Juror No. 3 by James Patterson

Author:James Patterson [Patterson, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2018-09-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 39

SITTING IN THE parking lot outside a bar in a sketchy Vicksburg neighborhood, I was nervous. I was about to meet the man who could be the basis of our defense in the murder case.

Not the private investigator—I’d talked with him earlier in the week. He had set up this meeting.

He’d told me to wait for my witness outside a dive called the Twilight Inn. I was looking for a black man in his thirties, with a goatee, driving a late-model Volvo. He was a detective named Guion who worked vice in Vicksburg.

If ever I’d longed for a nicotine buzz, this was the night. But I’d sworn off Nicorette, decided to kick it altogether when I nearly accepted that cigarette from Lee Greene. I unwrapped a stick of Juicy Fruit gum and chewed on it. It made a poor substitute.

A Volvo pulled into the lot. The driver met the description the PI had provided. I tossed the gum wrapper onto the floorboard of the passenger side and grabbed my briefcase.

The bar was dimly lit, but even so, it was clear that I was the only customer wearing a business suit. I drew a couple of curious stares, which I ignored. My target sat in a booth at the rear. I joined him.

A waitress walked up. “What can I get y’all?”

The man said, “Bud. Draft.”

I smiled, trying to act natural. “Same.”

When she walked away, I said, “I really appreciate you coming out here to meet me, Detective Guion.”

He shook his head with a humorless laugh. “I gotta be crazy. This is the kind of exposure I absolutely do not need.”

The waitress walked up with two mugs of beer, and we fell silent. I reached into my purse for money, but Guion said, “We’ll run a tab.”

Once she walked away, I said, “I’m sorry for your loss. Monae, I mean. Miss Prince.”

He gave me an incredulous look. “Monae was my snitch.”

“Yes. So sorry.”

“My snitch. Not my little sister.”

I shifted in my seat. This was new territory for me. I didn’t know the dynamics of undercover police relationships. “I’m sorry. I mean, sorry that I misunderstood.”

I needed to get a grip, quit making so many apologies. Reaching into my briefcase, I said, “So how long have you been working undercover for the Vicksburg police department?”

He reached across the table and seized my arm. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t pull anything out of that bag. Not a phone, not a file, not a pencil. If you do, I’m walking out of here.”

He released my arm, and I sat back against the booth. “I can’t record this?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’ll need to take notes. For my recollection.”

He looked me up and down. “You’re pretty young. I bet you have a good memory. You’re gonna have to rely on that.”

I leaned in toward him. In a harsh whisper, I said, “You know I can depose you. Then we’ll have an excellent record.”

“That’s not the deal. I’ve been working my tail off to nail a crime ring in Vicksburg, and I’m not going to let you blow it wide open.

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