WMC 09 - 9th Judgment, page 20
“Warren, are you lost?”
“Sergeant Boxer?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“This is Commander John Jordan. I’m afraid there’s been an incident. I wanted to reach you before you heard it on the news.”
My mind skittered like a needle across an old-fashioned vinyl record. This couldn’t be about that hostage crisis in Washington. Joe couldn’t have gotten there—not yet. His plane had just lifted off. I looked at the television set through the wall opening to the living room.
Talking heads had replaced the football game, and I read the breaking-news banner: CHARTER JET DOWNED IN CALIFORNIA.
Chopper footage came on, showing a green valley blemished by airplane wreckage and a blooming column of black smoke.
The commander was speaking to me, but I didn’t really hear his words. I already got it. Joe’s plane had gone down. They didn’t know what had happened, why it had blown up or simply crashed.
The lights faded to black, and I went down.
Chapter 116
I SWAM UP out of the darkness, hearing Claire talking to Cindy, feeling something cold on my forehead, Martha’s paws on my chest. My eyelids flew open. I was looking up at the ceiling of my bedroom.
Where was Joe?
Claire said, “I’m here, baby. We’re all here.”
“Joe? Is Joe…?” I wailed. “Oh no. Oh God no.”
Claire looked at me helplessly, tears rolling down her face. Cindy grabbed my hand and Yuki cried, paced, and cried some more.
I was overwhelmed with a horrible emptiness, a pain so deep, so shocking, I wanted to die. I rolled onto my side so I couldn’t see anyone and covered my head with a pillow. Sobs poured out of me.
“I’m right here, sugar,” Claire said.
“Tell everyone to go home. Please,” I said.
She didn’t answer me. The door closed, and I took Joe’s pillow in my arms and rocked myself into a sleep that was more falling down a bottomless hole than floating in a dream.
I woke up not knowing why I was drowning in dread.
“What time is it?” I asked into the pillow.
“It’s almost five,” Claire said.
“In the afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve only been out for an hour?”
“I’m going to get you something to put you out,” she said. “I called in a prescription.”
I pulled the blanket over my head.
I came up from the deep again, this time into a roar of voices, cheers—What the hell? Was I still dreaming? The bedroom door opened, and lights blazed. Joe was standing over me.
I screamed his name.
Was it really him? Was it? Or had I gone insane?
Joe opened his arms, and I threw myself against him, feeling the wool of his jacket scrape my cheek, hearing his voice saying my name.
I pulled away and looked again to be sure, and now the room was filling with my friends, standing-room only.
“I’m okay, I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m here.”
I was crying again, and I was asking Joe to tell me what had happened.
“I was at the airport,” Joe said. “Ours—SFO—when I got a call from my contacts in Washington saying that the passengers on that plane had overpowered Waleed. It was all over. I could go back home.
“I was arranging a car. I didn’t know about that jet going down, Lindsay, until my driver turned on the radio and told me the news.”
I was helped out of the bedroom and brought to the table. Joe sat beside me. The food was rubbery and cold, and it was the best damned meal I’d eaten in my life—in my whole entire life.
Wine was poured. Toasts were made. I looked around the table, and it finally sank in—Jacobi wasn’t there.
“Rich, did you hear from Jacobi?”
“He hasn’t called,” Rich said.
We raised a glass to Jacobi’s new girlfriend. We ate Joe’s apple cobbler with gusto and, by the way, the 49ers won. I was weak from emotion and didn’t even try to stop people from clearing the table.
By eight o’clock, I was in bed for the night with my arms wrapped around Joe.
Chapter 117
THE TELEPHONE RANG several times that night and the next morning, too. I told Joe that if he picked up a phone, he was a dead man, and then I pulled out the cord to the landline, put both our cell phones in the wall safe, and changed the combination.
Joe and I took Martha for a run, and when we got back, Joe made ham-and-cheese omelets with leftovers. It was after noon, so we opened the wine Miles had brought, Joe sipping, looking at the bottle, and saying, “Wow.”
We had bought, but never had had the time to watch, the complete season-one set of Lost, so we pulled up armchairs to the TV and went through six episodes, broke for pizza and beer, and watched the news. We learned that the downed plane hadn’t been sabotaged. The cause was pilot error, terrible enough because four people had died but a relief in that it hadn’t been a failed attempt on Joe’s life.
We soaked up another five hours of Lost, and I suppose some would say it was a waste of a day, but Joe, beer, and fantasy TV, in that order, were what I needed. I fell asleep in Joe’s arms watching a recording of Bill Maher on the Late, Late Show with Craig Ferguson. I turned off the television and shook Joe awake.
“Huh?”
“I love you,” I said.
“Of course you do. I love you, too. I wish there was a better, more expressive way to say it. Too bad you can’t slip into my skin and feel how much I love you.”
I laughed.
Boy, did it feel good to laugh.
“I believe you, sweetheart,” I said.
When I woke up again, it was morning. I took Martha for a walk, and when we returned, I watched Joe sleep as I dressed. I plugged the phones back into their sockets and slugged down a glass of orange juice.
I strapped on my gun, opened the safe in the closet, and took out our cell phones. I put Joe’s on the night table and gave him a kiss.
He opened his blue eyes.
“How’re you feeling, Blondie?”
“Never better,” I said. “Call me later.”
Martha got into bed with Joe, and I went out to my car, remembering as I got into the front seat to check my phone messages.
I’d missed four calls, all of them from Jacobi. I was alarmed and swamped with guilt. I love Jacobi. Love him like the father I wished I’d had. What happened to him? How badly had I let him down?
I pressed the buttons and listened to Jacobi’s first message.
“Boxer,” he said, “I’m sorry not to be at your dinner party, but I’ve been in lockdown at the Hall with Tracchio and the mayor. This is the bottom line: Tracchio has had enough. He’s resigning and I’m moving up to captain.”
I was openmouthed and peeved when the beep cut him off. So I dialed up the next message.
“As I was saying, Boxer, you can have your old job back,” Jacobi said, in a message he’d left several hours before.
“You’ll be lieutenant again, with all the perks, ha-ha. But for damned sure you can call the shots in Homicide. I’ll get you more manpower, I promise you that. If you don’t want the job, I’ll give it to Jackson Brady. You have first call, but you have to let me know right away. The chief is making the announcement first thing Tuesday morning.”
The next two calls from Jacobi were brief: “Boxer, call me back.” The final one was last night. I’d missed a deadline I didn’t know I had.
What had Jacobi decided to do? Replace himself with me? Or with Jackson Brady? Clearly I’d lost my chance to vote. I tried Jacobi’s phone and got a busy signal. It happened when I called him the next time, too.
I started up my car and headed toward the Hall of Justice, but where was I really heading? I had no idea.
Acknowledgments
Our great thanks to these top professionals who shared with us their valuable time and expertise during the writing of this book: Philip R. Hoffman, Dr. Humphrey Germaniuk, Captain Richard Conklin, Mickey Sherman, Clint Van Zandt, Dr. Maria Paige, Dr. Mike Sciarra, Darcy Hammerman Dalton, Michael Burke, and Stephen Donini.
Our special thanks to our stupendous researchers: Lynn Colomello, Lauren Sheftell, Ellie Shurtleff, and, of course, Mary Jordan, the woman with twelve pairs of hands.
About the Authors
JAMES PATTERSON has had more New York Times bestsellers than any other writer, ever, according to Guinness World Records. Since his first novel won the Edgar Award in 1976, James Patterson’s books have sold more than 180 million copies. He is the author of the Alex Cross novels, the most popular detective series of the past twenty-five years, including Kiss the Girls and Along Came a Spider. Mr. Patterson also writes the bestselling Women’s Murder Club novels, set in San Francisco, and the top-selling New York detective series of all time, featuring Detective Michael Bennett.
James Patterson also writes books for young readers, including the award-winning Maximum Ride, Daniel X, and Witch and Wizard series. In total, these books have spent more than 200 weeks on national bestseller lists, and all three series are in Hollywood development.
His lifelong passion for books and reading led James Patterson to launch a new website, ReadKiddoRead.com, to give adults an easy way to locate the very best books for kids. He writes full-time and lives in Florida with his family.
MAXINE PAETRO is the author of three novels and two works of nonfiction, and the coauthor of seven books with James Patterson. She lives in New York with her husband.
Books by James Patterson
FEATURING ALEX CROSS
I, Alex Cross
Alex Cross’s Trial (with Richard DiLallo)
Cross Country
Double Cross
Cross
Mary, Mary
London Bridges
The Big Bad Wolf
Four Blind Mice
Violets Are Blue
Roses Are Red
Pop Goes the Weasel
Cat & Mouse
Jack & Jill
Kiss the Girls
Along Came a Spider
THE WOMEN’S MURDER CLUB
The 9th Judgment (with Maxine Paetro)
The 8th Confession (with Maxine Paetro)
7th Heaven (with Maxine Paetro)
The 6th Target (with Maxine Paetro)
The 5th Horseman (with Maxine Paetro)
4th of July (with Maxine Paetro)
3rd Degree (with Andrew Gross)
2nd Chance (with Andrew Gross)
1st to Die
FEATURING MICHAEL BENNETT
Worst Case (with Michael Ledwidge)
Run for Your Life (with Michael Ledwidge)
Step on a Crack (with Michael Ledwidge)
FOR READERS OF ALL AGES
FANG: A Maximum Ride Novel
Maximum Ride: The Manga 2 (with NaRae Lee)
Witch & Wizard (with Gabrielle Charbonnet)
Daniel X: Watch the Skies (with Ned Rust)
MAX: A Maximum Ride Novel
Maximum Ride: The Manga 1 (with NaRae Lee)
Daniel X: Alien Hunter (graphic novel; with Leopoldo Gout)
The Dangerous Days of Daniel X (with Michael Ledwidge)
The Final Warning: A Maximum Ride Novel
Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports
Maximum Ride: School’s Out—Forever
Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment
OTHER BOOKS
The Murder of King Tut (with Martin Dugard)
Swimsuit (with Maxine Paetro)
Against Medical Advice (with Hal Friedman)
Sail (with Howard Roughan)
Sundays at Tiffany’s (with Gabrielle Charbonnet)
You’ve Been Warned (with Howard Roughan)
The Quickie (with Michael Ledwidge)
Judge & Jury (with Andrew Gross)
Beach Road (with Peter de Jonge)
Lifeguard (with Andrew Gross)
Honeymoon (with Howard Roughan)
santaKid
Sam’s Letters to Jennifer
The Lake House
The Jester (with Andrew Gross)
The Beach House (with Peter de Jonge)
Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas
Cradle and All
When the Wind Blows
Miracle on the 17th Green (with Peter de Jonge)
Hide & Seek
The Midnight Club
Black Friday (originally published as Black Market)
See How They Run (originally published as The Jericho Commandment)
Season of the Machete
The Thomas Berryman Number
For previews of upcoming books by James Patterson and more information
about the author, visit www.JamesPatterson.com.
James Patterson, WMC 09 - 9th Judgment
