Don't Blink by James Patterson Read Free Book Online Page A

it was even
my
eyes being carved out.
    Finally, I raised the white flag.
    I got out of bed and into the chair behind my desk. If I couldn’t sleep, maybe I could at least get some writing done.
    Perhaps that was the only silver lining in my missing the interview with Dwayne Robinson—I could put all my focus into the piece on Dr. Alan Cole and his work in Darfur with the Humanitarian Relief Corps. First things first, I needed tosort through the hours’ worth of recordings I had made with him, taking careful notes to string together an outline.
Note to any kids reading this: outline—always!
    The reality is, the longer I do this, the more I understand that there are no shortcuts in journalism. At least not any worth taking.
    So I flipped on my laptop and grabbed my tape recorder. I was about to hit the rewind button when my hand suddenly froze. I realized something.
    In the horror of those moments at Lombardo’s, as well as in the haze and commotion of the aftermath on the killing floor, I’d forgotten that I had already been recording when Vincent Marcozza and those cops were murdered.
    I didn’t get my interview with Dwayne Robinson.
    But what
did
I get?
    Part of me almost didn’t want to know. After tossing and turning half the night, I didn’t particularly want to relive the murders yet again.
    But how could I not?
    Taking a deep breath first, I braced myself for what I knew was coming. Once more, I’d hear Marcozza crying out in agony. I’d hear the shots that had brought down the two detectives.
    But before all of that, there had been something else, something I couldn’t believe as I listened to the tape recording now.
    Holy shit.
    This changes everything
.

Chapter 17
    MY HEART WAS pounding as I played the tape back three times just to make sure.
Am I really hearing this? Did he really say that?
    Yes. Yes, he did.
    It was the voice of the killer before he committed three murders in cold blood. He was speaking to Marcozza, telling him something, something I wasn’t supposed to hear, something I shouldn’t have been listening to now.
    “I have a message from Eddie.”
    My recorder had barely picked it up and the Italian accent wasn’t helping, but there it was—creepy, ominous, and beyond a reasonable doubt.
    Evidence
.
    There was no other Eddie it could be, not since Vincent Marcozza had worked for Eddie Pinero. The speculation around town was nearly unanimous—Pinero had orderedthe hit. Now, word for word, it was more than just speculation.
    “I have a message from Eddie.”
    The killer delivered it, all right. I listened to his words once, twice, three times.
    Then I pushed back from my desk, the wheels of my chair carrying me nearly all the way to my bed. On the bench by the footboard were the trousers to the suit I’d worn to the benefit at the public library. I dug through the pockets looking for the business card David Sorren had handed me. I hadn’t lost it, had I?
    No. There it was, along with my money clip, a half-eaten roll of Cryst-O-Mint Life Savers, and two pieces of Trident bubble gum.
    Right below Sorren’s office number was another number for his cell. I looked up, checking the clock on my bedside table. It was almost three a.m.
    Don’t be crazy, Nick. You can’t call Sorren now. Wait until morning.
    On the fourth ring he answered.

Chapter 18
    “HELLO?”
    “David, it’s Nick Daniels,” I said. “Sorry to call so late.”
    It took him a few seconds to respond. “Oh… hey, Nick,” he said in a whisper. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”
    I knew why he was whispering. He wasn’t alone. Sure enough, I heard another whisper in the background.
    “Nick Daniels? At this hour?”
    It was Brenda.
    Don’t sweat it,
I felt like telling him.
You’re in bed with my ex-girlfriend. I get it. You weren’t playing Boggle.
    Instead, I pretended I hadn’t heard her and quickly explained why I was calling him in the middle of the night. I’m pretty sure the sound I heard next was