The 18th Abduction

by James Patterson

  He said, “I’ve heard the part where I help you. Where’s the part where you help me?”

  I said, “We’ll get there. First I want to set the table. Joe. You have that photo? The one taken in Djoba.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  Joe produced his phone, tapped an app, swiped some photos, then showed the screen to Petrović.

  Petrović said, “What am I looking at?”

  Joe showed Petrović the photo of him in the forest, people strung up in the woodland behind him, a throwing star in his hand. Joe read the caption—in Bosnian. I remembered the gist of the translation.

  Colonel Slobodan Petrović and men after taking the Bosnian town of Djoba. Petrović is proficient in the use of shuriken, throwing stars.

  Petrović said, “I hate to tell you, but that’s not me. Slobodan is my cousin from my mother’s side. Even so, this is such an old story. My cousin was exonerated, you know.”

  Conklin said, “Carly had wounds from a weapon like this. Adele had a throwing star in her back. I’m still new at this, but I think that’s enough probable cause for an indictment.”

  “Ah, you are amateurs, you know. You’ve got nothing on me.”

  What he was saying was just true enough.

  We had nothing on him in San Francisco, USA. Nothing. I pushed past the faint but creeping doubt and said, “There is evidence against you. You can count on it.”

  “You can count on this,” Petrović said. He looked puffed up and happy as he sat back in his chair.

  “I’m working with your federal government. I have immunity.”

  Chapter 107

  I didn’t believe Petrović’s claim that he had made a deal with the Feds.

  I said, “Yeah. Right.”

  And that’s when Jacobi pushed the door open and came into the room with a man I didn’t know. But I knew the type. He was fortysomething, tailored, hair combed back, looking like he’d told his driver to wait.

  Jacobi was holding a piece of paper with a government letterhead, and he looked disgusted. He said, “Petrović, your lawyer is here.”

  The lawyer introduced himself as Richard Constable. He said to Petrović, “Tony, I’m here to take you home. Lieutenant, please say the magic words.”

  Jacobi put his hands on the table, leaned down, and said to Petrović, “You’re free to go.” He stood up and said, “Inspector Conklin, please help Mr. Petrović check out.”

  When Conklin had walked Petrović and his attorney out of the room, Jacobi said to me and Joe, “Look. I’m as rocked by this as you are. Joe, a special FBI task force out of DC delivered this letter in person.”

  Jacobi slapped the paper down on the table so that we could read it. It was one paragraph long and stated that Slobodan Petrović, a.k.a. Tony Branko, was under protection of the FBI. It was signed by the director himself in a bold, unequivocal hand.

  Jacobi said, “I’d guessed that Petrović was given protection in exchange for some deal he made with the ICC. It’s clean-record dependent. His deal is good if he doesn’t commit a crime.

  “We know,” said Jacobi, “all of us know, that we can’t connect Petrović to any of those dead or missing women. We’re not going to get him deported on brandishing a weapon.”

  “Wait a minute, Warren,” Joe cut in. “We have those two dopes we picked up in Vladic’s house today. They work for Tony. They have to know everything about him.”

  Jacobi said, “I’ve left a voice mail for the DA. Until we have search warrants for Petrović’s house and business, and same for Vladic’s house, this case is suspended.

  “Go home,” he said kindly. “And in case I haven’t been clear, Boxer, no off-duty surveillance. Joe, Steinmetz has the same instructions for you. Stay away from this guy. We’ve been given our orders. Let’s not screw up.”

  He stared at our shocked faces for a second, then said, “Good job, everyone. Sorry about this.”

  I was in a rage. I stood up fast, knocking over my chair, saying, “We can’t just drop this like it never happened, Jacobi. Susan and Anna—”

  “Trust me, Boxer, it’s not over, but our hands are tied right now. Go home. Get some sleep. Tell Conklin the same.”

  He had to be kidding.

  Were those two women bound and gagged inside the trunk of a car? Were they going to get the night off ?

  Jacobi shook his finger at me, emphasizing, I mean it. Then he walked out of the room.

  Chapter 108

  Joe and I took Martha for a nice long walk at dawn, both of us fuming and swearing for a good half hour.

  Back home, we cooled off with a pint of ice cream, followed by chilled California Pinot. After that, our clothes came off and we leaned on each other under a hot shower. The sun was fully up when we dove into bed, and speaking for myself, I slept like I was in a coma.

  Sometime later Joe gently shook my arm until I woke up. He was holding my phone. “Jacobi,” he said.

  I grunted “Hey” into the speaker holes, and Jacobi said, “I’ve got news for both of you. I’m downstairs. I brought coffee cake.”

  Joe filled the coffeepot. I put on jeans and a T-shirt and was ready for Jacobi when the doorbell rang.

  Back then, I’d known Jacobi for ten years. Some of that time I worked for him. Some of that time he worked for me. But most of those years we were partners and spent untold hours patrolling the district in our squad car. We talked about everything, investigating crimes that were unforgettable and searing and educational. Working with Jacobi made me the cop I am today.

  I know Jacobi.

  And when he walked into the apartment that morning, I couldn’t read his expression at all.

  We went to the kitchen island, and immediately Joe said, “I’ll be right back. I’ll just run Martha down to the corner.”

  It took him longer to get back than I expected, and when he returned, Jacobi and I were well into the coffee and cake. After Joe helped himself, Jacobi gave us the reason for his visit.

  He said, “After I sent you all home, Marko Vladic was picked up for that broken headlight. The patrolmen were sharp. Saw that there was a BOLO out for him, as a suspect in a kidnapping, and brought him in. First thing out of Vladic’s mouth was, ‘I want a deal.’”

  I said, “Oh, really. What was the offer?”

  “He said he knew where Anna and Susan were and he’d reveal that location in exchange for immunity. I told him, ‘I want the women first, and after that, we’ll talk to the DA. ASAP.’ He said he didn’t know if they’d live much longer.”

  I felt my heart seize up.

  Joe said, “Jesus Christ,” and put his head in his hands.

  Jacobi said, “I know, I know,” and then he went on.

  “I told Vladic, okay, I’d give him a deal in writing. He had to give the women to us now, and I wanted evidence and testimony that Petrović killed Myers and Saran. He agreed to giving up the women. That shit told me, ‘I’ll give you those bitches, but I’m not going to say a word against Tony.’”

  I said, “Crap. And you said?”

  “I said okay.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Joe.

  “I said okay, release the women to me, and I’ll go to work for you. I wrote it down for him,” Jacobi said. “I made it good. I swore on the authority vested in me by the state of California that I would negotiate on his behalf with the district attorney and the governor and the Federal Bureau of Investigation in exchange for his cooperation. I got Chi to type it up on my letterhead, and I signed it with a flourish. Chi witnessed it, and I had Vladic sign and date it, too.

  “Then that little turd says to me, ‘This doesn’t seem airtight.’

  “I say, ‘Chi. You’re a notary, right?’ He starts to fumble it, says, ‘I don’t know where my stamp is.’ As soon as he says that, he remembers. Brenda has one of those old notary public stamps she uses as a paperweight.”

  “I’ve seen it,” I said. “Weighs about three pounds. You push down on the handle a
nd it crimps the paper. Makes a seal.”

  “Exactly. Chi gets it from Brenda’s desk, signs his name, crimps the deal sheet, and pronounces it as good as gold. It’s a seal for the DMV circa 1939, but never mind. I make a copy, wave the original at Vladic, and tell him he gets the waiver when the two women are in our custody.”

  I said, “Jacobi. For God’s sake. Did he give them up?”

  “Yes, my friends, he did. I called fire and rescue, and those guys chopped a big hole in the stage at Skin and pulled those poor women out from the secret compartment.”

  Joe shouted, “We’ve got them? They’re alive?”

  “They’re at Metro Hospital. Banged up and I’m going to say traumatized, but we have them. Susan and Anna are alive.”

  Chapter 109

  The lighting in the glass stalls lining the ICU was purposely dim, and the patients in their adjustable beds were completely still.

  The on-duty nurse told us, “She just had surgery a few hours ago. She’s doing as well as can be expected, after the internal bleeding, but she’s heavily medicated and may not know that you’re there. Only one of you can be in her room at a time.”

  Joe said, “If she speaks, we both have to be there. It’s police business.”

  The nurse shook her head disapprovingly, then, “You’ve got five minutes. Do not stress her out.”

  She led us to one of the stalls and slid open the glass door. I said, “Joe, she knows you. You go. I’ll wait here.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  I stood just outside the narrow room and looked in at Anna Sotovina. Her eyes were closed. Her head had been shaved. Innumerable tubes were going into her arms and under the blanket, and electrodes and wires transmitted to monitors that recorded her vital signs.

  The scar on Anna’s face highlighted what a courageous and indomitable person she was. A fighter. A survivor.

  I’d been so worried that seeing her alive filled me with a wave of relief and something like love.

  She’d been kicked in the gut, suffered a concussion and internal bleeding, with six broken ribs, but she was going to make it. And all of my fear and worry had been worth it.

  I reached out with both hands and touched the glass.

  We did it, Anna. We got you out.

  Tears came up and I clapped my hands over my eyes. When the feeling subsided, I looked at Anna, her arms stuck with needles, and I thought how good it was that she was not in pain.

  Joe sat down next to Anna’s bed. He was speaking, but I couldn’t hear his words, and it looked to me as though Anna couldn’t hear him, either. He put his hand around her wrist. I thought he was preparing to say good-bye. And then her eyes opened. She turned to Joe and reached for him with one arm.

  He leaned to her and hugged her very gently.

  I was surprised to see this affection between them, and I have to admit to feeling a twinge of possessiveness. But I understood. She’d been through hell. He cared about her. He straightened up, all the while keeping his hand around her wrist.

  Anna was speaking to Joe. She’d been speaking for more than a few minutes, slowly, deliberately, checking with her eyes to see if she’d been understood. I read her lips when she said, “I’m sorry. Thank you, Joe.”

  He said something to her, then turned to where I was clinging to the glass wall and pointed to me. Anna’s face brightened with recognition.

  She said, “Thank you, Lindsay,” or at least that’s how it seemed to me. Tears jumped out of my eyes then and I couldn’t hold them back. This was Anna Sotovina’s lucky day, and it was pretty great for me, too.

  I thought I might go in and speak to her, when the nurse stepped past me and knocked on the glass door.

  She said to Joe, “I’m sorry. Our patient needs to rest.”

  Joe stood up and said, “I’ll be back tomorrow, Anna. Get some sleep.”

  I waved good-bye, and then I could barely wait for us to get into the elevator.

  “How did she seem to you?” I asked my husband.

  He took my hand, squeezed it.

  “She was barely conscious, under the influence of pain meds, and probably confused. She remembers what she went through inside the house on Pine, but those memories have been fused with older memories. She mentioned the hotel in Djoba. She doesn’t want to talk about any of it. Especially not Petrović.”

  But we need her to tell us about Petrović. We need her testimony.

  Joe knew quite well what I was thinking.

  “I’m not going to push her,” he said. “Anna said she’ll only talk to the International Criminal Court.”

  “But that’s the court that freed Petrović. They made a deal with him.”

  Joe said, “Let’s meet Susan. Okay?”

  Chapter 110

  It was the same hospital, on a different floor, and the mood in the room couldn’t have been more different.

  Susan was in her bed wearing a pretty pink robe, and her devoted sister, Ronnie, was beside her. Balloons floated above the footboard, a great number of flower-filled vases were lined up on the windowsill, and Conklin and Jacobi were seated at the side of her bed.

  A cheer went up for me and Joe when we came through the doorway. If I’d been connected to a mood monitor, the green line would have spiked. It felt that good.

  Conklin introduced us to Susan.

  “This is my partner, Lindsay Boxer, and FBI special agent Joe Molinari.”

  Susan was lovely, with strawberry-blond hair and pale skin and a smile that showed how glad she was to be alive.

  She said, “I’ve heard so much about you, Lindsay. I think I would recognize you anywhere,” and stretched out her arms. “Thank you so much for everything.”

  I hugged her, and so did Joe. We told her we had just left Anna, who was speaking and recovering.

  There was relief and some laughter, and for a moment I felt giddy, as if I’d been drinking champagne. Anna and Susan were alive! I was still having aftershocks from the takedown at the house on Pine, but this was a welcome bright moment.

  And finally we had to get into the hard part.

  Jacobi said, “Ronnie. Would you mind if we spent about five minutes alone with Susan?”

  Ronnie murmured, “Not at all,” and exited gracefully.

  Jacobi asked Susan to tell us how she’d come to be in that house on Pine, and to explain her connection to Petrović.

  We were all gathered in chairs around her as Susan told of meeting a man at the Bridge, Tony Branko. She talked about how he’d bought her drinks, took her out to dinner twice, sold her drugs, and then offered her a loan. Later he told her how she could pay it back. She said it was debasing, that the amount she owed escalated due to interest, but she thought she was nearly paid up. But no.

  And she skipped from dancing at Skin to the night she and her friends Adele and Carly were abducted. She described the endless days and nights in the house, and she spared no detail: the darkness, the rules, the faceless men, what they demanded, and the punishments.

  Susan skimmed over the deaths of Carly and Adele, but I felt her unspeakable pain. She was saying so much without saying it all.

  When she reached the most recent part of her story, the second abduction, she said, “Anna fought Marko, but he’s a soldier. He kicked her, picked up a chair and slammed it against her head. I didn’t fight. I was sure he would kill us. He tied us both up and shoved us under the stage. I tried to kick through the boards, but it was hopeless. A lot of time went by. I told Anna we were going to get out, and Anna didn’t answer me anymore. Her breathing was so faint, and then I heard men’s voices. ‘Is anyone here?’ I screamed and screamed.”

  Finished with her story, Susan stopped talking.

  There was a silence that no one knew how to break.

  So Susan did it.

  She said to all of the cops grouped around her bed, “How can I help with your case against these bastards? What else do you want to know?”

  I said, “The man you know as Tony
Branko has a get-out-of-jail pass from government agencies here and overseas. We need evidence that he committed a crime. We need your help with that.”

  Susan let out a long breath, thought about it for a second, and said, “Tony is out of jail now?”

  “Yes. He’s free and enjoying his wonderful life.”

  She said, “Well, I don’t know if I have evidence. I don’t have photos or recordings or anything like that. But I can tell you that he raped all of us repeatedly. Him and Marko Vladic.”

  “We know him,” said Conklin.

  “Good. And some of the waiters at Tony’s were in on it. They lived in that house and they all…did what they did. We couldn’t get out, you know? They kept us locked up and they hurt us. We didn’t know when we might die.”

  Susan’s voice broke, and tears spilled down her cheeks. It was terrible to see the transformation from the happy young woman she’d seemed to be only moments ago. All smiles and flowers.

  I wondered if she’d ever truly be all smiles and flowers again. Still, like Anna, Susan Jones was a fighter.

  And she was alive.

  “You’ll testify to what they did to you?” Jacobi asked her.

  “Of course I will. But I don’t know how I can prove any of it.”

  “Leave that to us,” Jacobi said.

  Chapter 111

  Claire texted our task force: Bombshell briefing, my office @ 8am.

  By eight the next morning, all six of us were crammed into Claire’s office at the morgue. Jacobi and Steinmetz had gotten there first and had taken the chairs. Jacobi tried to give me his seat, but his knees were going, so I thanked him anyway and stood against the wall with Joe, Diano, and Conklin.

  Claire was behind her desk, wearing bloody blue scrubs, her hair in a cap. She stripped off her gloves, opened a folder, pulled out two items, and placed them faceup on her desk.

  One was a photo enlargement of the bite mark on Carly Myers’s neck that she’d taken at the autopsy. The second was the acetate tracing she’d made of the bite mark, the actual size for her records.