The Palm Beach Murders

by James Patterson

“Tim, a woman was murdered in Grand Central Station last night.…”

  My knees start to buckle. Wonder if it shows? No wonder there were so many damned cops there this morning.

  “She was an actress. And the reason we’re back here is she was a person a lot of you guys worked with a good while back.”

  I suck in my breath. Here it comes.…

  “Her name is Tiffany Stone.…”

  “Oh…my…God! The original CrawDaddy girl! The one we put in their very first Super Bowl commercial?”

  My world is officially fractured. The devil himself has decided to fuck with me.

  “They found her in the basement of Grand Central Station—with a bullet through her mouth.”

  I collapse against my desk, trying to collect my wits, and make some sense out of all this insanity.

  But I can’t.

  The second person I know has been murdered.

  Chapter 23

  Quinn’s not done with me yet. I sit on my desk for some stability.

  “I feel your pain, Tim. You must have known her pretty well.” Is he trying to empathize with me?

  “Not really. But I was on the CrawDaddy shoot back then, the first time I was with Paul. She was great. Hung out. Everybody loved her. Funny. Smart. Bawdy—in a good way. Hell, she ad-libbed half her lines in the commercial. It’s not right. Just…not…right.”

  “So, Tim,” he looks me in the eye, “that’s two murder victims with connections to the Marterelli agency. Any thoughts?”

  “Okay. It occurs to me that there’s something that could be helpful. Look, we’re a downtown, independent New York ad agency. Nearly two hundred employees. Highly creative. Break a lot of rules.

  “So it shouldn’t surprise you that a lot of these guys smoke some marijuana every once in a while. Some of them a lot.”

  He’s nodding his head. “No surprise there.”

  “For all I know they’re into other stuff as well…”

  Another nod. And insistent eye contact. Not exactly comforting.

  “I’m not saying I was one of them. But what I hear is most people got their stuff from Ramon. I think Ramon might have been the office dealer, the guy they went to for their weed. And who knows what else? Everybody loved Ramon. Maybe that’s why.”

  More nodding. He’s not saying so, but I can tell he’s still not surprised. These guys know more than they’re letting on.

  “That’s fairly serious stuff, Tim. Why didn’t you share this with us earlier?”

  He’s got me. “I should have, I guess. I really didn’t know for sure until just yesterday, and it didn’t make any sense to me at first.”

  Is he buying it?

  “Look, Tim. None of these things ever make any sense. Until they do…”

  Yeah, but not before one more person in my quickly collapsing world gets murdered.

  “Listen, Tim, I really appreciate your input. Rest assured, you’ve been a big help. I know we can count on you.”

  “Absolutely, Pete, anytime.”

  “Now I’ve got some things to follow up on.” We shake hands and he’s off again.

  Chapter 24

  I sit down and open my laptop so I can send out an agency-wide e-mail to see if we can raise some money for Ramon’s family.

  “Lenny?” He’s back. This time with Chris. Chris has got his blues hat on, which pushes his now unleashed locks close against his face, and he looks like he’s twisted as tight as Lenny. Unusual for him.

  “Chris, you okay?”

  “Well, Tim, not exactly. Not really. You sure are talking to the dicks a lot. You and this Quinn guy have really buddied up. What’s that all about?”

  “Yeah, dude,” pipes in Lenny. “What’s going down with that?”

  “Guys, what’s the deal? Don’t you trust me?”

  “Well,” Chris says. “You know, we’re all in this together, right? You know pretty much everything that goes on here. It’s no wonder these detectives keep talking to you.”

  These guys are losing it. So am I.

  “So, what exactly have you been telling them?” Chris wants to know.

  “I’m not telling them shit. Don’t have to. They already know. They know guys here at work smoke weed. And worse. They know most people get it from Ramon. They know that. So back off, guys.”

  Two guys I thought I knew really well are standing there facing me like total strangers. Pissed-off strangers.

  Then Chris blows me away: “Tim, don’t take this the wrong way, but you should know…I’m carrying.…” and he pulls open his jacket to reveal some kind of pistol stuck in the inside pocket. He’s staring me down, fully intending for me to take it the wrong way.

  “What the hell is that, Chris? This is insane. We’re friends, for Christ’s sake. I was just at your gig Monday night. What the hell?”

  “I’m just sayin’,’’ Chris says.

  Lenny’s got this smirk on his face. “Yeah, you know?”

  “Saying what, that you’ll shoot me if you see me talking to a law enforcement officer who has come to my desk, in full view of the office, to ask about a murder that happened right here?”

  “Whatever, man,” says Chris. “Just thought you should know.”

  What I know is that Chris has now got to be the number one suspect.

  I take a deep breath. Back to my laptop…

  I’m reaching out to my agency friends and colleagues to join me in honoring the passing of our dear, beloved Ramon. Some of you met Juanita—the love of his life—at the wake last night. She’s a strong and dedicated woman who loved and supported Ramon for many years. And now she’s left to confront life’s challenges without him—which is going to be difficult. So I’m setting up a website so we can pool our efforts. Please go to www.ramonmartinezpm.org and you’ll see the easy steps to contribute something. I know Ramon and Juanita will appreciate any help we can provide. I certainly do,

  Tim

  And tap Send…

  My phone rings. “Tim MacGhee,” I answer.

  “Tim, this is Chuck Esposito, WNBC, New York.…”

  “Ah…sure, how can I help?”

  “Well, there’s been another murder. Tiffany Stone, whom your agency hired several years ago for a CrawDaddy Super Bowl commercial.…”

  How the hell do these guys get this stuff so fast? “Yes, we…”

  “Would you care to comment, Tim? You were with Marterelli’s back then, right?”

  “No. Well, yes, I was. But no can do, Chuck. I’m sure you’ll understand. Again.”

  “Not exactly. But of course it’s your option. I may call again though.”

  Damn, these guys are persistent. Lucky me.

  Chapter 25

  I’m sitting here in my desk chair still trying to get a grip on what’s happening when my cell rings again. This time it’s Bonnie Jo.

  I tap Accept. “Hi…”

  “So hey, Tim. Thinking about you…”

  “Where are you, BJ?”

  “I’m home. Playing hooky.”

  And then she says, “Why don’t you come on over?”

  Okay, I admit it: Bonnie Jo Hopkins and I have a…relationship. And I’m not talking about the one at work.

  I’m not exactly proud of it. But with the stress I’m under…damn, it’s good.

  “I don’t know, baby.…”

  “C’mon, things are nuts there. That’s why I stayed home. And I’ve been thinking of you since I woke up this morning.”

  My temperature’s starting to rise. She has that way about her.

  “Get your sexy self over here and maybe we can help each other forget all about it.…”

  That’s all the encouragement I need.

  “Meeting Steve Zimmerman for early drinks and dinner,” I tell Mo on the way out the door, explaining why I’m leaving work at five—a final meet with the new business prospect from Weight Watchers before our pitch Friday.

  “Got it. I know you’ll be your usual charming self,” she says. “Se
e you tomorrow.”

  Bonnie Jo lives over in Tudor City, First Avenue and 40th way over on the East Side, near Turtle Bay, in one of the co-op apartments. A classic neo-Gothic building, it was the first residential skyscraper in the world. Fabulous old apartments. BJ’s is renovated, with a spectacular bedroom view of the UN headquarters and the East River from the twenty-sixth floor.

  I grab a taxi out on 11th Street. Don’t want to waste a minute getting up there.

  Chapter 26

  The security guy behind Bonnie’s reception desk recognizes me and waves me on to the elevators. Up on twenty-six I ring BJ’s doorbell and there she is, opening the door, slowly, to reveal her full, gorgeous, sexy…naked self.

  Takes my breath away. Always does.

  “Hi, Timmy,” and she leans in to me with a soft, lingering, open-mouthed kiss. “How nice to see you.”

  “How nice to see you, too,” is all I can come up with.

  “Come in, love, I have something I think you’ll enjoy,” she says, and leads me by the hand over to the couch where we sit down. She torches the weed in her pipe, takes a toke, and passes it over to me.

  “It’s some of Ramon’s finest.…” she reminds me.

  Perfect.

  We’re in no hurry. No need to be. Besides, there’s nothing like making love when you’re high.

  I’m about to be saved by a beautiful, talented woman, who will make us both forget the madness around us. Nothing else will matter, for a while anyway.

  We kiss. The high is taking hold. Mouths open, tongues searching. We kiss again, and she unbuttons my shirt and caresses my chest. Has me totally under her spell. Then it’s my jeans, and the rest of it, and there we both are, fully revealed.

  This time I lead her by the hand, into the bedroom. We turn down the covers and lay facing each other, and pull the other close. There’s a rush of blood and a flash of light until finally, we lay back on the bed, gazing into each other’s eyes.

  She lights up her pipe for another hit and passes it over to me, and we linger in the moment for a while. I’m starting to think none of this tragic shit matters, that it will all blow over.

  A delusion that’s only going to last another few hours…

  Chapter 27

  Bonnie Jo rolls her naked self back over to me. “Hey, love, why don’t you just stay here tonight, with me? I really don’t want you to go.”

  “Neither do I.” She’s absolutely irresistible. “It’s almost eight o’clock. Let me see. I’ll be right back.”

  I grab my cell phone and step into the kitchen to call home, without a stitch of clothes on.

  “Not again,” Jean answers.

  “Afraid so, honey. We are totally jammed on this new business pitch. I’m not going to get out of here until who knows when. I’m afraid I won’t even get to leave until two a.m. or something, so I’m going to grab a room at that bed-and-breakfast down the street.”

  “Oh, dear. Good thing they’re paying you the big bucks.”

  “Thanks for understanding, baby. I hope. Anyway, kiss the kids good night for me—tell them tomorrow night we’ll have dinner at that place they love, Pizza Pizazz.”

  “Okay. Be careful. We’ll be here. Love you.”

  “Love you. Bye for now,” and on the way back into the bedroom I get a text from Barb Lundquist, the recruiter—she’s sure no nine-to-fiver.

  Hey Tim—Linda wants to see you again, 8 AM tomorrow! Possible? Landmark Diner, Grand/Lafayette. Let me know ASAP when you get this.

  Can’t say it’s perfect timing. But I tap a quick response.…

  Count on it. Thanks.

  By midnight Bonnie Jo and I are spent, physically, emotionally. No more weed. We climb in the shower together and hold each other there for a good while, close and soapy under the steaming hot water.

  She gets out first and is drying herself when I absolutely blow it: “Hey Tiff—Bonnie!—hand me a towel, baby?”

  “What the hell did you just call me? Fucking Tiffany?”

  She totally loses it, shrieking, with fire in her eyes.

  “You two-timing asshole!”

  Now I’ve blown it. How do I tell Bonnie Jo that she’s not the only other woman?

  “Jesus, baby…we were just talking about her, it was a slip of the tongue.”

  “Bullshit!!” She’s not buying it. “You goddamned psycho!”

  It takes everything I’ve got to calm her down. And now I’m stuck here the rest of the night.

  I sleep on the couch. Doesn’t help.

  Chapter 28

  My iPhone alarm buzzes at six thirty. Set on vibrate. No sound.

  I slip off the couch, headed for the shower, trying not to make any noise. I see through the cracked open bedroom door that Bonnie hasn’t moved a muscle since I left her in bed last night.

  Showered and shaved, I put on a fresh shirt and underwear out of the hall closet, where I keep a few things for just such occasions.

  Normally I’d leave a note or something. But after the blow-up last night we are by no means normal, so I slip out the front door and take the elevator down to the lobby.

  The Landmark Diner is back downtown, below the agency. I take a cab to save time and Linda’s already there, waiting for me. We have another great chat over breakfast and I insist on picking up the check this time.

  At least, I feel like it was great. But truth is I don’t remember a whole lot about our conversation. My fight with Bonnie Jo is weighing heavily on me; we’ve never had that kind of trouble before.

  To think that I could possibly lose her hurts like hell.

  Chapter 29

  I get to the agency by nine thirty, close enough, but not before I go by the bank, again.

  Up on the third floor Mo greets me. “Morning, Tim. Paul wants to see you right away. He’s in his office.” The president is after me early.

  “Hey, Paul, good morning,” I greet him, sliding open the glass door.

  “C’mon in, Tim, and close the door, okay? We need to talk. These murders are terrible, unbelievable. The only way we’re going to be able to deal with it is by being frank with each other.”

  “Of course, man. What’s up?”

  “I need to know what you know about Ramon. God rest his soul.”

  Here’s a guy who founded and runs a successful, midsize New York ad agency, and he’s basically clueless about a lot of the people who work for him.

  “Okay, look. You know some of our creatives use a little—”

  “A little what?” he asks. Seriously? He doesn’t know?

  “Marijuana, Paul. Weed. A lot of them smoke it. You know that, right?”

  “Well, sure, I’ve heard there’s some grass around.…”

  “So…” I tell him, “Ramon is the guy they were getting it from. And other stuff, too. Who knows?”

  “Oh, my God. It’s worse than I thought. Much worse. Do you think that had anything to do with him getting killed?”

  “Of course I do. And I think the cops do, too. Which is why they’re all over the agency. And Tiffany’s murder only makes it worse. Apparently she was getting her drugs from him, too.”

  “My God—what has become of my agency? And I have to tell you, Tim—you’re making it worse yourself.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Paul?”

  “I know you’re looking for another job.”

  Oh, shit. Should have known that kind of thing doesn’t stay secret.

  “Paul…that was before all this. It’s not that I’m unhappy here.…”

  “Look, we’ve worked too long and too close together to tiptoe around,” Paul says. “This happens in our business, but I like you and so does everybody else here. We’d hate to lose you. And the timing absolutely sucks.”

  He pauses, then says, “So, how’s the search going?”

  I fumble for a response and say, “Well, yeah, got a couple of possibilities…I…”

  “Good! Glad to hear it,” he says. Really?

  I t
ake a deep breath. “Thanks for your understanding, Paul. And for your support.” What else can I say? Nothing, so I reach for the door handle.

  “By the way, Tim,” Paul says, “Bonnie Jo’s not at work again. Any idea what’s going on with her?”

  Chapter 30

  Home, finally. Late again, near eleven o’clock. New business pitch is tomorrow. Of course the kids are asleep, and surely disappointed we didn’t get to Pizza Pizazz, as promised. What about Jean? I pour myself a glass of wine from the bottle of Signaterra from Monday and find her in the family room in her nightgown and robe, reading. Or acting as if.

  “Hello, love. Can I get you anything?” and she finally looks up at me with an expression that is hard to read. It lingers somewhere between forced attention to the book in her lap and a question, probably about what the hell is going on with me.

  “No, Tim, I’m fine. Well, not fine. But here I am, which is more than I can say for you lately.”

  “I know, baby. What are you reading?”

  “Jesus, Tim, who cares?”

  “What’s the matter, love? Is something bothering you?”

  “Hell, yes, something’s bothering me. Everything’s bothering me. Lately I’m with you like six hours a day, all of it after dark and most of it sound asleep. Or trying to be. That’s no life. At least not the life we planned on. Or I hoped for.

  “And now another murder is all over the news. Another one—connected to your office! Did you know this woman?”

  “I know, it’s terrible. Well, she was in our first CrawDaddy Super Bowl commercial, and I was on the shoot. So sure, I knew her from that, a long time ago.

  “I know it’s been a little crazy these days, for us. I didn’t plan on it being this way, either. The advertising business is crazy. And where Marterelli is right now is even crazier. Especially with these murders.”

  “To say the least,” she says.

  “Plus, we need new clients, big time, and that’s on me. So I have to put in these insane hours to try to help give us a shot. To make shit happen—for myself, and for us, too. Which is what I told Linda Kaplan in our interview the other day.