22 Seconds by James Patterson

Author:James Patterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: None
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2022-05-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 56

I got behind the wheel of our unmarked Chevy, backed down the driveway, then headed north.

Shouting at the windshield, I vented to Conklin during our return drive from San Rafael. I told him how furious I’d been the last time we saw Swanson—as if he didn’t know. That I’d been frustrated by Swanson’s breezy manner, his obstinacy, his rejection of a chance to make amends. And to punish him, I’d slapped a target on him with my shout-out, “Swanson, the SFPD thanks you for your help.”

I hadn’t planned to say that, but it was no excuse. I’d known I was misinforming the residents of the C Block that Swanson had talked. Within hours Swanson was given notice. If he didn’t take himself out, his wife was a dead mom walking.

I told Conklin that I felt sorry for Kim Swanson, who was only guilty of having the appalling judgment to marry a cop so dirty there wasn’t a suitable word to describe him. Not to mention a man doing a lifetime stretch in maximum security with no possibility of parole.

Now he was dead.

I said, “Kim was left with a suicide note penciled on a scrap of cardboard.”

“And a little boy. And maybe the house.”

“Right,” I said, “no thanks to me. I might as well have knotted the sheet around Ted’s neck myself.”

Conklin did his best to console me, good friend that he is. He was so logical and clear spoken, his words stayed with me verbatim.

“Swanson was a stone killer, Linds. First, second, and third. You didn’t kill him. You didn’t threaten his wife. You blurted about seven words—and that’s all. So take it easy on yourself, okay?”

“Look,” I said to Rich. “I’m not making myself crazy because I liked him. I’m kicking myself because he probably had information that could have saved I don’t know how many lives. He may have been the fucking mob boss. And now we’ll never get that information.”

“Lindsay. You and I both know Swanson wasn’t going to tell us anything.”

Right.

While Conklin checked the car back in, I crossed Bryant to MacBain’s and got sandwiches to go. I carried lunch back to the bullpen and shared it around.

Alvarez said, “I’ve called back all sixteen people who left messages on the hotline. Not one had a verifiable tip, or even an interesting hunch. The hotline is now officially the complaint line—”

She was interrupted by Bobby approaching me. “Sergeant, I was transcribing a message for you.”

“Who called?”

My mind leapt to the worst. Had something happened at home? Was Julie okay? Joe? Gloria Rose?

Bob dropped off a printout. “I wrote it out exactly as he said, and I read it back to him.”

“Thanks, Bob.”

The message was from my CI Kenny Chen. He’d stayed in jail for a night or two, then bonded out.

Chen had dictated to Bobby: “I still have that torn hundred-dollar bill. Now I need you to make it a hundred thousand. Half down when I deliver the information you want about the guns. The other half after the bust.

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