Private Oz by James Patterson Page B

it all.
    “So, the Rolex, Yasmin?” Julie said slowly.
    Yasmin touched her wrist involuntarily.
    “How many blow jobs did that take, eh?”
    Julie could see Yasmin’s pretty, confused face in the mirror. “Everything costs, Yas, everything costs …”
    “Is that it? You want my watch? Here, have it …” She reached for the clasp.
    “No, you stupid, stupid bitch! I do not want your shitty watch … although I might keep it as a memento after I’ve drained you of blood.”
    The car swerved.
    “Careful, honey,” Julie mocked. She was pretty sure the woman didn’t have the guts to do anything radical.
    The car swerved again. This time it was deliberate. Julie pushed the tip of the blade a fraction of an inch into Yasmin’s neck making her squeal.
    “STOP DOING THAT … NOW!”
    The car swayed once more. Horns blared. The LandCruiser crossed lanes. Cut in front of another car. More horns, screeching tires.
    Julie pulled her mouth up close to the woman’s ear. “I will take your twins from preschool, Yasmin. I will take them somewhere very private …”
    Yasmin abruptly slowed the car, brought it back under control, went to pull over.
    “Don’t …”
    She saw Yasmin’s face in the rear-view mirror, white as dead flesh. She was staring fixedly at the road ahead.
    “You’re the killer!” Yasmin murmured, barely able to believe it, even now.
    Julie felt a stirring of pride in the pit of her stomach. “Just drive,” she said. “Not much further now. It’ll soon be over.”

Chapter 58
    MARY PULLED UP a chair as Darlene turned away from the monitor to face her. They were in the lab.
    “I could tell by your tone on the phone you’re disappointed,” Mary said. Darlene shrugged. “Look, perhaps we were hoping for too much.”
    “Alright, forewarned.”
    She noticed Mary’s bandaged hand. “What happened?”
    Mary glanced down. “Oh, silly accident.”
    Darlene gave her a skeptical look, stood and beckoned Mary over to a large stainless steel-topped counter, objects spread across it – a pile of blood-stained sheets, take-out cartons, cigarette stubs, pieces of paper, a TV remote – all collected from the deserted Triad apartment in Parramatta.
    “The blood on the sheets matches Ho Chang’s of course. His prints are all over the bedding, on the food cartons, chairs in the kitchen.”
    “What about other fingerprints? The guys who abducted him?”
    Darlene paced back to her work station, Mary in tow. She tapped at a keyboard. The image on the monitor changed to show several sets of prints.
    “I’ve found four distinct sets in the apartment, excluding Ho’s. I’ve also separated out three samples of DNA.”
    “That’s great … yeah?”
    “Not really, Mary. One set of prints and one DNA sample belongs to the plumber who’d worked in the apartment a few weeks back. He had a record – petty theft in 1990, meant he was on the database. Another set of prints belongs to the manager’s wife, Betty Griffin.”
    “Could she or her husband be involved?”
    “She died last month. Cancer.”
    Mary snorted. “And the other two?”
    “According to my analyzer the DNA comes from two different Asian males.”
    “And?”
    “That’s it … no matches on any databases. Same for the prints.”
    “So we’ve narrowed it down to what?” Mary declared. “About a billion men?”
    “Actually, nearer two billion.”

Chapter 59
    “HERE’S TO GRETA!” Brett Thorogood said lifting his glass of vintage Verve. He clinked it with Greta and their two closest friends, Claudia and Marcus. The doorbell rang.
    “I’ll get it,” Greta’s son, Serge, called as he ran from the playroom, his younger sister Nikki close behind.
    “That should be Christine, the babysitter,” Greta said.
    “You’re so lucky having a regular girl,” Claudia replied.
    “Christine’s great – works at the local SupaMart during the day.”
    They looked round as footsteps echoed along the hallway and Greta stood up. A strange