James Patterson - 5th Horseman

Copyright 2006 by James Patterson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Little, Brown and Company

Hachette Book Group

237 Park Avenue

New York, NY 10017

Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

The Little, Brown and Company name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

First Edition: February 2006

ISBN: 978-0-07595-6717-7

The Novels of James Patterson

FEATURING ALEX CROSS

Mary, Mary

Pop Goes the Weasel

London Bridges

Cat & Mouse

The Big Bad Wolf

Jack & Jill

Four Blind Mice

Kiss the Girls

Violets Are Blue

Along Came a Spider

Roses Are Red

THE WOMENS MURDER CLUB

4th of July (and Maxine Paetro)

3rd Degree (and Andrew Gross)

2nd Chance (and Andrew Gross)

1st to Die

OTHER BOOKS

Lifeguard (and Andrew Gross)

Maximum Ride

Honeymoon (and Howard Roughan)

SantaKid

Sams Letters to Jennifer

The Lake House

The Jester (and Andrew Gross)

The Beach House (and Peter de Jonge)

Suzannes Diary for Nicholas

Cradle and All

Black Friday

When the Wind Blows

See How They Run

Miracle on the 17th Green (and Peter de Jonge)

Hide & Seek

The Midnight Club

Season of the Machete

The Thomas Berryman Number

For more information about James Pattersons novels, visit www.jamespatterson.com.

Our gratitude and thanks to Dr. Humphrey Germaniuk, ME, Trumbull County, Ohio, for bringing the art and science of forensic pathology to life; to top cop Captain Richard Conklin, Bureau of Investigations, Stamford, Connecticut, P.D.; and to our medical expert, Allen Ross, MD, of Montague, Massachusetts.

We also wish to thank attorneys Philip R. Hoffman, Kathy Emmett, and Marty White for sharing with us their legal expertise.

And special thanks to our excellent researchers, Lynn Colomello, Ellie Shurtleff, Yukie Kito, and the irreplaceable Mary Jordan.

THE MIDNIGHT HOUR

RAIN WAS DRUMMING HARD against the windows when the midnight-to-8:00 rounds began at San Francisco Municipal Hospital. Inside the ICU, thirty-year-old Jessie Falk was asleep in her hospital bed, floating on a Percocet lake of cool light.

Jessie was having the most beautiful dream shed had in years.

She and the light of her life, three-year-old Claudia, were in Grandmas backyard swimming pool. Claudie was in her birthday suit and bright-pink water wings, slapping the water, sunlight glinting off her blond curls.

Simon says, kiss like a butterfly, Claudie.

Like this, Mommy?

Then the mother and daughter were shouting and laughing, twirling and falling down, singing out wheeeeeee, when without warning a sharp pain pierced Jessies chest.

She awoke with a screambolted uprightand clapped both of her hands to her breast.

What was happening? What was that pain?

Then Jessie realized that she was in a hospitaland that she was feeling sick again. She remembered coming here, the ambulance ride, a doctor telling her that she was going to be fine, not to worry.

Falling, nearly fainting back to the mattress, Jessie fumbled for the call button at her side. Then the device slipped from her grasp and fell. It banged against the side of the bed with a muted clang.

Oh, God, I cant breathe. Whats happening? I cant get my breath. Its horrible. Im not fine.

Tossing her head from side to side, Jessie swept the darkened hospital room with her eyes. Then she seized on a figure at the far edge of her vision.

She knew the face.

Oh, th-thank God, she gasped. Help me, please. Its my heart.

She stretched out her hands, clutched feebly at the air, but the figure stayed in the shadows.

Please, Jessie pleaded.

The figure wouldnt come forward, wouldnt help. What was going on? This was a hospital. The person in the shadows worked here.

Tiny black specks gathered in front of Jessies eyes as a crushing pain squeezed the air from her chest. Suddenly her vision tunneled to a pinprick of white light.

Please help me. I think Im

Yes, said the figure in the shadows, you are dying, Jessie. Its beautiful to watch you cross over.

JESSIES HANDS FLUTTERED like a tiny birds wings beating against the sheets. Then they were very still. Jessie was gone.

The Night Walker came forward and bent low over the hospital bed. The young womans skin was mottled and bluish, clammy to the touch, her pupils fixed. She had no pulse. No vital signs. Where was she now? Heaven, hell, nowhere at all?

The silhouetted figure retrieved the fallen call device, then tugged the blankets into place, straightened the young womans blond hair and the collar of her gown, and blotted the spittle from her lips with a tissue.

Nimble fingers lifted the framed photo beside the phone on the bedside table. Shed been so pretty, this young mother holding her baby. Claudia. That was the daughters name, wasnt it?

The Night Walker put the picture down, closed the patients eyes, and placed what looked to be small brass coins, smaller than dimes, on each of Jessie Falks eyelids.

The small disks were embossed with a caduceustwo serpents entwined around a winged staff, the symbol of the medical profession.

A whispered good-bye blended with the sibilance of tires speeding over the wet pavement five stories below on Pine Street.

Good night, princess.

MALICE AFORETHOUGHT

I WAS AT MY DESK sifting through a mound of case files, eighteen open homicides to be exact, when Yuki Castellano, attorney-at-law, called on my private line.

My mom wants to take us to lunch at the Armani Caf, said the newest member of the Womens Murder Club. Youve gotta meet her, Lindsay. She can charm the skin off a snake, and I mean that in the nicest possible way.

Let me see; what should I choose? Cold coffee and tuna salad in my office? Or a tasty Mediterranean luncheon, say, carpaccio over arugula with thin shavings of Parmesan and a glass of Merlot, with Yuki and her snake-charming mom?

I neatened the stack of folders, told our squad assistant, Brenda, that Id be back in a couple of hours, and left the Hall of Justice with no need to be back until the staff meeting at 3:00.

The bright September day had broken a rainy streak in the weather and was one of the last glory days before the dank autumn chill would close in on San Francisco.

It was a joy to be outside.

I met Yuki and her mother, Keiko, in front of Saks in the upscale Union Square shopping district out by the Golden Gate Panhandle. Soon we were chattering away as the three of us headed up Maiden Lane toward Grant Avenue.

You girls, too modern, Keiko said. She was as cute as a bird, tiny, perfectly dressed and coiffed, shopping bags dangling from the crooks of her arms. No man want woman who too independent, she told us.

Mommm, Yuki wailed. Give it a rest, willya? This is the twenty-first century. This is America.

Look at you, Lindsay, Keiko said, ignoring Yuki, poking me under the arm. Youre packing!

Yuki and I both whooped, our shouts of laughter nearly drowning out Keikos protestation that no man want a woman with a gun.