No Mercy (4 page)

T
he nightclub called the City was the place to be in Setauket. It was combination circular dance floor on the lower level with a balcony on the second level that would allow people to stand against the railings and look down at the gathering on the dance floor or move to semiprivate tables and booths in the thirty-five extra feet behind the railings. The decor on the walls was illuminated photos of Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, San Francisco, and New Orleans. There was even a private room for a $1,500 rental fee for the entire evening. Privacy when you wanted it, and party and dancing when you opened the door.

Kate Summers was a regular at the City. She was beautiful, brunette, twenty-five years old, and kept count of all the men she had sex with at the club in the private room. Her goal was to live life to the fullest and snag a millionaire by the time she was thirty. Her schedule tonight was a blind date set up by one of her friends in the private room. She said good-bye to her girlfriends with the hand motion of her finger going in and out of her mouth slowly. Her friends, Linda and Jackie, just shook their heads and gave her a wave. The music was so loud that patrons either used sign language, hand signals, texts from their phone, or the old-fashioned way of putting your mouth directly on the ear of those with whom you were trying to communicate.

Kate gave her name to security and checked to be sure the other name on the list for the room matched the name given to her from Linda and Jackie. The burley security guard bellowed the name Jake Wiley. With a smile to the guard and a friendly touch to his biceps, Kate started to walk to the room, but turned around and spoke to the guard again, saying, “You know, there is something very sexy about a man whose biceps are bigger than my thighs.” The guard flinched for a moment and asked if she wanted to be disturbed. She quickly answered,

“Only if no one shows up, and then only by you.” She winked at him as she entered the room with a grin on her face, thinking how anxious the guard would be for the next few minutes.

Inside the room, two sofas, a long black sectional, a coffee table with fruit, and a large flat-screen TV complemented the music system that included Bose speakers. Kate looked through the selections and dimmed the lights as a song from a group called Mystic Strangers started playing through the speakers. She closed her eyes as she moved her hands and body to the music. The young woman took her shoes off and unbuttoned her blouse, as the intense song was getting her aroused. She raised her hands in the air as the song lyrics said, “Never ask why, just be ready when it's time to die.” With her eyes closed and a sexy grin on her face, a pillowcase came over her head as she started screaming.

The song and the pillowcase drowned out her voice as her body fell to the floor. The assailant put his hand over the pillowcase to speed up the process and finally punched the young woman in the stomach to weaken her fight. The young woman fought hard to resist but could not breathe. The assailant became more excited and aggressive as Kate raised her legs to try and fight him off, and the pain she was experiencing excited him. His hands pressed harder against the pillowcase as her hands reached for his hair. He could feel her desperation to stay alive, and it made him stronger to feel her lose life. Within a couple minutes it was over. Kate was placed on the sofa with her blouse half undone. Her body was positioned to make it look like she was sleeping. As she lay there, the killer moved in closer and kissed the dead woman's lips and then her forehead while leaving a folded piece of paper in her hand before walking away.

After the murderer opened the door with his gloves, he would look for a chance to walk away when the guard was distracted. Two minutes seemed like forever, when finally the guard's cell phone vibrated with a text. As his eyes went down to the cell, the assailant put on a baseball hat. Inside the hat was cloth that he pulled out and it came down as a black mask. It covered his head completely except for the eyes and mouth. The club was so crowded no one paid attention to him. When he got outside he moved the fabric inside the hat as he walked into the darkness of the night.

It was fifteen minutes later when the guard realized that no one had entered the room with the woman who found his biceps sexy. He walked in and smiled as he saw Kate Summers sleeping on the couch with those thin thighs. He turned the knob to lock the door, approached the couch, and noticed there was a piece of paper folded, lying in her hand. He picked it up and opened it, and it said in cut-out letters,
If I can’t have you, no one will.
Bruce Roberts, a strong, muscled man, looked at Kate Summers and feared the worst. He checked her pulse, then stepped back so fast in horror that his leg hit the coffee table and he fell on top of it as it smashed to the floor with the weight of his body. He was injured with glass cuts and going into shock as he reached into his pants and pushed 9-1-1. He passed out before he could say anything, but the operator began tracking his phone. Within ten minutes there were cops and medics at the scene treating the startled guard.

Detective William O'Malley stared at Bruce Roberts as he was being treated in the room, and went up into his face. “You are in a world of shit, my friend.”

“Wait,” the guard said, “I didn't touch the girl.”

O'Malley answered, “You are either a moron or just a bad liar.” He kept his face in Bruce's face and said, “You didn't touch her, you just happen to be alone with her with the door locked.” Roberts began to shake his head but was in too much pain to continue. O'Malley nodded as he told his men to get the club's films from that evening. “Get me the owner!” O'Malley yelled. “It's time to talk!” The medics took Bruce Roberts out to the ambulance with a police escort as the owner, Brian Branca, came into the room. “Mr. Branca,” Detective O'Malley said as they acknowledged one another.

“Please,” the owner replied, “call me BB.”

O'Malley hesitated for a few seconds, trying to digest what he had just heard. “Mr. Branca,” he said again, “I would like to see the films you have on that room during the evening. We know Ms. Summers entered the private room about 11:00 pm so I would like everything in the club from 10:00 pm until an hour after the 9-1-1 call.”

“Of course,” Branca replied. “Do you have any idea when my club will be reopened?”

His question caught Detective O'Malley by surprise, and he replied, “We will let you know.”

“No,” Branca replied, not liking O'Malley's tone. “You can let my attorney know. I'm not going to let you guys put me out of business because of egos. Do your job and we will cooperate, but I need my club opened.” His strong remarks caught the detective by surprise again.

“Yes, BB, we will let you know.” The club owner, who had had enough, replied, “No, let my lawyer know. Second request, call me Mr. Branca.” He walked out of the room.

O'Malley looked over at Detective Hansen and said,

“Let's get a background check on Mr. Branca as well.”

The crime scene unit went over the room, and eventually it would come back with fingerprints of only Kate Summers, Bruce Roberts, the maid who kept the room spotless, and the bellboy who had delivered the fruits and drinks to the room. O'Malley instructed his team that the club would remain closed until the films were reviewed. No one was allowed in the private room without his authorization.

The detective was only in his car for ten minutes as he drove to Stony Brook Hospital when he received a call from Branca's attorney. “Hello, Detective O'Malley, this is Edward Larson, Mr. Branca's attorney. We will cooperate as much as we can, but we ask for cooperation in return to get the club reopened within a few days. An incident like this can destroy a business.”

O'Malley's first instinct was not to care about their business but common sense prevailed within the experienced detective.

“Yes, Mr. Larson, we will do everything as quickly as we can to get your client back in business.”

“Thanks very much, Detective, and please call me Edward.” As he disconnected, O'Malley just shook his head as he drove into the parking lot at Stony Brook Hospital. His first thought was, I
didn’t think you wanted me to call you Eddy, dickhead
.

Detectives Wyatt and Hansen stayed behind at the club until the body was removed and had the task of informing the next of kin. It was 4:00 am, and most likely the parents or relatives would be waking up in the next couple hours. “What a waste,” Hansen spoke.

Wyatt just shook his head as he replied, “More dreams that will never come true.”

S
immons walked into headquarters in Yaphank, presented his ID, and requested time with Detective Cronin. The desk receptionist was surprised when she was informed to give him a four-number code for guests to enter the Priority 1 area; normally someone would come to guests and escort them in. Simmons came in with a pleasant greeting to everyone before Cronin waved him into his office.

There was much more respect between the attorney and the Priority 1 Task Force. This was particularly true when it came to Detective Bud Johnson. He didn't like or trust the attorney and continued to push his buttons until he realized that he was actually a good hardworking man who genuinely cared about his clients. While they were not friends, there was a mutual understanding for each other. Bud particularly gave his respect and support to the attorney after witnessing how diligent he was before, during, and after the trial of Rachelle's sister, Madison. Bud was thirty-one years of age and he was about twenty pounds lighter with the encouragement of Paul, Rachelle, and Deborah. He dated Deborah for a few months after the Face of Fear investigation, but it was difficult to keep momentum with the cases that followed. They were close, but the relationship became platonic. He never understood why it did, because his heart would stop whenever he saw her. Emotionally, he loved Deborah and the bond they had. He questioned himself if he was “in love” with her and felt it played games in his head.

Al Simmons stretched out his hand to Kevin Cronin as he sat down in the chair in front of the detective. “I would like to speak to you about Madison Robinson in the facility in Riverhead,” he said.

Cronin stopped scribbling on his desk and replied, “Oh, why do I not want to hear this? What did she do now, start beating up the guards?”

“No, no,” Simmons replied, laughing. “I told Detective Powers and Johnson yesterday that many women in the jail, not a few, but many, are getting themselves in trouble because of our wonderful doctors in Suffolk County. I guess the insurance companies aren't paying enough so they are taking cash from these women behind closed doors and in return they are giving them samples of Vicodin and oxycodone. The more brazen licensed professionals are actually writing prescriptions for them.”

“Yes,” Cronin replied, “they spoke to me briefly about this yesterday.” Cronin put his hand to his head, rubbing the side as he spoke. “So you think we should do something because you believe Madison that this is really going on. We can't forget she killed six people, Al.”

“Yes,” the attorney replied. “I figure she saved the taxpayers about $4 to $6 million in court costs while saving lives at the same time.” Cronin acknowledged the attorney's comments with the nod of his head and pushed the button at this desk.

“Gina, please have ADA Ashley stop by my office before the end of the day.”

“Thanks, Al,” Cronin said as he got up. “No promises.” The attorney shook his head and stopped at the door before exiting. He said,

“I've been visiting Madison every couple weeks for almost a year and a half. These prisoners, they do their time, they get out, and with the technology for background checks, are stopped from getting any kind of job. They have nowhere to go but break the law again to survive. If they get caught, they are back in prison until they do their time again and they are back out on the streets again.

Once you are in prison, you are done.”

Cronin started to speak but was interrupted by the attorney. “I'm not talking about the pharmacy killer and rapists, etc. I'm talking about women who made bad choices about themselves with drugs and were enabled by dishonest doctors. It will be a vicious circle for them with the beginning and the end at the jail. In fact, 80 percent of these prisoners will be back in the prison. Hell, one of the guards told Madison he has seen teenagers turn into old ladies during his thirty-five years as a correctional officer. Kevin, did you know the facility is so overcrowded they are getting variances approved to have sixteen-year-old girls in the same cell block as adult women?”

Cronin stood up as he dropped his pen and replied, “I hear you, Al. Let me see if there is anything we should be looking at.” Simmons just stood there as the detective lieutenant raised his hands and continued, “I will see what I can do, but I don't think the DA or the chief would assign it to the Priority 1 team.”

Simmons tapped the door frame as he spoke again. “Rachelle is a writer, she can ask for a tour of the facility for a story she's working on.”

“No,” the detective answered. “No way, I'm not getting the sister involved in this, but I do have an idea. Let me speak to the DA's office.” The attorney smiled as he waved good-bye.

He walked over to the desks of Powers and Johnson, and exchanged glances at Lynagh, Healey, and Detective Baker.

“How are things?” he said. Bud looked up and started singing lyrics from “You Can Call Me Al.” Simmons laughed as he grabbed a packet of gummy bears from his desk before he left.

Paul Powers leaned forward and spoke. “You are losing your edge, my friend; you used to annoy him, now he laughs when you sing to him.”

“Yes,” Bud answered, “he knows that I like him, my partner, and that makes all the difference. Shit, I've got to figure out another way to get under his skin.”

Paul nodded as Officer Lynagh walked by and said, “Maybe he just figures he should laugh or you might shoot him in the balls or the ass,” then continued walking toward the men's room. Paul had a smile on his face as Bud was taken by surprise.

“Ha, ha, everyone is the comedian now. That's my job,” Bud said as Lynagh raised his arm up to acknowledge he heard him before pushing the men's room door open. Bud was shaking his head thinking about Lynagh's remark. It was during the chase of Kyle Winters who had just assassinated a police officer in the attempt on Rachelle's life. He caught up with the cop killer on Daniels Deck at the Red Onion Café and shot him in the groin when he didn't follow directions during the arrest. Bud smiled to himself as his thoughts turned to shooting former FBI agent Jason “Jack” O'Connor in the ass at the climax of the investigation. He never told anyone he actually aimed for his leg. Who wanted to hear more jokes that he wasn't the greatest shot? The capture of the man who was known as the Voice by his associates resulted in three life sentences with no chance for parole. Bud thought about paying him a visit a few times but decided it wasn't worth the gas money in this poor economy.

Cronin's phone rang and it was ADA Ashley, who said he couldn't make it till 5:00 pm and offered to meet him at Cavanaugh's for a drink and a bite to eat. With Cronin's family visiting relatives in California, the date was set. Paul, on the other hand, had plans to see Rachelle and his father for dinner and touched Bud's shoulder as he left, saying,

“I love you, man. See you tomorrow.”

Bud looked over as Paul was walking away and said, “Don't forget next Saturday, Henry Hallock house.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul yelled back. “I'm sure the ghost will be there.”

Bud yelled, “Not funny, not funny,” as Paul disappeared from sight. It was fifteen minutes later when Lynagh and Healey left the building. Detective Ellyn Baker came over to Bud's desk and offered to help with the move the following week. He thanked her, and she replied, “Can you tell me about the person I replaced, Sherry Walker, sometime?”

He seemed surprised by the question but replied that he would be happy to tell her. He said,

“She was a good cop who was part of Rachelle Robinson's protective detail during the Face of Fear investigation. She saved Rachelle's life and was an integral part of the investigation from her hospital bed until it was completed. She was promoted to Priority 1 Task Force when she was healthy enough to come back to work. A knife through the abdomen will put you out of commission for a while. She was here for about six months but decided her heart was no longer in it. We speak about once a month still, but she needed to move on. You tend to look at life different when you have faced death.”

Ellyn seemed totally engrossed in what Bud was saying and said, “That's deep, about facing death. Are you and Deborah Lance an item?”

The detective leaned back on the back two legs of the chair and replied, “We are close friends.”

“Oh,” she replied.

“Why?” he asked back.

“Just wondering,” she replied. “I see the way she looks at you when she is around and I see the way you are when you answer a call or text from her. I'm a cop, but more important, I'm a woman.”

“Well,” Bud answered, “maybe we should change the subject.” Ellyn Baker smiled as she went back to her desk. Bud thought to himself how attractive she looked without shoes on. He shook his head to clear his focus.

“Good night!” Detective Cronin bellowed as he left the Priority 1 section. He went out to the parking lot to meet ADA Ashley for dinner and found a folded piece of paper on his windshield. He opened it to read in cut-out letters.

He folded the paper and went to the ground to search for any possible bomb under his car. He opened his car door carefully as he searched for wires. He went back underneath the car again and found nothing. He turned the ignition on with his eyes closed. Nothing. He drove to Cavanaugh's in the town of Blue Point not knowing if he should be angry or happy he didn't blow up in a million pieces. He couldn't get to the restaurant/bar fast enough to meet with the ADA.

Bruce Roberts was getting ready to be released from the hospital when Detective O'Malley came into his room and said, “OK, tell me the whole story again.”

As Roberts explained to him what happened, O'Malley took notes and waited until he finished before asking, “Why were you injured on top of a smashed glass coffee table? You keep leaving that part out.”

Roberts shook his head, hesitated, and spoke. “It's not good for my reputation, but I was slightly frightened when I realized Kate was dead. I panicked.”

O'Malley replied, “You use her first name?”

The muscleman quickly answered, “Her name was on the list with Jake Wiley.”

O'Malley tried to call his detectives, but his BlackBerry would not work in the hospital. He had tried the iPhone but returned to his BlackBerry within a few months. He was just more comfortable using the keys instead of the screen for emails.

O'Malley left the hospital telling Roberts not to leave town for a while. The detective felt Roberts was not responsible, especially for the fact that he called 9-1-1 while in the club. O'Malley called Detective Bob Wyatt and told him to take Hansen and bring Jake Wiley to the Fourth Precinct.

O'Malley got into his car and started driving back to the squad room. There would not be much sleep tonight. William O'Malley, a thirty-year veteran at the age of fifty-six, was considering retiring soon to become a teacher. The political red tape with the new administration was becoming unbearable to him and he was getting concerned he would lose his patience, especially with the new round of detectives who wanted to be the next rising star. Six feet tall and once very slim, he had put about twenty-five extra pounds on his frame and looked older than his age. He arrived at the precinct and decided to take a nap before his detectives brought in Jake Wiley.

ADA John Ashley was already sitting at a corner table in the back of Cavanaugh's when Detective Lieutenant Cronin walked in. He knew the detective had arrived by all the patrons yelling, “Hey Kevin!”

“Hey, Detective!” Cronin's booming voice could be heard replying, “Hi, guys! Nice to see you!”

He was always well-known in the communities of Blue Point, Bayport, and Sayville, but ever since the Face of Fear case his face had become well-known throughout Long Island. In fact, it was just another reason to put him in charge of the Priority 1 Task Force. The chief of police felt it would have much more impact with someone with a track record who could easily demand respect. Kevin was within two weeks of turning fifty, but his emotional outlook on life and desire to be a great cop kept him performing at the level of the younger cops.

He shook hands with ADA Ashley as he sat down and ordered a Bud Light. The history of these two men went back almost ten years. Detective Lieutenant Cronin proved he was the master of solving puzzles and games during the kidnapping of Deborah Lance and the Ghost Face vigilante killings. Ashley had always regarded Kevin as a top detective, but he gained a new respect for him by the time the case was finished. There was only one question in his mind, and he had not raised it for the past six months. Tonight he would have his opportunity.

Detective Cronin ordered the prime rib special while Ashley ordered the smothered burger and Fries. After the menu was given back to the server, Kevin said, “I was originally going to speak to you about one specific thing, but after what happened in the parking lot at headquarters there will be two things to talk about.” Ashley took a sip of his beer as the detective began to tell him about the visit from Al Simmons in regards to the correctional facility and the drugs being received by what he called “dirty doctors.” He explained to the ADA the information was given to Simmons from Madison. Ashley stopped eating after the word
Madison
was mentioned.

“Oh, shit,” the ADA said. “Oh, shit. I'm getting a bad case of indigestion. I'm not ready for this. You say ‘Madison Robinson' and it brings back a shitload of crap I don't want to think about.”

“John,” the detective said, “that was over eighteen months ago and it was a crime spree. This is a chance to put away licensed professionals who are not ethical and a big part of the oxycodone and Vicodin problem. I want to send Bud in there on a private tour with a writer from the
LI Pulse
as a writing team doing a story. If he thinks it is safe enough I want to put Detective Baker undercover for about a week to ten days and see what she comes up with.” Ashley dropped his silverware as he put his napkin to his mouth.

“Kevin, what if something happens to Baker or one of the prisoners? And besides, Bud will have the prisoners either dancing to Lady Gaga or shots will be fired.”