The Palm Beach Murders by James Patterson (the read aloud family .TXT) 📕

to basics.” Here it comes. “There’s been three murders connected to the Marterelli and Partners agency, where you’ve worked for more than five years, this time around, and earlier, for some sixteen months when you first started with them back in 2004. By all indications, you are the main man there, the one with the best connections to and relationships with just about everybody there.”

“Well, sure, you know, five years is long enough…” but I’m interrupted.

“Correct. And of course that includes Bonnie Jo Hopkins.”

My gut tightens.

“What exactly is your relationship with Bonnie Jo Hopkins?”

“You know this, Detective. I’ve worked with her ever since I got there, most recently, and she was already there back when I started with Paul right out of the Marines. She’s the key, hands-on creative in the agency, so she’s involved in virtually every aspect of our advertising, from writing, to production, and including new business pitches. So I work with her all the time.”

“Right. What about after work hours?”

“Well, sure, we have long days, a lot of times. Sometimes some of us unwind together at a local pub or something. In fact a bunch of us went to hear Chris Berardo’s band just, what? Monday night.”

“What else?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Detective.”

“What else does your relationship with Bonnie Jo Hopkins involve?”

“Nothing, really. I mean, sure, we’re close. We share a lot of things, professional and even personal.…”

“Have you ever been to her apartment?”

My tightening gut twists its way up to my throat, which I have to clear.

“No, no. Well, wait. There was this one time when I helped her get a bunch of art bags home for an out-of-town client trip she was taking the next morning, but…”

“That’s it? That’s the only time you were at her apartment?”

“Yes.”

“MacGhee, we’ve checked the LUDs from her cell. And there are dozens of calls from you, and from her to you, most of them after hours. What’s that all about?”

My pulse is quickening.

“Like I said, we’re close. The agency business is 24/7. We had lots of stuff to talk about, all the time.”

And I realize my right leg is pumping under the table at a hundred miles an hour, and I hope he’s not seeing it.

“Put that aside for the moment…Now, I want you to have a look at something.” He picks up his phone, swipes it a few times, and holds it out to me. Video starts playing.

Jesus!

“This is the lobby in Bonnie Jo’s apartment. As you can see, the lobby monitor has you entering her apartment building. This one’s from two weeks ago.”

Yup, there I am.

The video cuts to the next piece—me leaving.

“And, as you can see from the time/date code, you’re leaving her building some three and a half hours later. Can you explain that—since you’ve just told us you were only there once, to drop some stuff off?”

“Right…” I gulp. Hard. “Forgot. We had to crash on a new business pitch, so I hung around so we could work together, till the wee hours, you know?”

“So you say. There’s more. But I want you to look at this one. As you can see from the time/date code, this is from two nights ago.…”

Holy shit!

“The last time anyone saw her alive…”

“Okay, look. Yes, we had a relationship. We had an affair, actually. For a long time.”

“Obviously, MacGhee. We’ve searched her apartment. We’ve got pictures. The hall closet is filled with clothes that are your size, that will no doubt have your DNA all over them. The bathroom is loaded with men’s toiletries, presumably yours.”

“Oh, my God. Fine. We loved each other. And yes, I was there Wednesday night. She was alive and well. Anything that happened, happened after I left.”

“Really? Here’s the lobby video from the next morning. You were there until seven forty-five a.m.”

“Exactly! And we found out at work a day later that she had been murdered. Which of course is plenty of time for the killer to do his deed after I’m gone.”

“The medical examiner’s report on time of death isn’t going to support that,” Quinn tells me.

“Detective—ask my colleagues—I was crushed, shocked, heartbroken when we found out. Jesus Christ, I wouldn’t kill her. I loved her!”

“A strange coincidence, all of this, don’t you think, MacGhee? But that’s okay, you don’t have to answer that. Now I want to ask you about Tiffany Stone, the actress who was killed in Grand Central Station Tuesday night, the night of Ramon’s wake.”

“Can I have some more water?” I need a minute to try to bring some order to the utter chaos in my head.

The detectives leave me alone in the room. It is a very long time before they return.

Chapter 37

I am about to be hoisted by my own petard, by the kinds of cruel coincidences that get the wrong guys accused. I search for some corner of my spinning head that can respond with plausible answers to these determined detectives.

I gulp down my water and ask for more.

“Yes, clearly I knew Tiffany…I hired her for that CrawDaddy commercial way back when.” Shut up, asshole. Just answer the questions.

“And just how well did you know her?”

“Not well. Honestly. She knew the creatives better, since she was in the business. She knew Bonnie Jo.” Uh-oh. Too much information!

But of course, if they know about me and Bonnie, they probably know about me and Tiffany.

“I mean…I knew her…but I didn’t really know her, if you get the drift…”

“Would you be surprised to learn that we know otherwise? We’ve talked to people. Clearly you had an extended, ongoing relationship with her, too. It’s obvious she was in love with you, MacGhee. Even CrawDaddy’s CEO knew all about it.”

“Sure. Parker Roberts and I stayed in touch for a while after the shoot. He was cool.” I babble on. “First time we met Tiffany out in LA he takes one look at her boobs and says, ‘Are those real?’ She goes, ‘Real expensive.’ From then on it was like a match made in heaven.”

“Stop the bullshit, MacGhee. How could