Private Oz Read online

  About the Book

  With the best detectives in the business, cutting-edge technology and offices around the globe, there is no investigation company quite like PRIVATE.

  Now, at a glittering launch party overlooking the iconic Opera House, PRIVATE SYDNEY throws open its doors …

  Craig Gisto and his newly formed team have barely raised their glasses, however, when a young Asian man, blood-soaked and bullet-ridden, staggers into the party, and what looks like a botched kidnapping turns out to be a whole lot more.

  Within days the agency’s case load is full, from a missing businessman whose latest scheme was a step too far, to a rock star terrified he’s next in line for the infamous ‘Club 27’.

  But it’s a horrific murder in the wealthy Eastern Suburbs and the desperate search for a motive that stretches the team to the limit. Stacy Friel, friend of the Deputy Commissioner of NSW Police, isn’t the killer’s first victim – and as the bodies mount up she’s clearly not the last …

  ‘This is a breakneck fast, brutally good page-turner’ Daily Mail

  ‘Hits the ground running and the pace never misses a beat’ Daily Express

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Chapter 122

  Chapter 123

  Chapter 124

  Chapter 125

  Chapter 126

  Chapter 127

  Chapter 128

  Chapter 129

  Chapter 130

  Chapter 131

  Chapter 132

  Chapter 133

  Chapter 134

  Chapter 135

  Chapter 136

  Chapter 137

  Chapter 138

  Chapter 139

  Chapter 140

  Chapter 141

  Chapter 142

  About the Authors

  Also by James Patterson

  Copyright Notice

  More at Random House Australia

  Prologue

  I’D SEEN PICTURES of Justine Smith, Jack Morgan’s No. 2 at Private LA, but she was far more beautiful in the flesh.

  I stood at Sydney Airport International Arrivals and watched her waft out of customs with a trolley looking like she was ready for a model shoot – no clue she’d just been on a 14-hour flight. She was here to launch the latest branch of the Private franchise created by Jack Morgan in LA – a top-notch investigative agency for top-notch people.

  I held back, let her family greet her first. There was her sister, Greta, and husband, my new buddy, Brett Thorogood, the Deputy Commissioner of New South Wales Police, their kids, Nikki, eight and Serge, ten. Then I stepped forward, shook her hand.

  I’d parked my Ferrari 458 Spider in the pick-up zone. The Thorogoods headed off after we’d all synchronized watches for the launch party tonight and we were off, pulling out of the airport and onto the sun-drenched freeway.

  None of us could have known what a fuck of a week we were about to have.

  Chapter 1

  HE CAN SEE nothing.

  He can hear nothing.

  He runs, gasping, hits a hard object – face first. His nose shatters, sending a cascade of agony through his head and down his spine. Falls back, slams to the floor. His head cracking on concrete. More pain.

  He can see nothing.

  He can hear nothing.

  The sack hood over his head stinks of sweat and blood. He tries to loosen the ties, but it’s no good.

  He vomits, it hits the fabric, splashes on his face.

  He thinks he’ll choke and part of him doesn’t care, wants it. But the survival genes kick in and he panics, pulls up, the spew running down his shirt front. He reaches out and touches the wall. Moves left as fast as he can. He feels the vibration of feet, people running toward him.

  A burst of terrible agony in his back. Two thumps propel him to the wall. He smells fresh blood. He smells tire rubber. Another crunch, his thigh exploding. But he keeps to the wall, sweat running down his ruined face, blood drips from his nose, his leg, his back. He feels wet all over. He’s a leaking sieve, his life draining away. The pain in his legs screams. The hood fabric sucks into his mouth.

  He has to keep going. ‘MOVE OR DIE … MOVE OR DIE,’ a voice bellows in his head. Shrapnel clips his ear. He screeches, feels his guts heave. Another bullet thunders past his head, but he doesn’t hear it, just feels the air tremble. Dust and concrete chips hit him in the face. His legs start to buckle, but he refuses to give in.

&
nbsp; ‘MOVE OR DIE. MOVE OR DIE.’

  He feels a door, pushes, stumbles through, trips, hits the concrete again. Blood splashes across the floor, up the walls. He pulls up once more.

  He’s on a roller coaster, at the park with Grandma. He’s four years old. Then he’s floating in space. No reference points.

  He can see nothing.

  He can hear nothing.

  He senses the air tremble again.

  He touches wood. Another door. It moves forward. He’s falling … and dies before he hits the ground.

  Chapter 2

  I HEARD THE crash from the other side of the room and for a second I thought one of the hired caterers had screwed up. But then a woman screamed and I was dashing across reception.

  I caught a glimpse of my right-hand woman, Mary Clarke, spin on her heel. She’s a big, muscly girl but has the reaction time of Usain Bolt off the blocks.

  I saw the blood first. A smear, then a dark pool spreading out across the marble. The man lay spread-eagled on the floor, face down, torn apart, gaping holes in his back, his right leg shattered, twisted obscenely under him. A hood over his head.

  I crouched down as Justine Smith ran up.

  Pulling a tissue from my pocket, I wrapped it around my fingers, turned the body over and tried to remove the hood, but it was tied fast. I glanced up to see Deputy Commissioner Thorogood.

  “Jesus!” he said as he lowered beside me.

  “Multiple gunshot wounds. Twice in the back, leg,” I said and tilted the body so Thorogood could study the ragged circles in the guy’s linen jacket.

  Darlene, Private’s tech guru, squatted down close to the body. She’s usually in a lab coat over jeans, but tonight she was wearing a red cocktail dress that accentuated her incredible curves. She pulled on latex gloves, removed a sharp implement from her clutch purse. Leaning forward, she cut the ties of the hood and eased up the fabric.

  “Holy Christ!” Thorogood exclaimed.

  Chapter 3

  HIS EYES HAD been gouged out. There were two red craters in their place. The skin was jagged, blood oozing. A gray bundle of nerves snaked from the left socket and stuck to the skin of the man’s cheek.

  It was hard to tell for sure, but he looked like a young kid, maybe late teens, twenty tops. The rest of his face was smeared, his nose smashed to hell.

  I heard Johnny Ishmah, the youngest of my team, behind me. I turned to him. “Johnny get everyone out.” Then I saw Mary. “Come with me.”

  The Deputy Commissioner straightened and pulled out his cell as he walked away.

  I heard him say “Inspector …” His boys would be here in minutes.

  “Well, not your average gatecrasher,” I heard Darlene mumble as Mary and I headed for the door.

  “Blood trail.” I flicked a glance at the floor just beyond the door.

  “Passage ahead leads to the garage,” Mary responded.

  There was a slew of blood across the concrete, up the walls. Picking our way round the puddles I leaned on the second door and we were out onto “Garage Level 1”. Plenty of blood still, oval droplets on the rough concrete. The sort of splashes someone makes when they are running and bleeding at the same time.

  The poor kid had stopped here, blood had pooled into a patch about two feet wide that was rippling away toward a drain in the floor. The trail led off to the left. Three cars stood there, a Merc, a Prius and my black Spider. Tire marks close to the bend, more blood.

  I bent down and picked up a shell casing, holding it in the tissue still in my hand.

  “.357 Sig,” Mary said. She was ex-Military Police, knew a thing or two.

  “Pros.”

  “Must be cameras everywhere.” She glanced around.

  “Small garage. There’s a guard at the gate. He has a security camera system.” I turned and led the way back. The road narrowed, a barrier twenty yards ahead. Next to that, a booth.

  I could see immediately the place was hit. Glass everywhere, the guard slumped unconscious, a row of monitors an inch from his head. The cable to a hard drive dangling. Standard system … record the garage for twelve-hour rotations on a terabyte hard drive. Wipe it, start again.

  “Took the hard drive,” Mary said nodding at the lead.

  I crouched down beside the guard and lifted his head gently. He stirred, pulled back and went for his gun. That had gone too.

  “Whoa buddy!” Mary exclaimed, palms up.

  The guy recognized me. “Mr. Gisto.” He ran a hand over his forehead. “Holy shit …”

  “Easy, pal.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Remember anything?”

  He sighed. “Couple a guys in hoodies. It all happened so bloody quick …”

  “Alright,” I said, turning to Mary. There was a sudden movement beyond the booth window. A cop in a power stance, finger poised to the trigger.

  A second later Deputy Commissioner Thorogood appeared in the doorway, touched the officer’s arm. “Put it down, constable.”

  It was then I saw the third guy, standing next to Thorogood. Middle build, five-ten, hard, lived-in face. I recognized him immediately and felt a jolt of painful memories. Covered it well. I knew he instantly recognized me, but he pretended he hadn’t. The devious son of a bitch.

  Chapter 4

  A COP CAR pulled up to the gate, tires screeching. Close behind, a van, “FORENSICS” on the side.

  Outside, Thorogood made the introductions. He seemed oblivious to the animosity in the air. “Craig Gisto and Mary Clarke, Private Sydney – a new investigative agency started by a friend of mine, Jack Morgan in LA. These guys head up the Sydney branch. Craig, Mary … this is Inspector Mark Talbot, Sydney Local Area Command.”

  “And what are they doing here?” Talbot studied my face. I half-smiled back.

  “We have an arrangement …” Thorogood responded.

  “Arrangement, sir?”

  “Didn’t you get my memo? We help Private, Private helps us … Understand? So what do we have here, Craig?” the Deputy Commissioner turned to me.

  “Lotta blood. Your forensics guys’ll have fun. The hard drive for the security cameras walked.” I flicked a glance toward the booth. “And I found this.” I pulled the tissue from my jacket pocket and handed the bullet casing to Thorogood.

  “That should have been left where you found it …” Talbot remarked angrily.

  “.357 Sig.” Thorogood ignored the Inspector. “Okay, so what do you want from us, Craig? Mary?”

  “Give Darlene access to the crime scene and ten minutes with the body before it’s taken to the morgue.”

  Thorogood nodded. “Fine.”

  “What!” Talbot exclaimed and glared at us. Then he saw Thorogood’s expression and shut up.

  Chapter 5

  THE PARTY ROOM was almost empty. Most of the Police Forensics team were still down in the garage, dusting, photographing, videoing, gathering samples. The guard was en route to hospital. A single police scientist in a blue plastic boiler suit crouched beside the corpse. The man looked irritated.

  I walked over. Darlene was on her knees, her face close to the dead kid’s back. The forensics officer was holding a plastic sample bottle in one gloved hand, a pair of tweezers in the other. Beside him in a metal box lay half a dozen more sample bottles.

  “She with you?” the guy asked without moving his head. “She’s really pissing me off. This is a crime scene.”

  Darlene treated him as though he wasn’t there.

  “We have clearance to observe,” I told him.

  “I’ll need that officially verified.”

  “No you won’t,” Darlene snapped. “But, if you insist, I’ll have my good friend, Deputy Commissioner Thorogood, remind you … Oh, and …” She nodded toward the box of samples. “I’ll need access to those too, please.” She gave him a killer smile.

  Chapter 6

  SUMMER RAIN HIT the windshield as I pulled the Ferrari out of the lot and headed for the North Shore. My mind was churning. Not only because
of the dead kid at the drinks reception. My head was buzzing with just three words: “The Bastard’s Back”. Mark fucking Talbot had returned to Sydney and he was going to get right up my nose, just as Private starts in business. I punched the wheel in frustration, glared at the girders of the Harbour Bridge and the memories started up, couldn’t stop ’em.