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...
But Dwight’s flipped his head around, spots the two men. “Shit,” he says.
The first gunman is pointing his pistol at the cashier, making her put cash into a small green plastic bag. The nearer gunman is slowly walking down the center aisle. He yells out, “Hands on the table! Now! Hands where I can see ’em!”
Some whispers and words from the customers as they all follow the shouted directions, and the gunman says, “Freeze! I want everybody to stay put. We’ll be outta here in a minute!”
York doesn’t believe him. She quickly grabs a napkin, covers her right hand with it, and in a moment has both hands on the table, the napkin concealing her pistol.
In a low voice she says, “Dwight. Slide under the table, now.”
With the man at the other end focusing on getting the money — a cover for what they’re actually here for, York has no doubt — the approaching gunman is looking at each customer as he comes down the aisle.
But the mask is screwing up his peripheral vision.
They have a few seconds of grace.
“Dwight,” she says again. “Slide under the table.”
But Dwight says, “Screw this.”
He jumps up from the booth, runs to the door marked EXIT, and York pulls her gun hand free as the nearest gunman says, “Gotcha, Dwight!”
He fires twice, and York fires just as quickly.
Screams, shouts.
Dwight collapses against the closed door, his white T-shirt torn and bloody, and York stands up, both hands on her pistol, and approaches the gunman sprawled out on the floor as his companion whirls and dives out the front door.
“Federal agent!” she yells. “Everybody, stay where you are!”
Screams, shouts, dishes falling to the floor and breaking. She gets closer to the gunman, looks down at him, then quickly glances around at the frightened customers, making sure there isn’t a third gunman hidden out there.
York points to a bearded man with a John Deere cap and yells. “You! Call 911!”
The gunman has three wounds right in the center of his chest, and his legs are crumpled underneath him, like all the muscles and ligaments have turned to jelly.
His pistol is on the floor.
A young boy in a nearby booth turns around and reaches to pick it up.
York yells, “Kid, no, don’t touch the gun!”
And the second gunman comes back in the front door.
York lifts up her pistol—
A gunshot and a hammering blow to her head.
Darkness.
Chapter 74
Special Agent Manuel Sanchez is on his way to the Ralston jail, the other Ford behind him, Pierce driving, Doc Huang sitting next to him.
After York left for her trip to the Waffle House — How in hell can anybody seriously eat at a place that sounds like it belongs in a Disney park? Sanchez thinks — they went back to the convenience store to see if they could get the current manager to say anything more about the indictment that’s put the store in danger, but the manager they talked to last had been replaced by a gracious woman with about a half dozen English words in her vocabulary.
Another visit to the funeral home revealed the director is gone on an unexpected trip to Atlanta, and District Attorney Cornelius Slate is in the middle of a trial and can’t be disturbed.
The sky is overcast, and Sanchez feels, yeah, a big-ass storm is coming, and everyone’s heading for the hills.
Sanchez is in a hurry, but he’s keeping his speed right below the limit. No use giving Sheriff Williams and her criminal gang an opportunity to pull them over for speeding. He did the same back in LA as a cop, when looking for any excuse to—
The other Ford is flashing its lights, honking its horn, and his phone starts ringing.
Damn it, he thinks, something must be up.
He pulls over the Ford, braking hard, tossing up a cloud of dust from the side of the road. Around them are nothing but trees, fields, barbed wire, and skinny cows.
Sanchez gets out as Huang and Pierce come over to him, both looking worried.
“Give,” he says.
The dust settles. Huang gives him his phone, set to the home page of an Atlanta TV station.
Two killed, one seriously wounded at Waffle House robbery.
Sanchez tries to scroll through the screen, but he does it wrong, and a goddamn weather app shows up.
Pierce wipes at his forehead. “They’re not identifying the two dead,” the JAG lawyer says, “but the seriously wounded is a woman. We’ve been calling Connie’s cell ever since the story broke. No answer.”
“What now?” Huang says. “Manny, what do we do now?”
Sanchez gives the smartphone back to Pierce. “I’m heading to Savannah. You find out what hospital York’s been taken to, let me know. If she learned anything before the sons of bitches started shooting, I want to find out.”
“And what about us?” Pierce asks.
Sanchez walks back to his rental. “You two stay on the job. Get to the Ralston jail. And—”
He stops.
Their original goal was to try to see the Rangers again, to find out why in hell the staff sergeant is planning to plead guilty tomorrow.
But the ambush of York changes everything.
Sanchez quickly walks back. “You two get to the jail. I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but you’re going to protect those three Rangers. Got it? All the witnesses in this county are gone, and now they’re going after us. The Rangers are next. Get to the jail, do what it takes to protect them.”
Pierce says, “How?”
“Figure it out.”
From Huang: “But...”
“But what?” Sanchez says. “We’ve got no time.”
Huang looks at Pierce. “We’re... a lawyer and a doctor. That’s all. How can we do this?”
Sanchez says, “You’re wrong, Doc. You’re both armed officers of the United States Army. Act like it.”
Then he heads back to the rental and, after his first two steps, starts running.
Chapter 75
Sheriff Emma Williams is having her photo taken with a crew of young volunteers for the Conover for Senate campaign late that Wednesday afternoon when the day’s burner phone starts vibrating in her right-hand trousers pocket.
She keeps her smile frozen in place as the photographer for the Sullivan County Times, a young pimply boy who’s taking himself way too seriously, maneuvers the young boys back and forth, making sure their handmade cardboard signs are held up at the correct angle. KIDS FOR CONOVER they say, and there are also a few of her own, REELECT SHERIFF WILLIAMS, in the mix.
As her cell phone continues to vibrate, Williams wants to shout to the photographer in this Baptist church hall in Sanders, a small town at the western end of the county, Move your skinny ass!
But that would earn the wrath of all assembled here, she’s sure.
For God’s wrath, well, he hadn’t sent a lightning bolt yet to scorch her butt, so either he’s ignoring her or he doesn’t exist.
Finally, the young boy in a T-shirt and long shorts that go below his knees lifts his camera to his face, and after a quick series of click-click-click, he says, “Now, y’all stay in place so I can get your names straight, okay?”
The kids seem excited that their photo will end up in the paper, and Williams squeezes the shoulder of an older woman volunteer and says, “Do you mind? I have to take a phone call.”
The woman smiles and points. “If you need some privacy, the food bank pantry is right over there, Sheriff.”