Malicious

by James Patterson

  The lock on the door was a little more complicated. When you’re desperate, though, a few locks can’t hold you. I laid my shoulder into the door and it almost came off the frame as it opened up.

  I flipped on the light. It was obvious I would never be able to hide the damage to the back door. Now it was all about speed. I bolted up the stairs and rummaged through a few drawers in the bedroom and a little office. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I had to find something that would link Tharpe to Pete Stahl.

  I worked my way back to the kitchen and had just about tossed the entire house upside down when headlights washed through the living room as a car pulled into the driveway.

  I prayed Tharpe would use the front door and not remember if he left the light on or not. The one thing I did know: I was about to get either some answers or a bullet in the head.

  Chapter 24

  I HEARD THE car door and realized my best chance to escape would be to scoot out the back now. But something kept me from doing it. The idea of my brother sitting in jail for Pete Stahl’s death kept my feet firmly in the hallway near the kitchen. I had to get to the bottom of this.

  I could see the front door over the first few stairs. As it opened, I eased back into a dark nook in the wall that looked like it used to be a linen closet. Like the rest of the house, there hadn’t been much renovation there. The door had been taken off the hinges and a few shelves removed. But I felt secure, at least for the moment.

  I could barely see the front door as it opened. There was a hesitation as Tharpe stood in the doorway and tried to figure out if he had left the light on in the kitchen. I could see the Marine in him as he surveyed the front room and took a step toward the stairs to get a better view.

  My heart was racing as I ran through the options in my head. In that moment, I was a burglar, but if I did much more I’d be considered a home invader. Neither looked good on a résumé. But at least I’d have my brother to talk to in jail.

  Tharpe peeked into the kitchen and must’ve seen the back door busted open. That made him reach with his right hand and draw his service weapon, a Glock semiautomatic. He held it up in his right hand and pointed it up the stairs.

  I knew what he was doing. I would’ve done the same thing. He was listening. He wanted to hear a footstep upstairs or the creaking of a door. He put his back against the wall and let his eyes scan all around the house.

  Then I saw my chance. He stepped away from the wall and was about to turn and climb the stairs. I made a decision and acted. That’s what the SEALs taught me to do. I stepped from my hiding place and swung my right hand hard, catching him in the side of the head. The blow knocked him off balance and his face hit the side of the stairs as he went down hard.

  I immediately grabbed his gun, which had tumbled to the floor. I pulled the magazine and ejected the round left in the chamber. Then I stuck the magazine back into the gun and laid it on the floor near Tharpe’s unconscious body. At least he wouldn’t be able to pick it up and fire it without racking another round into the chamber.

  I rolled Tharpe over to make sure he was breathing and realized I may have been searching in the wrong place. If I had something portable and important, I’d keep it on me. First, I rummaged through his coat pockets, then I felt his front right pocket. At the bottom, securely in place, was a single flat metal key. I pulled it out and immediately recognized it as the same kind of safety-deposit key I took from Alton Beatty. It had the number 68 etched in it.

  I felt like I’d solved everything until I thought about it for a minute. How could I prove where I’d found the key? What kind of evidence did I have to implicate the police officer in anything illegal? How would it help my brother? It would be my word against Tharpe’s. Although I knew I was beyond reproach, I doubt the legal system realized it.

  At least, since I wasn’t an official police officer, I didn’t have to worry about how I obtained evidence or built a case. What I needed were a few more breaks, but finding this key was a good start.

  I knew Tharpe couldn’t be the third partner. Neither Pete nor Alton would’ve trusted him. This key had come from Pete, and I was quite certain the beefy police officer had killed my friend for it.

  Tharpe started to stir and I took that as my cue to leave. I scooted out the shattered back door and raced to my car down the street. I backed away so I wouldn’t have to pass in front of the house. As I reached the end of the street, I could see Tharpe stepping through the front door and standing on his front porch. That son of a bitch was tough. Maybe all that Marine bullshit about being tougher than everyone else was true.

  I tried to make a stealthy getaway, but when you’re in a ten-year-old station wagon, trying to get away from a house you just burglarized, that’s a tall order.

  At least now I had my suspect.

  Chapter 25

  I SAT IN Tina’s Plentiful and downed a hamburger with two beers. After the night I’d experienced, I had earned a couple of beers. I had also earned the right to talk to Alicia, but I was disappointed to see she had a number of customers.

  It gave me a few minutes to figure out what I was going to do next. I had two keys to the safe-deposit box that held some kind of crazy drug recipe worth a fortune and at least $650,000 in cash. I wanted nothing to do with the contents of the safety-deposit box, but I was trying to see how I might use it to help my brother.

  When it was clear Alicia wouldn’t be able to sit and chat with me, I decided it was time to catch my mother up on everything that had happened. At least the stuff that wouldn’t scare the shit out of her. I intended to avoid the story about chasing a man with a gun or invading a cop’s home.

  I pulled up in front of my mom’s neat brick house. All the neighbors were home from work and the street and driveways were filled with cars. I rapped on the front door as I poked my head inside and called out, “Mom?”

  I stepped into the house and saw my dog, Bart Simpson, on the couch in the front room, wagging his tail at the sight of me. He was comfortable and didn’t feel like jumping down to show his affection. I understood that. My mom often kept Bart here at the house if I had to work in the afternoons. She liked the company and so did Bart.

  Mom called out, “Bobby, I’m back here.”

  I cut through the kitchen into the sunken family room and saw she was sitting on the edge of the couch, talking to a visitor at the far end of the couch. As I was about to apologize for interrupting, my mother turned slightly and I saw her visitor. It was Mike Tharpe.

  I stood for a moment, speechless. That doesn’t happen all that often, but I had to gather my thoughts. When he turned and smiled at me, I noticed his black eye where he’d hit the edge of the stairs. It was a satisfying sight, on a certain level.

  Tharpe said, “I was just telling your mom that I think I might have found some evidence that will get your brother out of jail.”

  “What kind of evidence?” It was clear my mom was buying this bullshit story.

  “We think there are two safety-deposit keys that can open a box with the evidence we need. The problem is the keys have gone missing. I was just about to ask her to call you to come over to help me find them. You know, since you’re such a good private investigator and all.”

  He had more subtlety in him than I thought. But I let a smile spread across my face so he knew I had both keys and understood what he was saying. I waited as it sank in and said, “How would that help? Doesn’t the district attorney have to be involved?”

  Now my mom jumped in, saying, “Don’t cloud the issue, Bobby. He says he can help Natty.”

  I said, “Mom, he can do a lot of things, but helping Natty is not one of them.” I could feel the mood change in the room. Not only did my mom stiffen, but Tharpe realized there was no way to do this quietly.

  Tharpe stood up and I realized he was still in the same clothes as at his house. He had known that he needed to find me. He must’ve seen me drive away from his house. Damn my big clunker. I had to get a smaller car.r />
  After my mom stood up like she was going to break up a fight between us, I said, “If you don’t think my brother is guilty, then who killed Pete Stahl?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “More than you would understand. He was my friend and his family lives here in Marlboro. I can’t let something like that go.”

  Tharpe let out a chuckle, but his eyes didn’t show any humor. “That’s very noble of you, dropout. But it’s a big mistake.” He stepped to the side and calmly drew his service weapon, letting it point at the ground. Not too showy, but he got his point across.

  It was one thing to threaten me, but no one, and I mean no one, threatens my mom.

  Chapter 26

  A KILLER HAD my mom by the arm and I had never felt so helpless. I had to buy time and engage this creep.

  I said, “What’s your plan? Kill a fifty-five-year-old nurse to cover a drug deal?”

  My mom mumbled, “Fifty-three.”

  Tharpe said, “No one has to die. Just give me the keys and all is forgotten. If not…” He raised the gun to my mother’s head.

  Suddenly she realized exactly what was going on and let out a little whimper. This was coming from the toughest woman I had ever known. My stomach flipped. Then I realized Mom didn’t look scared, she looked pissed off. Right then, I knew I had to act. This jerk wouldn’t forget anything. As soon as he had the keys, my mom and I would both be dead and Natty would spend the rest of his life in jail.

  My gun was two blocks away in my own house. Then I realized his gun probably didn’t have a bullet in the chamber. Had he checked his gun after I’d knocked the crap out of him? My guess was that he hadn’t.

  I raised my hands slowly and said, “Okay, okay. We can work this out.”

  I tried to calculate the probability of whether he had checked his gun. Was there a round in the chamber? I shook the idea out of my head. Whatever my calculation revealed, I couldn’t risk my mom’s life on it. I needed Tharpe’s full attention on me. I wanted his anger completely focused on me.

  I said, “Typical Marine, threatening a woman.” I took a tiny step backward and to the side.

  Tharpe looked at me and said, “A SEAL dropout is questioning Marine honor?” He lowered the pistol from my mom’s head and pointed it in my direction. “You, a goddamn paperboy, think you can cross me.”

  I took another step back. The gun followed me and he took a step away from my mother. Now my mom was behind him, and I felt emboldened.

  Tharpe said, “I should’ve taken your head off with that crowbar.”

  I reached up to feel the Band-Aid that was still stuck to my forehead. At least one mystery was solved.

  I said, “You’re not even smart enough to hold on to the key you stole.”

  Now the big cop was mad. That meant he wasn’t thinking. I pounced on the moment and said, “I took the bullet out of the chamber when I knocked the shit out of you earlier.” I saw the surprise on his face and knew I had been right.

  Then he acted. Quickly. His left hand sprang onto the back of the pistol so he could rack it.

  I barreled into him, knocking him back and batting away the pistol before it was operational. We tumbled onto my mom’s new laminate floor, and I got a good shot on his chin with a closed fist.

  He didn’t give up. He hit me with an elbow that made me literally see sparkles. I sprang away from him and to my feet. He rolled to one side and was up quickly as well. I glanced around the floor but had no idea where the gun had gone.

  We squared off. All I could think was how much I was going to enjoy this. Tharpe had a lot to answer for, and I was about to exact payment. Then I saw movement behind him. I heard a loud thunk and Tharpe dropped to his knees, then lay out flat on the floor.

  When I looked up, my mom was holding her heavy cast-iron skillet.

  She shook her head and said, “That guy is an asshole.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Chapter 27

  I HANDCUFFED THARPE behind his back and around the legs of a wooden chair with his own set of cuffs. When he came to, he tried to give us a tough expression, but it’s hard to do when you’re trussed up like a steer at a rodeo. It had no effect whatsoever.

  I pulled a chair close, but not too close. I eased into it so he could see that I’d taken his pistol, which I had found under the TV, and tucked it into my belt. I said, “Don’t feel bad. You’re not the first victim of my mom’s frying pan. She clocked my brother a couple of months ago. I don’t think he’s right yet. I wish she could back me up on the street sometimes.”

  Tharpe glared at me as he growled, “You understand the deep shit you’re in?”

  “You think? Let’s call the Ulster County sheriff and let them sort this whole situation out.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and started to punch in numbers.

  Tharpe said, “Wait.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe we can help each other.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “If I get the box and you let me run, I’ll give you a video statement that’ll clear your brother.”

  “You think that’ll be enough?”

  “Yeah. I’ll tell them I did it. I’ll confess to killing Pete. And then I’ll run for the hills.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I have both keys. Do you have the code?”

  That surprised him. He didn’t realize I’d figured out the details.

  Tharpe said, “I have the number of a throwaway phone that I can text. All I have to do is tell them when to meet us at the bank.”

  I took the phone from his inside coat pocket, and when he had pointed out the number, I texted, Meet me at the Poughkeepsie bank at 9 AM tomorrow. I looked at Tharpe and said, “Any idea who the silent partner is?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Pete Stahl and Alton Beatty knew. They never would tell me. It was their insurance.”

  A minute later a text came back that said, 9 AM tomorrow. Okay.

  Tharpe looked at me and said, “I’ll make the statement right there in the safety-deposit vault, on video, when I have the contents of the box.”

  I gave him a hard stare. “Then I’ll never see you again?”

  Tharpe smiled and said, “No one will.”

  Chapter 28

  IT HAD BEEN an anxious night at my mother’s house. Keeping a Newburgh detective in custody is a complicated matter. At first my mother insisted on calling the local sheriff’s office, but then she realized this was the best way to get Natty off the hook. I had snatched a couple of hours’ sleep while my mom kept an eye on the handcuffed Tharpe. Now I found myself with the big Newburgh detective handcuffed in the front seat of my car.

  We crossed the Hudson to Poughkeepsie in silence. I had taken a couple of passes in front of the north branch of the First Poughkeepsie Financial Services. I’d seen commercials for the private bank in four locations, but I’d never had a reason to visit it before. It operated like a bank, with a savings-and-loan division, and it provided a whole series of safety deposit and financial transaction options. A one stop shop for drug dealers, money launderers, and divorce attorneys.

  I parked in the front lot amid Jaguars and Cadillacs. At least my sagging station wagon was unique. The bank was a faux-stately one-story building that tried to project an aura of dignified commerce but came up short. The place was used by too many scammers and thugs to ever be dignified.

  Knowing the harsh gun laws in New York and not knowing what security was like inside the bank, I made a tough decision. I didn’t want a metal detector to get me thrown in jail and ruin my chances of saving Natty, so I hid my gun under the front seat. I was subtle when I slipped it down there and I let Tharpe believe it was still in the pocket of my jacket.

  Tharpe had his usual smirk when he said, “Getting nervous?”

  “About what? Anything goes wrong and you’re the one who’s in deep shit.”

  “What if our partner doesn’t show?”

  I looked sideways at him and said, “You kn
ow something you’re not saying?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Any ideas about who might show up?”

  “If your brother wasn’t in the can, I’d say him. So it’s gotta be some other lowlife dealer. I’ll probably recognize him.”

  We sat in the car for a minute. I checked out the surroundings. Poughkeepsie is a bigger city than either Marlboro or Newburgh and showed signs of growth. There was a completely different vibe here, with new businesses opening and only a few vacancies in the strip malls. A Poughkeepsie police cruiser passed with two officers in the front seat. It made me remember that technically, I was acting illegally, and I wasn’t sure how many people would believe my story about Mike Tharpe being a murderer.

  I looked at Tharpe and said, “We’re going to wait in the lobby.” I patted my pocket where I told him the gun was. “Don’t give me a reason to use this. We have an agreement. You make the video statement and I let you take everything in the box. You know I don’t want to have anything to do with it anyway.”

  Tharpe looked at me and said, “And you wait before you tell anyone, so I have a chance to get out of town.”

  I nodded. “Agreed.”

  He turned so I could use the key on the handcuffs and free his hands. Then we both eased out of the car, feeling each other out. Tharpe looked tired. It didn’t seem like he had any tricks up his sleeve. I let him walk just in front of me as we entered the bank, and I explained to a receptionist, sitting behind a cramped desk, that we wanted to go to the safety-deposit room after our business partner arrived. The pretty, young receptionist motioned us to a small waiting area, where we sat on hard plastic chairs. A velvet rope separated the waiting area from the rest of the lobby, which also served as the entrance to the other sections of the bank.

  I looked into the main lobby and evaluated the everyday business the private bank did. There were young mothers with their children and an old couple waiting to speak to a loan officer. Nothing out of the ordinary.