The Palm Beach Murders

by James Patterson

  “Ted, huh? Well, yeah, good to meet you, Ted, you the guy with the stuff? I haven’t got long, Halsey said this was an emergency. I’ve never known an emergency that concerned diamonds, but there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. Let me see the stuff, Ted. Come on, break it out.”

  I know what Otto’s doing—taking the attention off me. By the time he’s through, Paolo is going to consider me an old trusted buddy compared to this twitchy weirdo. Which is exactly where we want him.

  Otto’s performance is kind of inspired, I must admit. He balances his manic Scorsese with a bit of Laurence Olivier from Marathon Man, taking his time when it comes to examining each (very fake) diamond from the stash I’ve brought. He tut-tuts. He looks at the same facet twice, three times, then a fourth just for good measure. He strokes his chin. He talks to himself. By the time he’s ready for a verdict, Paolo’s practically jumping out of his skin.

  “They’re real, kid.”

  Paolo exhales.

  “Halsey told you about my cut, right? No? Well here’s the deal, I take five of these off your hands. I don’t negotiate because before me, you didn’t know if you had real diamonds or stuff that ladies use on their purses and jackets, what’s that called, when you put bright little pieces of clear plastic on something.…?”

  “Bedazzling,” I offer.

  “That’s exactly right, Ted! You could have been bedazzled by Ted, but thanks to me, you weren’t. You got a problem with me taking five?”

  Paolo says he has no problem with that. Otto nods, takes great care to scoop five pieces of worthless glass into a velvet pouch, and then takes his leave. Paolo is so rattled by Hurricane Otto that I have to nudge him back to the business at hand.

  “So…you’ve got your payoff. Now what about the girl?”

  “Yeah,” Paolo says, sounding like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I’ll take you to her.”

  Chapter 23

  THEO (continued)

  The kid is not entirely disarmed. He has the presence of mind to ask for my gun, then searches me for a wire. It’s a rather sloppy search, though. I’ve had more invasive pat-downs from TSA. There are any number of places I could have hidden a wire.

  But I’m not here to secretly record Paolo. I’m here to see if he actually knows where Paige is buried, or if he’s trying to scam me.

  As he leads me all over the island, I begin to suspect it’s the latter. Paolo acts like a kid who forgot he was supposed to deliver an oral report to the class and is making it up as he goes along. Not too much farther now. Sorry, I get a little turned around in the dark. I’ve only been here in the daytime. I swear, just a few more minutes…

  I say nothing, because I’m looking for signs of an ambush. That’s the only thing that makes sense to me—some of Paolo’s hidden buddies waiting to pounce on me. And by the time I wake up in the hospital, the lifeguard will have long fled the island. That’s if I’m lucky. If I’m not, I’ll end up under the sand, just like Paige Ryerson.

  “It’s right over here.”

  We’re at an empty stretch of beach that nobody’s gotten around to developing yet. Good palm tree cover, and an empty shack. No other inhabited buildings within shouting distance. If I’m going to be jumped and dumped, this would be the ideal place to do it.

  Question is, how many punks am I going to be fighting? I’m counting on Paolo being either cheap (and hiring only one or two people) or not having many friends.

  Paolo stops to turn around. “You coming, or what?”

  Gradually I realize that this is not a trap, and that this lifeguard may actually know something. Paolo scans the beach, which is littered with beer bottles and cigarette butts and plastic cups—the aftermath of a party.

  Paolo points at the one beer bottle that’s upside-down and sticking perfectly straight out of the sand.

  “She’s here.”

  Which instantly depresses me. A beer bottle for a grave marker on a strip of dirty sand? A sweet girl like Paige Ryerson didn’t deserve this. Quinn’s voice is in my head: Imagine she’s your sister. I make a silent vow to avenge her, no matter what.

  Paolo looks at me expectantly. As if I’m just going to say, Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll take it from here. You go on back to the bar and have a few cold ones for me.

  “I need confirmation, Paolo.”

  “You didn’t say anything about digging her up.”

  “Considering the number of uncut diamonds I’ve just given you, I was hoping you might throw in that service for free.”

  Paolo sighs, then drops to his knees and begins to reluctantly claw at the sand with his bare hands. He’s in no hurry to dig up whatever is down there, so I get down there, too, and start helping. The sand is rough and burns my skin. But I don’t care. The faster I dig, the faster Paolo digs—he’s the kind of guy who can’t help being competitive.

  We’re only a foot deep when the smell hits me. There’s no doubt—there’s a corpse right below us.

  Chapter 24

  THEO (continued)

  She’s beneath a plastic tarp, about three feet under. The stench is overwhelming. I take shallow breaths. I’m endlessly creeped out by the knowledge that smell is transmitted by tiny microbes flying through the air and attaching themselves to the olfactory cells in my nose.

  In short: I have microscopic pieces of Paige Ryerson’s dead body in my sinuses. I may never forgive Quinn for this.

  After I blink the tears out of my eyes, I hold up the flashlight app on my smartphone to take a better look. (Though I would really, really rather not.) Mentally I try to compare the picture of Paige Ryerson to this…being under the tarp. I have a hard time reconciling the two. The girl has been under the sand for over a week now and the elements have not been kind.

  “So…we good?” Paolo asks.

  “This could be anybody,” I say.

  “What, do you think I’d bring you to some random dead body? This is the girl, I’m telling you, man!”

  I don’t say anything because I want to see what Paolo does next. Is he going to stick around to see what we learn about the body? Or is he going to flee the island like the guilty little jerk that he is?

  I also use my phone to take a series of quick photos and text them to Quinn. (Hey, why should I be the only one having fun?) Quinn must have been waiting by his phone with breathless anticipation, because he pings me back almost instantly.

  Need confirmation, he texts.

  OK. Tell me how, I reply. After all, I’m no forensic science expert. I’m barely qualified to tell someone if the milk in the fridge has gone bad. Dead bodies are Jana Rose’s weird little hobby.

  Look for jewelry, Quinn texts. Specifically a watch and a ring, given to Paige by her parents.

  As I peel back the clear plastic tarp, Paolo starts to fidget. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be touching her, should you? I mean, if it’s a crime scene?”

  “You watch too much TV, buddy.” The plastic is cold and clammy under my fingertips. I do wish I’d brought plastic gloves, just like the ones on those TV crime shows I was mocking. But on the corpse’s left wrist is indeed a sensible Marc Jacobs watch—the kind of watch proud, middle-class parents might buy for their daughter at the end of an outstanding academic year. I snap a photo and text it to Quinn.

  And on the ring finger of her right hand is a petite platinum ring with a ruby heart at its center. I think about how happy and proud she must have been when she first slipped it on.

  And then I think about the human monster who choked the life out of her, dragged her to this cold stretch of beach, and then chose to mark her grave with a dead soldier.

  Within seconds of my sending the second photo, Quinn responds: Got your location on my phone. We’ll be right there.

  The anger must be showing on my face, because Paolo is looking increasingly nervous. He’s brushing the sand from his hands and knees, slowly backing away from the scene of the body dump.

  “So we’re all done here
…right, man?”

  “Why? Are you in a hurry, sport?”

  Emotion is getting the best of me, I know. Quinn definitely wouldn’t approve. But you know what? Quinn’s not here right now. He’s not staring at Paolo, who’s been more than happy to profit from this young girl’s death. I want to take the same raw, sandy, bare hands I used to dig up Paige’s grave and squeeze his neck until his head pops off.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” Paolo says. “We had a deal.”

  I point at the grave. “And she had a life.”

  Paolo realizes that sticking around isn’t the smartest option at this point. He jogs away, looking over his shoulder every few yards to make sure I’m not coming after him. Believe me, I’m tempted. But my job now is to keep vigil over Paige, buried among these beer bottles and plastic cups. I sit down and stare at the ocean, trying to calm myself. I think about the cases we’ve handled as a team. Not one of them feels as heavy as this one does now.

  Quinn and Jana arrive. They don’t bother to say hello; they see the lost look on my face. Jana peers down into the open grave, and genuine grief washes over her face. Quinn, as usual, keeps his emotions buried deep within a lockbox in his mind.

  “Paolo split a few minutes ago,” I tell him. “We can still catch up with him. Pound the truth out of him.”

  “No,” Quinn says. “Let him go.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he didn’t kill Paige.”

  Chapter 25

  JANA (THE ACTOR)

  My dear Matthew, do you remember the first time I told you I’d performed autopsies and you didn’t believe me?

  We were out for a nightcap, and I dropped that little bit of trivia on you. You said it wasn’t true. I insisted it was. This was followed by a frenzied cab ride to Boston University School of Medicine, where you generously tipped our way into the cadaver lab and then offered an extraordinarily large tip (some might even call it a minor grant) for a fresh cadaver. You simply had to see me in action for yourself. It was put up or shut up time for me.

  So I grabbed the nearest scalpel and put up.

  At the time, you didn’t know that I was once cast in a pilot for a TV show called Flesh and Blood, where I portrayed a plucky yet brilliant medical examiner (aren’t they all). That show was never picked up, but I threw myself into the role with great élan. I took classes. I pored over texts. And soon I talked my way into rooms with real medical examiners who showed me the ropes. Or the intestines, as it were. The examiners allowed me to do a little cutting, too. It was glorious.

  I’ll never forget the look on your face as I glided the scalpel down the front of that anonymous corpse and proceeded to give you a tour of the dead man’s internal organs.

  In this bleak room now, however, the mood is much more somber.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” Theo asks. “I mean, there’s the ring, and the watch.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I tell him. “There are five stages of decomposition, and this body is in the second stage—bloat.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  “You don’t have to be in here, you know.”

  “No,” Theo says. “I really do.”

  This is what we both love about Theo. Beneath that swaggering, devil-may-care exterior is a human being with a good heart, who cares until it hurts.

  I begin my work.

  Fortunately, my dear Matthew, you’ve secured us an emergency trauma center, the one erected to serve the population if a natural disaster occurs here on the island. It has the official seal of CDEMA, the Caribbean Disaster Emergency Management Agency, and all the tools I need for a speedy autopsy. You were very thoughtful to procure a set of Paige’s most recent medical records so that I might make some comparisons to confirm her identity.

  “How do you know Paolo didn’t do it?” Theo asks.

  Quinn says, “A guilty man would have long fled by now. Instead, Mr. Salese stayed around to profit from his knowledge of the crime.”

  “Which means he knows who did it—which is just as bad.”

  “Not necessarily. Just because you hear about a certain crime doesn’t mean you’re an accomplice. Besides, he’s not going anywhere with those fake diamonds you gave him. I presume he’s going to learn the truth very soon, and he’ll come looking for you.”

  I interrupt the boys. “And when he does, I’d like a word with him.”

  “Why’s that?” Theo asks.

  “For a man whose alleged profession is lifeguard, he seems to have run into more than his fair share of dead people.”

  “What do you mean?” Matthew asks.

  “This woman is definitely not Paige Ryerson.”

  Chapter 26

  KATE (THE SOLDIER)

  Okay, Quinn—here’s the lowdown.

  We arrested the trust fund kid and his captain a little after midnight, just as the Hostile Wake-Over was preparing to leave port.

  Of course I knew Jamie Halsey and Jacob Kurtz would try to bolt. Once we allowed word to spread that Paige Ryerson’s body had been unearthed, it would only be a matter of time before the rich little snot and his captain either lawyered up or decided to split. An interception of port communications revealed the pair had chosen the latter.

  “Hands in the air!” I shouted the minute I set foot on deck, flashing my forged badge. “You’re under arrest!”

  Otto played the role of my partner this time around. His MO was to say next to nothing but maintain a steady, hyperalert expression that said, If you try to run, not only will I catch you—I will destroy you.

  Kurtz knew better. Clearly, he had been on the other side of a Miranda warning before. He put lifted hands, palms out, to indicate he wouldn’t be reaching for a weapon (to shoot his way out) or a wallet (to buy his way out).

  His young boss, however, was clearly a law enforcement virgin. Jamie Halsey’s face burned bright red, as if he’d been caught in the act of something naughty, and he began to stammer a weird blend of explanation and threat.

  “W-wait wait! We weren’t d-doing anything! We were due to leave tonight because I have a meeting in the morning. Ask Captain Kurtz—I swear it’s the truth. You can’t stop us! I don’t even think you have jurisdiction here. My father will make you both sorry you ever set foot on this boat!”

  Kurtz shook his head and muttered, “Jamie, quit it.”

  I nodded at Otto, who pulled a pair of handcuffs from a case strapped to his belt and approached Kurtz. Otto cuffed Kurtz in front, an indication that we could be civilized about this whole thing.

  “What’s the charge, Officer? Or is that Special Agent? Or perhaps some other title you guys made up?”

  Otto merely smiled.

  Halsey, on the other hand, was freaking out at the sight of the cuffs in my hand. He looked like a schoolboy who’d just watched his teacher pull out a whipping cane.

  “You’re not putting those on me. I know my rights. I get a phone call!”

  I shook my head. “Jamie, calm down. You still have the chance for this to go relatively easy.”

  Halsey turned to his captain. “Kurtz—do something!”

  “Kid, let her put the cuffs on and get this whole thing over with.”

  “No—no way!”

  And then he went for it. Some primal part of his brain made the calculation. Fight was impossible, so he chose flight. Perhaps he thought his youth, combined with a small element of surprise, would do the trick. With Otto busy with Kurtz, he bolted and attempted to go around me, out of arm’s reach.

  So I dropped down, crouching on my knees and using my fingertips for balance on the boat deck, and kicked out my left leg. His foot hooked over mine and BAM, down he went. He probably didn’t know what had happened until he kissed wood and blood began to gush from his nose and mouth.

  “Kid, I told you,” Kurtz said with a sigh.

  Within a second, I had a knee in the middle of his spine and was cuffing the brat’s hands behind his back—an indication that we could go t
he uncivilized route, too. His body began to shake, and at first I thought he was trying to throw me off. But then I realized he wasn’t fighting. He was crying.

  “W-why are you doing this to me?” he blubbered through tears.

  I removed my knee from his back but kept steady pressure on his wrists as I leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Because you took a young girl, a beautiful girl with everything ahead of her, and then you murdered her.”

  “I didn’t do it!” Halsey said. “I’d s-swear on anything I didn’t do it!”

  “You murdered her and then you and your captain buddy over there buried her body in the cold, wet sand with nothing but an empty beer bottle for a headstone.”

  “W-what?”

  “You put her family through more than a week of living hell, all because, what…she wouldn’t sleep with you?”

  “Jamie, for God’s sake, don’t listen to her!” Kurtz cried out. “She’s trying to psych you out!”

  “Please, please, I’m telling you the truth, I didn’t even know she was dead! The last time I saw her she was drunk, sure, but she was alive!”

  I pulled Halsey up to his knees. His face was a wasteland from all the crying and bleeding.

  “Well,” I told him, “we’re going to give you one last chance to see her again.”

  Chapter 27

  KATE (continued)

  The building looked official enough. Gotta hand it to you, Quinn—procuring a CDEMA facility? That was an effective touch. Even stoic Captain Kurtz swallowed hard when he saw the official government seal.

  By this time, I’d given Halsey a towel to mop off his face, allowing him to regain some semblance of dignity. But he was still petrified. I almost felt bad for the punk.

  “Come on,” I told him. “She’s in here.”

  The moment I pulled back the tarp, Halsey’s face turned white and then a strange shade of purple as he tried to hold back the tidal wave of bile rocketing up his throat. Otto, fortunately, got him over to a metal slop sink in the corner of the room before he could vomit all over the body.