Run for Your LIfe by James Patterson; Michael Ledwidge

Author:James Patterson; Michael Ledwidge
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery, Rich people, Fiction - Espionage, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Fiction, General, Suspense, Thrillers, Suspense Fiction, Serial Murderers, Thriller
ISBN: 9780316018746
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2009-11-14T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 42

My new office at the Police Academy turned out to be a barely converted old locker room on the third floor, but who was complaining? Right off the top, I spotted two essential pieces of equipment, a folding table and a phone jack. There was even a touch of decor on the bulletin board -- a hotel surveillance photo of the Teacher with sniper crosshairs drawn on his face.

We were in business.

After I called up McGinnis and apprised him of the latest developments, I rounded up my crew of detectives. I was pleased that Beth Peters was in the group. I asked her to make copies of the Teacher's mission statement and pass them around.

"We need to get the airlines involved, Beth," I told her. "Send them the surveillance photo and have them send us ID photos of their pilots for Mademoiselle Monchecourt to look through. Concentrate on the international carriers. British Airways in particular. Call up Tom Lamb at 26 Fed if you think you need some federal juice. And let's try to track down the florist who sold that bouquet to our killer."

"Oui, oui, boss man," Beth said, batting her eyelashes teasingly.

I turned back to my group. "Now that it's just cops here, maybe we can actually get something done," I said, and started handing out specific tasks. I wasn't used to being in charge and it felt weird, but they all hopped to it and seemed eager to do so. What a concept -- people were actually doing what I asked. I decided I should try it at home.

I sent Nineteenth Precinct detectives back up to the Polo store and the 21 Club, to recanvass the areas with the photo and to interview all the employees they could find, including those that hadn't been working on the day of the murder. Maybe the Teacher had been to those places before, and someone could match a name to his face.

But they called back in to say they'd come up empty at both places. Both institutions had plenty of disgruntled employees and nasty customers. Just none that fit the shooter's description.

In the meantime, I checked downtown with Ballistics to see if the medical examiner had sent them the rounds that killed Officer Tonya Griffith.

"We got them, all right," the senior tech, Terry Miller, said. "The twenty-two-caliber was mushroomed, but I could still make out the five lands, five grooves, and the left-hand twist to the barrel. It has the same markings as the bullet that killed the Twenty-one maitre d'. I can pretty much ID it in my sleep by now."

That was a strong point in our favor. The second we nailed this guy, we'd have evidence lined up and ready to go.

During the lulls when I didn't have anything pressing to do, I sat and reread the manifesto that Cathy Calvin had given me. The penalty for obnoxiousness was now death? And I'd thought the nuns in grammar school were harsh. This guy might think of himself as the Teacher, but in truth, he was more like a vigilante.

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