The Summer House
- Автор: Паттерсон Джеймс, Дюбуа Брендан
- Год: 2020
- Язык: английский
- Год: Little, Brown and Company
- ISBN: 978-0-316-53955-5
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «The Summer House». Краткое содержание книги:
To ensure that justice is done, the Army sends Major Jeremiah Cook, a veteran and former NYPD cop, to investigate. But the major and his elite team arrive in sweltering Georgia with no idea their grim jobs will be made exponentially more challenging by local law enforcement, who resists the Army’s intrusion and stonewall them at every turn.
As Cook and his squad struggle to uncover the truth behind the condemning evidence, the pieces just won’t fit — and forces are rallying to make certain damning secrets die alongside the victims in the murder house. With his own people in the cross-hairs, Cook takes a desperate gamble to find answers — even if it means returning to a hell of his own worst nightmares...
Like now.
“You’ll get a guilty plea from me, Mr. District Attorney, and in exchange, you’ll let my two guys go free. Completely and one hundred percent off the hook. Got that?”
The JAG lawyer says, “Sergeant Jefferson, you can’t do this.”
“Sure I can,” he says, smiling. “Mr. District Attorney here, give him some time. He can draw up all the legal papers and I’ll sign them. But you, Mr. JAG, I need you to look over them, cut through the legal mumbo-jumbo, and you tell me, in straight Army talk, that what I’m signing is what I want. I plead guilty to the murders, take my sentence like a man, and my two guys get freed, and nothing happens to them down the road. Not a damn thing.”
Slate says, “I can’t guarantee that the Department of Justice won’t want to look into it if there’s a public outcry. The other two Rangers might be charged with federal offenses.”
Jefferson says, “That’s out of your control. That’s okay. I’m a reasonable guy.”
The JAG lawyer turns to Slate and says, “You can’t be considering this! This isn’t justice!”
The district attorney doesn’t say anything.
Jefferson says, “Sure he’s considering it, Captain Pierce. Why not? He can say he got a conviction without the pain or expense of a lengthy trial, I take the fall, he looks good to the voters, and justice is done.”
“But the forensic evidence...” the JAG lawyer says.
Jefferson says, “I’ve heard some about the forensic evidence. All points to me, right? Nothing connecting the squad.”
The district attorney nods. “Seems that way.”
“Wait,” the Army captain says. “There was a witness, seeing you leave that place with at least one other Ranger.”
The district attorney says, “Well, that’s true, Captain, but... just because he was at the scene doesn’t mean he took part in the killing.”
Jefferson nods, feels that the district attorney is coming his way. “My fingerprints are in that house. Empty shell casings from my weapon. And what those clowns did to my stepdaughter... the district attorney can step up before the judge, say he got a deal, and I murdered all those folks because I snapped. Right? Every time there’s a war, there are always stories about the crazy vets who come back and lose it. I’m just the latest one. Right? I found out my daughter nearly died from an OD, and I snapped. Went in there and murdered everyone. The end.”
Jefferson waits.
The JAG attorney says, “This isn’t right.”
The district attorney says, “You heard the staff sergeant. You’re just here as a witness, not to act as his defense, Captain Pierce.”
Jefferson says, “That’s right, Captain. And if you don’t cooperate, well, I’ll get somebody else in here to do the job. But one way or another, it’s going to happen. The district attorney is going to draw up a plea agreement that I’ll sign, and he’s going to write up some official papers that my guys are going to be cut loose, with no chance of any prosecution, today or tomorrow or fifty years from now.”
A pause. He adds, “What do you say, Mr. District Attorney? Want to get my guilty plea? Save the county the expense of a trial? Get this case put away day after tomorrow when I appear before the judge? Help you get reelected?”
The district attorney smiles.
“Son, you got yourself a deal.”
Chapter 61
Special Agent Connie York is in her motel room, sitting cross-legged on the saggy and scratchy platform that claims to be a bed, when there’s a heavy knock on the door. Her laptop is in front of her, and she’s trying to figure out what time Major Cook is getting into Bagram — and why in hell Afghanistan insists on having their time zone thirty minutes off, instead of on the hour like other countries. She puts her laptop aside and goes to answer the door.
Standing outside by the door is the motel’s manager, a squat, greasy-looking man named Farnsworth wearing dark-green pants, a white T-shirt, and suspenders. A taller, skinnier man wearing stained gray dress pants, a white dress shirt, and a blue necktie is standing next to the manager, and a uniformed deputy sheriff is standing just a few feet away.
“Yes?” she asks.
Farnsworth rubs his chubby hands together, looks embarrassed, and says, “Well, er, Mrs. York, I—”
“Special Agent York, please,” she says. “What’s wrong?”
The manager looks at the other men for support. “Well, I’m sorry, we have a situation here. This is Henry Abbott, the health inspector for the county, and he’s got an official order, and I’m sorry, I have to follow what he has to say.”
Connie knows exactly what’s coming and says, “What is it, Mr. Abbott? Mold in the walls? Poor electrical connections?”
He shakes his head, holds out a folded sheet of paper. “Sprinkler system out of order in this wing of the motel. Sorry. It’s a health hazard indeed. If a fire were to break out, you folks could be seriously injured. Or worse.”
The door next to hers swings open, and Special Agent Manuel Sanchez comes out, yawning, scratching at his lower back, and then instantly stopping at seeing the three men outside Connie’s room. He steps over and says, “What’s going on?”
Connie says, “We’re being kicked out. For health reasons. It seems the sprinkler system in this place is out of order, and the county is ordering us to leave our rooms.”
Sanchez looks at the deputy sheriff. “And that fella in the nice brown-and-tan uniform is going to make sure we comply. Right, Deputy?”
The deputy says, “Just the law, folks. You need to depart the premises straightaway. Please don’t make any trouble.”
Connie thinks of her meeting with the local newspaper reporter, only a few hours from now.
“No, at the moment we won’t do that,” she says. “Mr. Farnsworth, any chance you have some spare rooms on the other side of the motel?”
He shakes his head. “Not a one. Not with all those damn reporters.”
“And can you recommend any other place in the county where we can stay?”
For the briefest of moments, she sees the manager look at the deputy, and the deputy looks back, and there, without a word, is the answer.
“I see,” she says. “Sanchez, start packing. When Pierce and Huang get back, they’ll do the same.”
An hour later, after Pierce has briefed her and the others on Jefferson’s plan to plead guilty in less than two days — Good Lord, what a day this has turned out to be — she and the men are outside in the dark of the parking lot, luggage at their feet, standing next to their rental Fords. While the motel manager and the health inspector have left, the deputy sheriff has remained, casually leaning against the front fender of his cruiser.
Sanchez says, “Sorry, Connie — I mean, ma’am — there’s not a single damn motel room available anywhere near here. The nearest is in Georgetown.”
York stares at the deputy sheriff. “Remind me, is Georgetown in Sullivan County?”
“No,” Sanchez says as Huang and Pierce look on. “It’s in Chatham County.”
Connie picks up her bags, goes to the trunk of the nearest Ford. “No. We’re not leaving Sullivan County. Not tonight, and not until the job is over.”
She opens the trunk, and Pierce says, “Ah, ma’am, what do we do... I mean, what do we do in the meantime?”
Connie slams the trunk down. “I once pulled a twelve-hour surveillance on a drug mule who was supposed to show up at a welcome center in Fredericksburg on I-95. But my relief never showed up, and I had to spend a whole day and night in my car.”