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

his shooting up in bed like a nuclear missile.
    “Are you serious?”
he asked.
    “Dead serious,” I answered. “I just listened to the tape several times.”
    I expected his next question to be a breathless
Can you play it for me over the phone?
Or maybe even
How fast can you meet me?
    Who cared what time it was? This was the guy who only hours before had looked me straight in the face and declared, “If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to bring that cocksucker Pinero down.”
    Thanks to my tape recorder, I was all but doing it for him. I had what he desperately wanted and needed to drop the hammer on the biggest mobster in New York.
    That’s why I was so surprised by what David Sorren said next.

Chapter 19
    I WALKED INTO the Nineteenth Precinct on East 67th Street at a little after nine the next morning and was greeted by Detective Mark Ford, who led me back to his desk. It sat in the middle of a slew of other desks, in a large open area that reminded me of every police drama I’d ever seen on television, albeit without the ridiculous “extras” of gum-chewing hookers in fishnet stockings and belligerent drunks handcuffed to benches.
    Then again, maybe Saturday mornings were just a little slow around here in the real world.
    “Have a seat,” Detective Ford told me, pointing to a metal chair that rode sidecar to a file cabinet.
    “Thanks,” I said. My butt was still hanging in the air, though, when he cut straight to the chase.
    “So, do you have it?” he asked. “Did you bring it with you, Mr. Daniels?”
    What, no small talk first? No chitchatting?
    Of course not. From the moment Detective Ford had taken my statement at Lombardo’s, I knew that everything about this guy was direct and to the point. His short, cropped gray hair. His rolled-up sleeves. The way his sentences were all about finding the quickest route to either a period or a question mark.
    “Yeah, I have it,” I said. “But there’s something I want to talk to you about first. Something I need to know.”
    Oh, great,
said his expression. It was as if I’d just told him some god-awful, horrible news, such as the TV show
Cop Rock
was returning to the air. All Detective Ford wanted to do was listen to the recording, and here I was telling him,
Not so fast
.
    Just like David Sorren had told me.
    As happy as the Manhattan DA had been to learn about my recording, he didn’t want to hear it himself. At least not yet. Not until certain “protocols” had been met, he had explained.
    “I can’t be seen playing detective, you know what I mean?” he told me.
    I did. Even though that’s precisely what he had been doing with me on the steps of the New York Public Library.
    So now here I was, sitting in front of Detective Ford, following protocol. There was just one problem.
    “So what is it? Tell me,” said Detective Ford. “What do you need to know?”
    I cleared my throat. Twice, actually. “It’s just that… well, I’m a little concerned about—”
    He cut me off with a raised palm. “Let me guess—you’rescared shitless that Eddie Pinero will want to carve your eyes out, too? That it?”
    Maybe “scared shitless” was a touch extreme, but I wasn’t about to quibble over semantics. I just would’ve preferred to slip the recording to David Sorren as an anonymous source and then get far, far away from this murder case, police protocols, and anything else that might eventually pop up.
    “Will Eddie Pinero know I’m the guy supplying this?” I asked. “Seriously, detective. I’d like a straight answer.”
    Ford quickly folded his arms. “Here’s the deal. For the time being, Pinero can’t even know this recording
exists
. If it is what you say it is, then the first time he’ll hear it will be after he’s indicted.” He shrugged. “Now, can he find out that you’re the Good Samaritan who came forward with it? Sure. I won’t bullshit you on that. Will he want to kill you because of it? I highly doubt it. Killing