No Mercy (9 page)

“I hope one day when she's old enough to make her own decisions that she would want to come by and say hello, that's all. She was great at the trial, wasn't she?” Healey looked at Lynagh for validation. His partner nodded as he watched Healey keep going. “The faces of the attorneys, Judge Green, the jury as Lindsey recounted the dates in chronological order. I thought the defense was going to pee their pants,” he said as he started laughing. “She held up, she wouldn't let anyone get one up on her. She wouldn't break. Shit, she had O'Connor's attorney nervous. Their only chance was intimidating her with fear by hurting her or her parents or her dog. I was so proud of her. It's amazing to me how respectful the media was to her. They can be wild animals on stories, but they kept her name out of the papers. I suppose it's another reason her parents didn't want her to keep in touch with us. I understand.”

Healey giggled like Lynagh had never heard him before and added, “Besides, I don't think the world is ready for Lindsey Wilkerson just yet, but look out, America, when she is ready.” He put his head down in the car as he took a long breath. Then silence. Lynagh put his hand on his shoulder as Justin Healey looked at him.

“Listen up,” Lynagh said. “The best thing about a girl with a photographic memory is it's a certainty she won't forget you, but something tells me she wouldn't anyway. I have a feeling you haven't seen the last of her.” Healey nodded as he saw Bud's car pull out of the front path of the house.

“Shit, Bud's been here.”

Lynagh laughed and said, “Yes, you were going on so much about Lindsey I didn't want to stop you. Let's go check on this asshole Roberts.” They drove down Cliff Road toward the entrance of Belle Terre, and other than a glance from Justin Healey, nothing was said when they drove by the house of Lindsey Wilkerson.

It was a twenty-minute drive to Bruce Roberts's house in Lake Grove, and the officers were surprised he wasn't home on a Sunday evening with the club closed. They looked through the windows and even considered checking the door.

“Maybe we should hear a noise inside and have probable cause,” Healey said as he put his hand on the knob of the door.

Lynagh laughed. “Nah, let's give him ten minutes and come back tomorrow.” They sat in the car, and within five minutes Bruce Roberts got out of his car and started walking toward his front door.

“Christ,” Healey said. “Look at the size of this guy. Reminds me of Schwarzenegger from Commando.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Lynagh said as they got out of the car. “Suffolk County Police.”

“Yea, I got that,” Roberts said. “You have nice uniforms.” “Well,” Healey replied, “sometimes we forget we are wearing them.”

“What's up?” Roberts replied.

“At the City club, the night of Kate Summers's murder, you were slipped a $100 bill an hour before she got there. Could you tell us why, please?”

“You know,” Roberts answered, “you guys are so polite, it really makes it difficult not to answer your questions.”

“Then please do so, sir,” Healey interjected.

“No,” Roberts answered. “I'd rather just say no, thank you sirs.” He smiled and started to walk away.

Healey looked at Lynagh and said, “You know, this is the part where Bud would say, ‘No, shithead or dickhead or shit for brains or just shoot him in the ass and get things done, but no, we are given a hard time for being polite.”

Lynagh just raised his hand to Healey while looking at Roberts, who by now had turned around and was just squinting, trying to comprehend what was going on.

“Sir,” Lynagh replied, “you can either answer the question, or we will take you to the precinct and ask questions all night.”

Roberts took out his phone and called the owner of the City club.

“Mr. Branca,” Roberts said, “I have two police officers who want to take me to the precinct to ask me questions about the night of the murder.”

Lynagh and Healey could not hear what the owner was saying to him, but they could tell that Bruce Roberts was a puppet on a string.

Roberts said, “Yes sir.” As he hung up he looked at the officers and told them he would be down at the precinct the next morning sometime with an attorney.

He turned around and started heading for his door when Lynagh said, “You left out the part of kissing his ass when you spoke to your boss.”

Roberts turned around and stared at the officer, who didn't flinch a muscle while Roberts, who was twice his size, continued to stare at him with ice in his eyes.

“You are a very small man, Officer.” Lynagh inched closer as Healey moved his hand closer to his weapon.

“Go ahead,” Lynagh spoke, “give me a reason to prove size really doesn't matter.”

Roberts was surprised by the statement and decided to turn back around and head for the door. He stopped and turned around again, looking at Lynagh with a puzzled look on his face. He said, “It's easy to be brave when you have a 9mm Glock strapped to your waist.”

Lynagh moved a few steps closer as Healey kept his hand on the top of his gun. Lynagh stopped with both his arms straight down away from his firearm. He said, “I don't need a gun with you. Being smart wins every time over being big.”

The tension became so thick that Healey moved up and gently put his hand on the back of his partner's shoulder. Bruce Roberts was now angry over the officer's comments, but he was under strict orders from Branca not to get physical.

Lynagh and Healey stood their ground as Roberts reached for his keys, looked back at them, smiled, and opened the door. Suddenly, a fireball explosion lit up the night as both officers went to the ground and crawled back to the car to avoid debris landing everywhere.

After thirty seconds that seemed like five minutes, Healey spoke. “I think we have probable cause now.”

Lynagh picked up the radio to report as he said, “No shit.” Paul had just arrived at Rachelle's house for dinner and was playing with Wes when the call came in about the explosion.

Lynagh reported Roberts was blown to bits before the question was asked.

“OK,” Paul said, “let the crime unit do their thing. I'll send Chapman and Franks to relieve you in an hour. Meet me in the morning to review everything.” He hung up as Rachelle moved in for a hug.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

Paul shook his head. “We got a real mystery on our hands, love.”

“Well,” she said, “let me help relieve a little stress.” And she kissed him.

Bud was just finishing up his whole-wheat rigatoni at the Pie in the Village when the call came in about the explosion.

He shook his head as Deborah grabbed his hand, saying, “No work tonight, please.” She always made him smile.

“No work,” he replied, “just an update.” She was a good influence on him and had encouraged Bud to eat healthier and lose some weight over the past eighteen months. The Pie restaurant on Main Street had become another of Bud's favorites when it came to his food. They had the best margherita pizza, the salads were really good, and he loved the tortellini soup with spinach.

As usual, he also got attached to the servers. He always had trivia for them, and sometimes they would have one for him. Bud would also tease the staff on occasion, especially over the beer selection the restaurant had. Here they were in the middle of the village and not only did they not carry the local Port Jefferson beer from the brewery down the street, but also the Long Island beer Blue Point, which Bud loved. He got over the disappointment with the service, the food, and the beer on draft they did carry, Brooklyn Lager. Yet every time Bud went into the restaurant, he would ask for the local Port Jefferson just to be funny.

The owner, Kristen Pace, would also come over and speak to Bud on occasion. A beautiful blond woman whom he would tell Paul belonged on Fox News with all the other female anchors. His partner would just shake his head and smile at Bud, and say, “You are a funny guy, Bud Johnson.” He thought to himself,
Justin Healey would have a crush on Kristin Pace if he met her.

Yet it was true. The woman whose family also owned the famous Pace's Steak House was an attractive woman who raised a family and spent many hours making the Pie one of Long Island's best restaurants for pizza. Since its opening in 2003 its growth from just serving pizza, calzones, and meatball heroes to when Kristin took over as sole owner in 2008 was limited. She expanded the menu in 2009 to a full menu, and now you couldn't get in the place without a wait after 6:30 pm.

The 3,500-square-foot restaurant had become a favorite of Bud's, which meant Deborah, Rachelle, and Paul would also patronize the eatery. Rachelle, who had become a critic of local restaurants in her articles, wrote about how good the food was for alternatives such as the grilled vegetable salad, the caramelized pear salad, and the gorgonzola salad. It was Bud's love for the classic margherita pizza that kept him coming back. There was no one like Bud when it came to his food, even with losing almost twenty pounds. It continued to be a challenge for him.

“Come on,” he said to Deborah, “I want to show you the house you are going to help me move into next Saturday.” Bud would not allow Deborah to share the bill.

“No,” he said, “I asked you out, this is my treat.” Bud was always refreshing to her. He was the only man she ever met that didn't treat her like she was worth over $20 million. They drove to 116 South Street and he pointed it out to her.

“Wow,” she laughed, “you will enjoy this old house. I hope the ghosts don't mind sharing with you.”

He touched her shoulder and said, “Oh, don't start this again, you and Paul,” as they both laughed.

“You know what I like best about this house?” Deborah said.

“Tell me,” Bud replied.

“That you will only be about five minutes from me.” Bud was very touched by the remark and hugged her with his hand touching the back of her head.

“That's so nice,” he said as he kissed her cheek. She noticed he didn't kiss her anywhere else. They got out of the car and walked around the house that looked small from the front.

Madison lay in her cell making noises as Officer Gates moved to her space to make sure she was OK. She had been working the overnight shift for six months and had witnessed Madison having nightmares before during her stay at the facility, but this seemed unusual. The young woman moved her leg as her thoughts played on her mind as she slept: No windows, just rooms connected that seemed endless. Somehow she was touched on the leg and she would run to the next room, then was touched on the back of the neck. She would run to the next room, which was in total darkness. Being blinded from the dark would frighten her even more. She began to run again until she ran into the blood-splattered Ghost Face mask. She couldn't move forward because of the figure in front of her, she couldn't move backward because there was a knife in her stomach. The figure took off the mask, and it was her own face looking at her. “You did this to yourself, Madison.” The knife was pushed deeper as Madison started screaming.

Officer Gates opened her cell door and put her hand on Madison as the young woman put her head in her chest.

“It's OK,” Gates said, “it was a nightmare. It's OK.” She sat with Madison for thirty-five minutes until she was calm and went back to her station. Madison had told her what her nightmare was about, and Officer Gates was conflicted over what to do.

T
he following morning John Bay came in as a substitute for Officer Cane to be Madison's escort. He walked up to the cell as Gates was serving Madison a tray of food for breakfast. Officer Gates motioned to John Bay to hold his thoughts until she was finished and as the two of them walked away from Madison's cell, the inmate spoke, “Officer Gates, thank you for last night.”

The correctional officer turned to her as Officer Bay watched the exchange and said, “You're welcome, Madison.”

As Madison turned her head toward the tray of food she heard the officer speak again, saying, “Janet.”

Madison looked up at her. “Excuse me?”

The guard spoke again. “My name is Janet; when we are alone please call me Janet.”

Madison grinned. “Nice to meet you, Janet.”

The officer walked back to her desk as John Bay said, “I hope you are going to tell me what this is about.”

Janet Gates looked up at the tall guard. “She had a nightmare last night that she was murdered by herself disguised in the bloody Ghost Face mask. I stayed with her until she was OK, but I think she should talk to a doctor.”

“Janet,” the male officer said, “try to keep it professional. I know it's difficult.” She looked at John Bay with an appreciative smile as she spoke.

“Keeping things professional doesn't change our thoughts, John. Thanks for the advice. I won't disrespect the facility or my job, but I am human. We all know the real story here. I will see you tomorrow.”

John Bay understood the conflict of being a person, but they were trained that once the uniform was on all inmates had to be treated the same.
Easier said than done,
he thought.

Paul woke up and turned over to see Rachelle was already out of bed. She had mastered the art of his weakness, which was intimacy with her. They now spent 50 percent of the nights together, and Rachelle often wondered when and where the next step would be. Paul put on his boxer shorts and walked out to the kitchen, where Rachelle was making breakfast. All she had on was his shirt, and it was such a turn-on for him. There were times he couldn't take his eyes off her when she had nothing on but his Yankees jersey. He thought it was even sexier than when she had nothing on at all. He poured himself a cup of coffee while Wes moved in for a petting. He looked over at Craven, who barely left Rachelle's side. It never ceased to amaze him, the difference in their personalities. He took a sip of his coffee and asked Rachelle what her plans were for the day.

“Well, my love, I will be at the restaurant from nine to four in the afternoon today and Joey Z will work the night shift, and then I will be here writing for a bit. I'm going to visit Madison tomorrow if you would like to come with me.”

She looked at him half expecting him to say no because of work, but he said yes. She kissed him on the lips and said, “Great, I have to shower and get to the restaurant.”

Paul finished his breakfast, walked the dogs, and stopped by his apartment above Z Pita to shower and get to the office.
It is going to be a very long day
, he thought.

Cronin was at his desk when ADA Ashley walked in and gave him information on all forty-two visitors Jason O'Connor had had in the last eighteen months. The detective looked over the names—ex-wife, daughter, son, lawyers. He scanned the names and chose twelve names to have photos of them sent to him. Ashley made the call to the prison and had them email photos of the twelve men. One of the best things the prison had ever done was to take photos of all the visitors that came to visit as a permanent record.

Gina came in to Cronin's office to bring him some papers, and the detective asked her to bring the photos in once she printed them out. Ashley and Cronin were only discussing the explosion the night before for five minutes when Gina brought the photos in. They looked at them, and still nothing stood out. Cronin then asked Gina to send the photos via email to everyone working the case to see if anyone looked familiar.

Ashley started speaking. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”

“Yes,” Cronin said, “I believe it's the best way.”

“Well,” the ADA said, “the only reason why I'm agreeing to this, as well as the DA, is because you were right during the Face of Fear case.”

“If,” Cronin replied, “anything happens to me, you will have to get with Paul. He's a good man and a leader as you can see.”

“Maybe, but he's not as full of surprises as you are,” Ashley said. Cronin laughed as Officer Chapman came into his office to tell him the DJs and his set up man or as some called equipment manager, as well as the club cleaner were in separate rooms.

“The club cleaner?” Cronin replied.

“Yes, sir,” Chapman answered. “Detective Johnson requested the pickup after reviewing the video feed from the clubs.”

They both stood up as Ashley said, “Well this should be fun.”

Paul Powers met with Cronin and Ashley in the main interrogation room. It was state-of-the art. In the eighteen months between them, there was no comparison between the interrogation rooms for the Priority 1 Task Force and the Face of Fear case. The monitoring room was a square with four one-way mirrors on each side and speakers to control each room. This could be viewed from the window or from a video feed. You could walk to each window and see what was going on within seconds. Each interrogation room had its own separate entrance from a back hallway. The three DJs and the tech person were in four rooms, while the City club's private room cleaner was in the conference room with Officer Dugan as an escort.

“OK,” Cronin said to Paul. “Good luck, but bring these photos of people with you to show them.”

“What for?” Paul asked, looking confused. Cronin had not mentioned the notes he was receiving and did not want to distract from the case, especially if there was no connection.

“Just a safeguard,” the detective lieutenant replied. “These people have visited O'Connor upstate.”

“Fine,” Paul answered, still looking a little confused. Bud entered the room as Paul looked at him.

“Ready, Bud?”

“Always, my partner,” Bud answered.

As they entered the room, Ashley looked at Cronin and asked,

“Bud doesn't have his gun with him right?”

He expected Cronin to laugh and say, no but instead he answered,

“I hope not.”

The references to Bud Johnson's shooting of Kyle Winters in the groin and O'Connor in the ass during the prior famous investigation would forever create conversation and inside jokes the rest of his career. The two detectives sat down in front of the DJ from Skyline. Paul took the lead during the interrogation, which was the norm.

Ron Royal, better known as the Master, was a twenty-eight-year-old club mixer and seemed only able to talk about music. He didn't seem to know about anything outside of his ten-by-twenty-foot area where his equipment and tapes were. He was a genius when it came to his playlist, video screens, and speakers.

Paul showed Ron the video of the man who had made a request on paper to him.

“Yes,” he said, “he requested ‘Kiss of Death' by Mystic Strangers.”

Bud perked up.

“How do you remember that?”

The Master replied, “I got many requests, and if there is one thing that I remember in my life, it's my music, but this was different. The request came with a $100 bill in it. I'm sure about the song he requested.”

Paul asked him if he still had the bill on him, and the Master laughed, saying it filled up his tank on his van the next day.

Paul brought out the photos from the jail and asked him if anyone looked familiar. The DJ shook his head, telling the detectives he had never seen them. Bud asked him if he had seen or knew Alicia Hudson, and again his answer was no. They thanked him and asked him to stay for a while during the interviews. Ron Royal looked at his watch and promptly said, “The Master will wait for a bit, however, time is money, my friends.”

Bud, never at a loss for words, replied, “Well, then it's good the club is closed on Monday nights.” The two detectives then went into the second room, where Ken Anker from the Pajama Club was ready for them.

“Please,” he said, “feel free to call me Sir Entertainment.” Paul smiled and replied, “Ken, we have some questions for you. Thank you for coming down.”

“OK,” the DJ replied with a big smile on his face, “call me Sir for short.” He held his hands raised up in the air.

Bud promptly replied, “How 'bout I call you Dick, short for Dick Head?”

Paul hit his partner on his shoulder to get down to business.

Paul knew Bud's reply stemmed from his annoyance at the request from the DJ to be called Sir.

Cronin, in the monitoring room, was shaking his head watching the exchange, while Ashley noticed in Room 3 the DJ from the City club now had an attorney in the room with him. He motioned for Cronin to take a quick look and his only reply was, “Interesting.”

They both went back to Room 2 and turned up the volume to listen in. The questions were the same for Ken Anker as they had been for Ron Royal. The answers were the same too, including the $100 bill for a request to play a song. Yet they were surprised it was a different song title. This one called “The Thrill” by the same group, Mystic Strangers.

Paul asked the DJ if the song was an unusual request and the DJ responded,

“Yes, I had never heard it before.”

“If,” Bud asked, “it was so unusual, why did you have the song available?”

The DJ was surprised the question was asked, but he answered,

“Man, in today's technology you can download anything quickly and play it. No big deal.”

Paul brought out the photos given to him by Detective Cronin, and again there was no recognition of who they were.

Paul and Bud excused themselves and went into Room 3 with Lawrence Stone and attorney Michael Corbin. ADA Ashley walked into the room to lend some support to the detectives, with the lawyer in the room.

“Gentlemen,” Attorney Corbin stated, “why is there a need for an ADA to be in the room during a simple questioning?”

Ashley replied, “I was thinking the same thing about your client”, Cronin smiled behind the mirror as he watched.

Ashley looked over at Mr. Stone and asked, “Mr. DJ, may I call you Lawrence?”

The man promptly replied, “My show name is Ace of Clubs. Get it?” He laughed and said, “Ace of Clubs, it's a double meaning.”

Bud quickly spoke up. “Pretty bold for a guy with his fly open.” The DJ looked down at his fly. The attorney yelled back,

“That's uncalled for, Detective!”

Paul whispered in Bud's ear while Ashley touched Bud's arm to calm him down as the ADA spoke.

“Mr. Ace,” as he looked at the DJ, “have you ever seen this man before in your life? Yes or no?”

Attorney Corbin stood up. “Don't answer that! What is this? This is not a trial. We are leaving this instant unless you are charging my client.”

Ashley stood up to be on Corbin's level. “How do I know you are really his attorney and not someone trying to keep him quiet, take him out of here, then kidnap him, and kill him to keep him from talking?”

Cronin was laughing loudly behind the mirror, enjoying the show. Lawrence Stone looked up at Ashley as he caught Bud nodding yes in agreement to what the ADA was saying and then blew into his finger like it was a smoking gun.

The DJ yelled “Wait!” as he looked up at the attorney. “Really, who are you?” The attorney just shook his head like he couldn't believe his client could be so dumb.

Ashley looked at Michael Corbin and said, “Let's just all put our egos aside, sit down, and work this out. Ace here is not going anywhere without answering a few questions, or he will be charged as an accomplice.”

Corbin and Ashley both sat down as Paul continued to look at the DJ's reaction. The ice was broken as Bud spoke up that he was hungry and they needed to finish up. They all looked at Bud before starting up the questioning.

Paul spoke first. “Mr. Corbin, who is paying you?”

The attorney replied, “I am on retainer for the City club.”

“So,” Ashley said, “the owner, Brian Branca, is your client?”

“Yes,” the attorney answered, “but Mr. Stone here is an employee of Mr. Branca, therefore I am here to protect his interests and those of the club.”

“My friend,” Ashley replied, “we were told Edward Larson was Brian Branca's attorney.”

Corbin replied, “We are both on retainer.”

Ashley was quick to respond, “We have been in this room for over thirty minutes and have established nothing because of all this spin. Now, let's just ask a few questions and everyone can be on their way.”

As it turned out, Stone knew nothing. Not even a request was given to him. No money was exchanged, and there was no recognition of any of the photos. Attorney Corbin smiled at the three gentlemen across the table as if to say sorry but that he really didn't care. Ashley got up without even saying good-bye to his counterpart and opened the door to the back hallway to join Detective Cronin in the viewing room.

“Kevin,” he said, “I think it's OK to let the three DJs leave for now. Besides, we can bring the cleaner from the club in here, and who knows, with any luck Corbin doesn't even know we brought the young man in.”

Cronin agreed and called Gina to have Chapman escort the three DJs out one at a time. He didn't want them talking to each other. As Chapman was escorting the first DJ out, Cronin got a call from Gina that she had an urgent call from Hansen. She put the call through as Hansen began to speak.

“Sir, the twelve photographs you sent to us through email, do you have them in front of you?”

“Yes,” Cronin replied. “Let me put you on speakerphone so the ADA can hear you. OK, go ahead.”

Hansen began to speak again. “The Jerry Wakefern photo. You had me look for the boyfriends of the victims, including the man Jake Wiley, who never showed up for his blind date with Kate Summers. Well sir, the photo of Jerry Wakefern is the man I interviewed as Jake Wiley.”

Cronin slammed his fist on the table and exclaimed, “I knew it! O'Connor is mixed up in all this! Good job, Detective!”