Killer Chef by James Patterson

Author:James Patterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2016-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

“Sorry, folks, we’re closin’ early!”

A chorus of boos and groans erupts from the line of waiting customers as Caleb starts hastily shutting down his truck. He latches the outside service windows. Flips off the deep fryer. Powers down the electric griddle. Padlocks the cash register.

He hates that he has to shutter his business like this—and dreads the tongue-lashing he’s going to get tomorrow from Marlene. But duty calls.

Because Caleb started making sandwiches right after his police shift ended that day, he still has his badge and service weapon clipped to his belt. But instead of a collared shirt, tie, and dress shoes, he’s wearing a grease-stained wifebeater and an old pair of rubber chef’s clogs.

Oh, well, he thinks, locking the truck’s rear door and hurrying down St. Philip Street on foot. The French Quarter is so swarmed on this hot, drizzly summer night with tourists and locals, bikers, and horse-drawn carriages, that even with his siren blaring it would take longer to drive the half-mile to his destination than simply jog there.

Caleb soon reaches it: Café Du Monde, the legendary open-air coffee shop on Decatur Street, nestled right along the banks of the Mississippi. It’s the location of his and Marlene’s first date all those years ago.

Now it’s the backdrop for a heinous crime.

Caleb notes the scrum of emergency vehicles and police officers blocking off the building from the boisterous crowds and gathering paparazzi. He shows his badge to a young officer standing at the scene’s perimeter. The cop raises an eyebrow at the detective’s odd attire but lifts up the yellow police tape to let him pass.

Caleb is instantly struck with an eerie sense of déjà vu. Just like a few nights ago at Patsy’s, he sees clusters of shaken patrons speaking with police officers, who are preventing witnesses from leaving.

And at a table over in the corner, strewn with knocked-over cups of coffee and a plate of half-eaten beignets, a forensic investigator is snapping pictures.

Of a well-dressed man and woman splayed out on the ground.

Both dead.

Caleb steps closer. The two victims look to be around the same age and same professional “type” as Marty and Elizabeth. The man is a bit stocky, white, and the woman appears to be at least part Asian. Their bodies are twisted in similarly unnatural poses. And their faces are frozen in almost identical masks of pain.

It takes Caleb all of six milliseconds to deduce that the two double murders are connected. Similar victims, similar MO, similar location. Could this be another crime of passion? A copycat attack? Or the beginning of a terrifying pattern?

Sergeant Roy Jardell—dedicated, but plenty cynical after nineteen long years on the force—approaches Caleb.

“Four bodies in four days. Unbelievable, ain’t it? Nice outfit by the way, Detective. You look like Emeril Lagasse on steroids.”

Caleb ignores the little dig. “Thanks for the call, Roy,” he says. “When Janine gave me the briefing I hoped—prayed—it was just a coincidence. Another couple killed while they ate. But clearly this case just got more complicated.

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