12th of Never Read online

  Claire put down the ME’s autopsy report on Jane Doe 91 and picked up the second report.

  She read, “‘Faye Farmer, cause of death, gunshot to the head.’ Uh-oh. Here’s something interesting.”

  Claire looked over at me. “Faye Farmer was pregnant.”

  Chapter 113

  I WAS VERY damned pleased that we would have the victims’ bodies returned to San Francisco. That took away some of the stink from the abduction of Faye Farmer’s corpse and the mysterious disappearance of the ME’s nighttime security guard.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  All of us, Claire included, were responsible for getting justice for Faye Farmer and Tracey Pendleton, and that meant finding their killer and gathering enough evidence to charge him with homicide.

  Clearly, we were severely handicapped.

  Whatever forensic evidence had once been on the bodies of Pendleton and Farmer had since gone up in a thousand degrees of gasoline-fueled flames. Faye Farmer’s unborn child might lead to a motive—but it would be weeks before we’d know if there was viable DNA from the fetus’s remains.

  Conklin said, “Sergeant Rinker, what’s this about a lead to the shooter?”

  “I’ve got some crap-quality videotape. What other kind is there, right?”

  As the sergeant punched keys on his computer, he told us that Ely was a small town, not much in it but a café, a few Western-style brick storefronts, something called the Frosty Stand, and a gas station called the Stagecoach that held down the intersection of the highway and the strip mall.

  “The Stagecoach Gaseteria is your typical gas and food mart—three pumps and sandwiches to go. But here’s the thing,” Rinker said. “It’s one of only a few gas stations around here for about a hundred miles.

  “Here we are.”

  Rinker clicked his mouse to play the footage.

  The so-called crap-quality video was grainy. Still, there was no mistaking the black Escalade when it pulled off the highway and parked at the pump.

  Rinker said, “See, I can just make out two numbers on the plate, but they’re Ohio plates. Stolen off a car about three months ago.”

  We watched the driver get out of the Escalade, take his wallet out of his back pocket, and go into the gas station, presumably to pay. The angle of the camera showed us the back of his head.

  I was pretty sure I knew who he was from that partial view, but it wasn’t what you’d call a positive ID.

  Conklin asked, “Is there footage from inside the store?”

  Rinker said, “Would have been, but the camera was broke. So this is it. Now look, here he comes out of the store. And now he lifts his hand, waves to this guy parked out on the street.”

  There was a hulking guy standing next to a silver Audi that had pulled up on the roadside, just barely within the camera’s range.

  “That’s Cal Sandler,” I said. “Plays for the Niners with this man right here.”

  I stuck out my finger and stabbed the ghostly image of Jeff Kennedy, who was now filling up a red five-gallon gas container. I could make out Kennedy’s face this time.

  I thought anyone could.

  Kennedy put the gas container in the backseat of the Escalade, got behind the wheel, and pulled out. His friend driving the Audi moved out right behind him.

  Claire said, “Sons of bitches killing those women. A murder of an innocent person done to cover up the murder of an innocent person. Makes me sick.”

  “Three homicides,” I said. “Baby makes three.”

  Chapter 114

  IT WAS SUNDAY evening and I was alone in the bathtub with my thoughts.

  I had just come back from a meeting with attorney George Fenn and his superstar client, the former football hero Jeff Kennedy.

  Neither of them looked as self-assured in our little interview room as they had at Fenn & Tarbox’s extraordinary conference room only a few weeks ago.

  Today, Fenn blustered.

  Kennedy denied shooting anyone, claimed that the man in the gas station video wasn’t him, and that he was going to sue the city for defamation of character.

  It was a nice try, but no sale. We had Kennedy with the gas container, the Escalade, and we had a solid witness who wanted to keep himself off death row—Cal Sandler, Jeff Kennedy’s best friend and accomplice.

  It was a bad day for pro football.

  But it was a good day to be a cop.

  I was running more hot water into the tub when Joe brought Julie and Martha into the bathroom. It was a tight fit. Joe sat on the lid of the toilet seat and bounced our little girl on his knee. He asked me if I wanted reheated lasagna or if I wanted to go out to eat.

  “Easy one,” I said. “Please nuke the pasta.”

  Martha lowered her snout into the tub and lapped at the bathwater until, laughing, Joe pulled her away.

  I wanted to savor these last few hours of the weekend, just soak them up. When the phone rang, I didn’t answer it.

  Whoever was calling could darn well wait until morning. But Joe looked at the caller ID, picked up, and said, “Hey, Richie.”

  I said, “Tell him I’ll call him back.”

  “He said he’ll wait,” Joe told me.

  I stepped out of my luxurious bath, threw on a robe, and took the phone from Joe.

  “I’m off duty, Richie.”

  “You want to hear this.”

  There was something in his voice that told me not to blow him off. He sounded bone-tired, or in shock, or simply at the end of his rope. Whatever the reason for his call, it was damned important to my partner.

  “Then you’d better tell me,” I said.

  He said, “It’s … it’s …”

  His voice cracked, as though he were going to cry.

  “Rich. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Morales,” he said. “She got herself out of the hospital. She escaped.”

  Acknowledgments

  Our gratitude to these top professionals who were so generous with their time and expertise during the writing of this book: Dr. Humphrey Germaniuk, Medical Examiner and Coroner, Trumbull County, Ohio; Captain Richard Conklin of the Stamford, Connecticut, police department; attorney Philip R. Hoffman of New York City, New York; and Robert A. Wilson, MD.

  We also wish to thank Andrea Spooner for sharing the experience of a lifetime.

  As always, we are grateful to our excellent researchers, Ingrid Taylar and Lynn Colomello, and to Mary Jordan, who keeps it all together.

  I’m proud to support the National Literacy Trust, an independent charity that changes lives through literacy.

  Did you know that millions of people in the UK struggle to read and write? This means children are less likely to succeed at school and less likely to develop into confident and happy teenagers. Literacy difficulties will limit their opportunities throughout adult life.

  The National Literacy Trust passionately believes that everyone has a right to the reading, writing, speaking and listening skills they need to fulfil their own and, ultimately, the nation’s potential.

  My own son didn’t use to enjoy reading, which was why I started writing children’s books – reading for pleasure is an essential way to encourage children to pick up a book. The National Literacy Trust is dedicated to delivering exciting initiatives to encourage people to read and to help raise literacy levels. To find out more about the great work that they do, visit their website at www.literacytrust.org.uk.

  James Patterson

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9781448
108527

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Published by Century, 2013

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  Copyright © James Patterson, 2013

  James Patterson has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  First published in Great Britain in 2013 by

  Century

  Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

  London SW1V 2SA

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

  The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Hardback ISBN 9781780890296

  Trade paperback ISBN 9781780890302

  Table of Contents

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by James Patterson

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue: A Dark and Stormy Night

  One

  Two

  Three

  Book I: Three Weeks Later

  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

  Book II: Off The Bench

  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

  Book III: 103 In The Shade

  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

  Book IV: Eclipse

  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

  Epilogue: A Bad Day for Pro Football

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright