The Palm Beach Murders James Patterson (ebook reader with built in dictionary .TXT) 📖

The new business pitch is instantly forgotten. I can hardly breathe.

Chris looks up toward the ceiling. “Sweet Jesus, what in the world is going on?” and shakes his head, unconvincingly. I’ve never heard him talk like this. Gebben picks up a chair and slams it against the wall, to shrieks from the others.

I’ve got to see if I can do something, anything, to help. Can’t leave my mates like this.

“Okay, guys. Okay. Let’s try to get a grip here. This is insane. Awful. And scary. And weird. Clearly somebody has it in for us. But we’ve got to try to keep our cool—otherwise they win.” I’m trying to create some calm, but it’s just barely working.

“Tim. Tim…” Mo says. “What should we do? What can we do?”

I know one thing I can do, something I should have done yesterday: call Quinn about Berardo and his gun.

“Hang on, guys, give me a minute.” I head for the third-floor restroom, where I can call Pete.

“Detective Quinn,” he answers.

“Pete, it’s Tim. Sorry to bother you.…”

“No problem, Tim. No problem at all. What’s up?”

“Now this thing with Bonnie Jo is simply beyond the pale. Insane. Madness. I—”

“It certainly is, Tim. Certainly is. And needless to say it just puts Marterelli’s deeper under the microscope. What the hell is going on over there?”

“Damn good question, which is why I’m calling you…and Jesus, I feel like a traitor…but I know you guys are counting on me and something happened late yesterday that I think you need to know about.”

“I’m listening.…”

“Right before I left work last night, I had a visit from Chris Berardo, our creative director.”

“I know who Chris is.”

“Well, and I don’t know quite how to say this any other way…he’s carrying. He’s got a pistol. Showed it to me, and I have no idea why.”

“Are you sure, Tim?”

“Absolutely. And of course with an all-points out for a murder suspect who’s killing people with a gun, a pistol, and now Bonnie Jo, well…”

“Absolutely, Tim. Would have liked to have known about this last night—but you’ve done the right thing, thank you,” he says, and hangs up.

Chapter 34

I run some water in the sink. Splash some on my face and take a cold, hard look at myself in the mirror.

I don’t recognize the guy looking back at me.

Who are you, MacGhee? Who the hell are you, really? Where does all this madness go? Where does it end? And why? Why is this shit happening now? And what does it mean for me?

No answers…not yet…

I dry off with a couple of paper towels, brush my hair back, take a deep breath, and head back for the conference room. Chris is looking at me, determinedly, like he’s searching for answers, too—a different kind, no doubt—and I’m wondering if he thinks he sees a look of betrayal on my face.

“Tim. What can we do?” It’s Mo again.

Before I can come up with anything, I see Detective Quinn and his partner through the glass wall, quick-stepping it past Mo’s desk, headed for a conference room where Paul is waiting.

That didn’t take long.

Then Paul sticks his head in and, despite our conversation just twenty minutes ago, asks me to join them. I follow him over to the conference room.

My friend Pete doesn’t look quite as friendly anymore, standing there, straight as an arrow, arms folded.

“Detective,” I nod. He nods back, expressionless, like a stranger. Like he was trained to be.

“This is so awful, so sad. So impossible to even believe, much less deal with,” Paul says.

“Tragic,” I say. “Absolutely tragic. Ramon was bad enough. And Tiffany. But Bonnie Jo Hopkins? The brightest light in this agency. An inspiration to everyone. What a terrible, terrible loss.…”

“And what a wicked coincidence, isn’t it?” Quinn says. “Three people murdered, all of whom had a relationship with this advertising agency. We sure are missing something here, that’s a damned definite.”

I have to sit down.

“I know you guys will get to the bottom of this,” I tell them.

Surely they can see the devastation written all over my face.

“Count on it,” he says, leaving no doubt he’ll be talking to me again.

“Understand, Detective, absolutely. But you need to know something that Paul and I have just discussed. I am leaving the agency as of today, at my own initiative, and going to work with Linda Kaplan over at Kaplan-Thaler. Great opportunity. Due to start Monday. But of course you can contact me there, and you have my cell and e-mail info.”

“Understand,” says Quinn, looking down at the floor, and then back up at me. “We’ve got a lot more talking to do with people here, too, so we’re going to get back at it. But before I go there’s something you both should know, and it’s based on the input we just got from MacGhee: Chris Berardo has been seen carrying a weapon, a pistol, inside the office—we don’t know for how long—so we’re taking him in for questioning.”

“Are you serious, Detective?” It’s Paul, in an extended state of disbelief.

Then he looks over at me.

“Slam dunk, based on what MacGhee’s telling us. Want to get him away from the others to talk. But you need to know because that’s where we’re headed right now, and that’s why he’ll be leaving with us.”

Paul and I watch as the detectives approach the meeting room and gesture for Chris to step outside. There’s twenty seconds of detective speak from Quinn and then they turn him around, place his hands up against the wall and pat him down! Surreal.

“How did you know about the gun, Tim?” Paul wants to know.

“Don’t ask, Paul. You wouldn’t believe it anyway.”

All anyone can do is stare in disbelief. Gloved, Quinn removes a pistol from Chris’s inside jacket pocket, drops it in the evidence bag Garrison’s holding, and pulls Berardo’s hands down behind his back to cuff him. As they escort him out I get a satanic stare from Chris that would pierce a granite wall.

He’s not