, Claire, for telling Doc about the kraits. Otherwise he wouldn’t have put the aquarium on standby. And you, Linds, for getting that belt around his arm, telling him what to do.”
“Are you planning to thank the Academy now? What I did for Conklin, he’d do for me. That’s what it means to be partners.”
“True, but you did it.”
“Don’t mind her. She’s full of L-U-V,” Claire told me.
“She’s full of something.”
“And you,” Cindy said to Yuki.
“I’m innocent. I had nothing to do with saving Conklin’s life.”
“You found Doc.”
“Well,” Claire said, “I guess we should all be thanking you, too, Cindy.”
“Come on.”
“Conklin’s been pining for Lindsay for so long, and since she didn’t tumble, I guess it’s good of you to give that boy something to live for.”
Cindy lowered her lashes, put a hilarious spin on it when she said, “The pleasure is all mine.”
We all laughed, even me, even Cindy. And when we’d wiped away our tears, Yuki said she had something to tell us.
“I’m going away for a couple of weeks. My uncle Jack invited me, and I have vacation coming.”
“You’re going to Kyoto?” I asked.
“It’ll do me good to get away.”
“Are you going to see Doc again?”
“We’re going to, you know, ‘play it by ear.’ But my heart’s not in it, Lindsay. Or more accurately, my head’s not in it.”
Claire said, “You can’t fake it, sweetheart.”
“Can’t, couldn’t, won’t,” said Yuki.
Chapter 106
MORNING CAME, and Conklin was at his desk when I got there. He was scrubbed and shaven and looked like he’d won a million dollars. The day crew gathered around our desks wanting to shake Conklin’s hand and tell him how great it was to have him back.
Brenda had baked and was saying, “Nobody doesn’t like peanut-butter-chocolate cake,” and she was right, but we hadn’t gotten more than two bites into it when Conklin took a call from Skip Wilkinson, one of his buddies in Narcotics and Vice.
After Conklin announced his name, all he said was “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. No kidding. Yeah. Yeah. We’ll be right there.”
He hung up, said to me, “Narcs busted a crack whore last night. She was carrying a twenty-two registered to Neil Pincus. They’re holding her for us.”
We drove to the nondescript station house, a former Roto- Rooter plant taking up a quarter of a block on Potrero at Eighteenth. We took the stairs to the third floor at a run.
Skip Wilkinson met us at the gate.
He walked us back to the observation room, where we could see the suspect through the one-way mirror. She was a young black female, bony, dressed in threadbare jeans and a filthy pink baby-doll top. Her blond weave was coming loose, and judging from her fidgety stare and her shakes, I figured she’d had a bad night in lockup and was in need of a fix.
Wilkinson said, “That’s Lawanda Lewis, age seventeen. Here’s her sheet.”
I read, “Two arrests for prostitution. This is her first drug arrest. You’re looking at her for homicide?”
Anything was possible, but I didn’t see it.
“Did you catch her address?” Wilkinson asked me, stabbing the rap sheet with his finger. “It’s on Cole Street. That’s Bagman’s house.
“She lived there. Maybe she still does. Anyway, she was one of his girls. She could be your doer. Take your shot,” said Wilkinson.
It was one of those can’t-believe-it moments.
That do-gooder attorney Neil Pincus lied when he said he didn’t own a gun. Then he said it was stolen. I thought that was a lie, too, but I never expected his gun to turn