The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel (23 page)

He picked up the phone and said, “Get Patty Saunders into the interrogation room. I have some questions.” He shut off the television and looked over his paperwork for an hour before he was told Robert Simpson had arrived.

“Have him come to my office,” Cronin said.

Officer Lynagh seemed stunned by the request and said, “Sir?”

“It’s OK. Have him come to my office.”

The officer escorted Simpson to Cronin’s office, and Cronin told him it was OK to leave. He shut the door, and Simpson asked if he needed an attorney.

“You’re not under arrest,” Cronin answered. “You came here on your own free will.”

“Oh, really?” Simpson said. “This is the fourth time Officer Lynagh has brought me here, and if he ever cracks a smile, his face might fall off. What choice do I have? Especially with threats of being shot in the ass! In case you haven’t noticed, he’s not the most pleasant person to be around. Your crazy-ass Detective Johnson threatens me every time I see him.”

“I apologize,” Detective Lieutenant Cronin said. “Have you told anybody else about that silly comment?”

“No, because he threatened me again if I said anything.”

“Then why are you telling me?” Cronin said.

“Because I’m no longer a suspect in this, right? And you’re his boss, so I’m just letting you know, you have a whack job for a detective.”

“Listen,” Cronin said, “I’d like to get off your ass for a moment and talk seriously with you.”

“What about?” Simpson answered.

Bud came out of the video room and was met by Officer Lynagh, who told him to look in Cronin’s office through the window. He walked toward the large window and could see Cronin and Simpson talking. “What the fuck?” Bud kept saying to himself. He started looking at his watch to time how long the conversation continued. Bud was surprised no one else was in on the conversation.

John Winters looked at his cheap watch, and it was 3:00 pm. The abandoned building with the big crayons in front serving as columns had served him well for the past 36 hours, but he knew it was time to move on. It would be difficult for him to get out of Port Jefferson unless he was able to get to a house and clean up and change his appearance. He had lost both brothers in the past week, lost his homes, lost the ransom money, and it seemed that the person who started all of this was sitting in a comfortable jail cell. He wondered if her empty apartment was being watched. He didn’t want to sleep on the floor of this old building that was once a school for the physically challenged. It had been closed for at least five years, and it appeared that St. Charles Hospital, which owned the building, did not know what to do with it.

One of his favorite things about Port Jefferson was that it had two hospitals within five minutes. Most people liked all the restaurants, but John Winters amused himself by thinking the hospitals would be getting the attention now.

As he looked out the window into the empty parking lot, he heard a crackle noise. He stopped breathing just to see if he could hear it again. He heard a soft footstep. He started sweating and pulled out his gun and aimed it at the door. He froze while waiting. Nothing. He started to breathe a little and heard it again. He held his breath. A cat came to the front of the door and stared at him.
Just my luck
, he thought.
A black cat
. “Scram, fella,” he said. “My luck can’t get any worse.”

He approached the door as he put his gun away, and into the entrance stepped the masked figure. John caught the hand holding the knife by the intruder’s wrist, but a swift kick to his stomach sent him reeling back into the room and onto the furniture. The figure came at him again, and he pulled out his gun. Another kick to his ribs made him drop the firearm but not before it fired. The Ghost Face attempted to strike again as John moved quickly to get to his gun. He reached it and started firing into the dark shadows of the room. He was on his back. Quiet, waiting, he did not move for 60 seconds, but it seemed like an eternity. He had to get out of the building as quickly as possible because of the noise from the shots being fired.

He got up, looked out the window to see if he could see anything, and as he started to turn around, the knife went through him. As the blood came out of his mouth, he raised his hand to take the mask off of his killer. There was no attempt to stop John Winters. The person holding the knife in his body stood there as John tore the mask off. It was pure enjoyment to see his puzzled look before the knife was turned and twisted to tear up his organs. The mask was put back on, and the killer left with lightning speed. Before doing so, a chair was thrown through the front window. The killer wanted to be certain the body was found, just in case the sound of the gunfire was not heard.

The sixth precinct got the call, and a young officer answered the inquiry as to the building and possible gunfire. He called it in as Cronin was about to question Patty Saunders.

Albert Simmons identified himself to Cronin at the wrong time, saying, “You, Detective, were you going to question my client without her attorney? Answer the question!”

Cronin turned around and said, “Have you met with your client yet?”

“No,” Albert Simmons answered loudly.

“Go talk to her, I’ll be back.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Simmons roared back.

Cronin turned around again and told officer Rand, “Search Mr. Simmons carefully, Officer Rand, and wear your gloves.”

“What the hell are you doing!” Simmons yelled.

Cronin stopped again and said, “I don’t have time for this. She is under arrest for kidnapping and murder. You told me you had not met with her yet. How do I know you don’t have anything on you that won’t help her escape?”

“Why, you bastard,” Simmons bellowed.

Bud could not help but overhear as he walked down the hallway. “Let’s go, you’re with me!” Cronin said as he walked away.

Bud looked back at Officer Rand and said, “And don’t forget to check his fat ass, it looks suspicious to me.”

“Fuck you,” Simmons yelled back as Rand put on the gloves. Bud jumped in the car with Cronin and brought a muffin and a coffee with him. They were discussing the case when Cronin asked Bud to give Paul a call. As he turned the corner, Bud’s muffin broke apart and went all over Cronin.

Cronin shouted, “In my 25 years of driving, never has anyone had a muffin break and spill all over my car like you. Son of a bitch!” he said, scraping the muffin crumbs off with one hand and driving with the other. “you and your food” he said in a sarcastic voice he shook his head.

“Sorry, boss.” Bud said.

Cronin looked back at him and asked, “Did you really save my life four years ago?”

Bud smiled and nodded. The answer was yes. They had been in a car chase on Nesconset Highway in Smithtown when a teenager who was not paying attention to the sirens and the emergency vehicles continued through a green traffic light and slammed into their vehicle. Bud and Cronin were in an upside-down cruiser with gas leaking. Bud was able to get out of the car, but Cronin was pinned. He ordered Bud to leave in case the vehicle blew, but Bud went around to the driver’s side and freed Cronin’s legs and cut the seat belt off him. He stayed to pop the upsidedown trunk to get the fire extinguisher out and used it to keep the fire from burning him alive until the fire department arrived with the jaws of life. Cronin spent 10 days in the hospital and three weeks on disability, but it was clear he was working again because the man who hid behind the face of a clown was also a good cop and a hero as well.

They arrived at the abandoned building that was once the St. Charles Hospital Educational and Therapeutic Center. Detective Lieutenant Cronin and Bud walked into the old classroom to see John Winters sitting on the floor with his back to the wall. His eyes were open wide, his mouth was open, and his hands were on his fatal wound. Cronin looked around the room as Bud kneeled at John Winters’ body.

“Was it worth it?” Bud asked, as he moved his eyes to the blank stare coming from Winters’ face. “I hope it hurt.”

As he stood up and moved away from the body, he looked at Cronin and said, “He looks like he saw a ghost.”

“Maybe a Ghost Face?” Cronin replied. They worked the room until the crime lab came, at which point Cronin ordered the abandoned building sealed off. When they left the building, there were four police cruisers and the ambulance from St. Charles Hospital across the street. Bud mentioned that during the past week, it was a good thing there were two hospitals in the town or it would be getting pretty crowded.

Cronin looked at Bud, shaking his head, and said, “You are a piece of work, you know that?” Bud smiled as they drove back to the precinct to talk to Patty Saunders.

Paul woke up from someone touching the hair on his forehead. It was his father.

“Dad...”

His father interrupted him, saying, “Paul, listen to the message you left me on my phone.” He put the cell phone up to Paul’s ear, and the young detective was silent as he listened.

“OK, Dad, I was a little down, and I wanted to speak to you.”

“What’s up, son?” His father replied.

“I’ve made my life complicated by falling for the girl in the middle of a case, and there’s no happy ending. I have to fight my emotions and solve this case and move on. I know how difficult it’s going to be because I won’t be able to turn it off. She works downstairs. She owns a part of the restaurant. We have been friends for years, and if I want more, we won’t be friends. I’m screwed either way.”

“OK,” his father replied. “I get it. Listen, you have a job to do, and if you let it conflict you, it may cost a life, maybe your own. What’s more important to you, being her friend, her boyfriend, or none of the above?”

“Her friendship is the most important,” Paul replied.

“Then be her friend,” his father answered. “Because if there is one thing I learned about women, it is that they have a way of letting you know when they want to be more than just your friend.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Paul said.

“Now tell me about what’s going on with this case.”

“Can’t do it, Dad. We got a live one here.”

“Then let me buy you dinner tonight.”

“Sure, Dad, maybe Bud can join us. I’ve got to get back to the precinct before Cronin kills me. See you later.”

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he yelled, “Dad, where are you staying ’til you go to the city?”

“I’m staying at Danford’s for a couple nights,” he yelled down. “See you at 8:00 pm. I’ll call Joey Z to hold a table for us. Later ,Dad,” Paul said, closing the door behind him.

Paul got down to the precinct in time for the start of questioning of Patty Saunders. Her attorney was still angry over Cronin having him practically strip-searched and wanted the police to wait. Albert

Simmons had made calls to the district attorney’s office, which had not been returned. The district attorney, Barry Steinberg, knew of Albert Simmons and knew Detective Lieutenant Cronin. He delayed calling back Simmons to let Cronin have some space to see how this played out for a bit. Paul walked into the viewing room behind the mirror to see Bud and Cronin sit down across from Patty and her attorney.

“Enjoying your stay, Ms. Saunders?” Cronin asked.

“Don’t answer that,” Simmons interrupted.

“I’m sorry,” Cronin said, “I just wanted to know, since I think you are going to be a guest with us for the rest of your life.”

“OK, we are leaving,” Simmons said as he stood up.

“Go ahead, but if you do, any possible deal we were going to make goes out the door with you.” Cronin looked at Patty to see her reaction. She looked up at Simmons with a facial expression that said she wanted to hear what he had to say.

Simmons then looked at Cronin and said, “With all due respect, Mr. Cronin...”

“Detective Lieutenant to you,” interrupted Cronin.

Simmons took a deep breathe and repeated himself, saying, “With all due respect, Detective Lieutenant Cronin, if we are going to talk about a deal, where is the assistant district attorney?”

The detective smiled back and said, “I have much influence, so I would suggest you sit down.”

Patty grabbed his hand to sit down. The attorney sat down. Cronin continued to speak, while Bud gave him a note that said Paul was in the viewing room. Paul had sent him a text. He was actually enjoying watching Bud be so quiet, but that’s the way it usually was when Cronin was in the room.

“Ms. Saunders, we seem to be losing everyone who can explain what is going on. First, Deborah Lance is kidnapped. Things don’t go the way they were planned, and the killing starts. First, Timothy Mann, then our own Officer Victoria Davis, attempted murder of Rachelle Robinson, and then the tables turned. Kyle Winters is killed in the hospital, Wayne Starfield is killed, and then Mason Winters, and today John Winters is killed. We have six murders in a week, and

I’m not even counting the attempted murder of Officer Sherry Walker and the second attempt of Rachelle Robinson.”

Albert Simmons was getting annoyed again and said, “So you get an A for history. What do you want from us?”

As much as Cronin was agitated with Simmons, he was right; he hadn’t asked a question to her yet. Cronin said, “Ms. Saunders, I do have some questions for you, and if you cooperate, I will speak to the assistant district attorney about handing you over to the FBI on the kidnapping charge, which means we would consider not pursuing the murder charges against you. However, the offer only stands if we find out the rest of the story.”

Simmons whispered in Patty’s ear, and she replied she would cooperate. The questions began.

“Have you been in contact with anyone since your arrest?”

“No.”

“Have you been in contact with the outside world in any form?”

“No.”

“Were you involved with anyone else other than John Winters, Mason Winters, Phil Smith, Wayne Starfield, and Kyle Winters?”

“No.”

“Feel free to speak a bit. You are not in a courtroom; you don’t have to just answer yes or no. OK?” Bud said.

“Yes.”

“Who’s paying for Albert Simmons here?”