Free Swimsuit by James Patterson Page A

knows what happened. Sometimes both of them. I had to see where you were coming from.”
    Levon and Barbara stared. And we all got it. Jackson had provoked them to see how they’d react.
    It had been a test. They’d passed. In a manner of speaking.
    “We’ve been investigating this case since yesterday morning. Like I told you when I called,” Jackson said, glaring at Levon.
     “We’ve met with the
Sporting Life
people, also the desk and bar staff at the Princess. So far, we got nothing from that.”
    Jackson opened his desk drawer, took out a cell phone, one of those thin, half-human devices that takes pictures, sends mail,
     and tells you when you’re low on oil.
    “This is Kim’s phone,” Jackson said. “We found it on the beach behind the Princess. We’ve dumped the data and found a number
     of phone calls to Kim from a man named Doug Cahill.”
    “Cahill?” Levon said. “Doug Cahill used to date Kim. He lives in Chicago.”
    Jackson shook his head. “He was calling Kim from
Maui.
Called her every hour until her mailbox filled up and stopped taking incoming calls.”
    “You’re saying Doug is
here?
” Barbara asked. “He’s in Maui now?”
    “We located Cahill in Makena, worked on him for two hours last night before he lawyered up. He said he hadn’t seen Kim. That
     she wouldn’t talk to him. And we couldn’t hold him, because we have nothing on him,” Jackson said, putting Kim’s cell phone
     back in the drawer.
    “McDaniels, here’s what we’ve got. You got a phone call saying Kim was in bad hands. And we have Kim’s cell phone. We don’t
     even know if a crime has been committed. If Cahill gets on a plane, there’s nothing we can do to stop him from leaving.”
    I saw Barbara start, shock coming over her face again.
    “Doug’s not your guy,” Levon said.
    Jackson’s eyebrows shot up. “Why do you say that?”
    “I know Doug’s voice. The man who called us wasn’t Doug.”

Chapter 31
    WE WERE BACK in the black sedan. This time I was in front, beside the driver. Marco adjusted his rearview mirror, and we exchanged
     nods, but there was nothing to say. It was all going on in the backseat between Barbara and Levon.
    Levon was explaining to his wife, “Barb. I didn’t tell you what that bastard said
verbatim
because there was nothing to be gained from it. I’m sorry.”
    “I’m your wife. You had no right to hold back what he said.”
    “ ‘She’s fallen into bad hands,’ okay? That’s the only thing I didn’t tell you, and I still wouldn’t tell you, but I had to
     tell Jackson. I tried to spare you, sweetheart, I wanted to spare you.”
    Barb cried, “Spare me? You lied to me, Levon. You lied.” And then Levon was crying too, and I realized that this was what
     had been binding Levon up, why he’d been so glassy-eyed and removed. A man had said that he was going to hurt his daughter
     and Levon hadn’t told his wife. And now he couldn’t pretend anymore that it wasn’t true.
    I wanted to give them some privacy, so I lowered the window, stared out at the beachfront whizzing by, at the families picnicking
     by the ocean, as Kim’s parents suffered terribly. The contrast between the campers and the weeping couple behind me was excruciating.
    I made a note, then swiveled in my seat and, trying for something comforting, I said to Levon, “Jackson isn’t subtle, but
     he’s on the case. He might be a pretty good cop.”
    Kim’s father leveled hard eyes on me.
    “I think you’re right about Jackson. He nailed you in five seconds. Look at you. You parasite. Writing your story. Selling
     newspapers on our pain.”
    I felt the accusation like a gut punch—but there was some truth in it, I guess. I swallowed the hurt and found my compassion
     for Levon.
    I said, “You’ve got a point, Levon. But even if I’m exactly what you say, Kim’s story could get out of control and eat you
     alive.
    “Think of JonBenet Ramsey. Natalee Holloway. Chandra Levy. I hope Kim