The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel (32 page)

Bud was in the viewing room for another hour, when he was told where Paul was. He sent Paul a text that he was going to stay behind at the precinct unless he wanted company to visit the Anderson family. Bud sat down at his desk again and did not like his thoughts. He began to doubt himself, thinking he was overanalyzing everything. Or was he?

He picked up his BlackBerry and sent Sherman a text asking if he was right- or left-handed. He got his answer within two minutes. Sherman answered, “Kiss my ass.” Bud replied, “I knew you liked ass.”

Bud went into Cronin’s office and shut the door. “What’s on your mind?” Cronin asked as he looked up at Bud.

Bud looked out the window as the uniformed officers, assistants, secretaries, and detectives went about their business. Then he turned around and looked at Cronin, saying, “Why do you think we can’t find Smith? I mean, he can’t go anywhere. It’s strange to me the FBI, ourselves, don’t know where he is at. Sure, a letter pops up, but we don’t know if he is the one who really sent it.”

“What are you getting at?” Cronin asked as he stopped doodling.

Bud frowned and looked hesitant to speak but went ahead anyway. “What if Phil Smith was dead and whoever is playing vigilante Ghost Face doesn’t expect to get caught because he knows that Phil Smith will never be found?”

The detective lieutenant leaned back in his chair for a moment to cogitate on the words of Detective Johnson. Then he said, “Then why send a letter saying it wasn’t you, meaning Phil Smith. It would have been better not to have sent the letter, unless you just wanted to play a game and make it more confusing for everyone. And speaking of game, are you having fun on Twitter?”

“Oh,” Bud replied, “you are aware of it already? I just feel there needs to be someone else getting in the middle of this.”

Cronin interrupted him, “I agree, knock yourself out, but be careful what leads, if any, you may or may not accidently expose. Keep them cryptic, as you have. I don’t need the district attorney getting nuts, plus remember you are on the hit list, and I’m not sure if you would be standing here right now if the shooter didn’t want you to be.”

Bud agreed and replied, “Why do you think the note about me was left for Paul?”

“That’s easy,” Cronin replied. “Isn’t he the closest one to you? Who would be hurt most by your death, besides your immediate family? It would be Paul, right?” Cronin didn’t get an answer fast enough, so he pressed more forcibly, saying, “Right?”

“Yeah,” Bud said.

“It’s
yes,
” Cronin said, “don’t
yeah
me. You sound like a rookie, and I’m too old to have someone say
yeah
.”

“Yes, boss,” Bud said as he walked out.

As he went back toward his desk, he stopped Officer Healey, who seemed to know most things going on at the precinct.

“Justin,” Bud asked, “do we have a list of the top marksmen in the precinct?”

“Not sure about a list, but I can tell you who the top are, both handgun and rifle.”

“Tell me,” Bud replied.

“Officer Dugan, Summers, Smith, and Detective Waters are top in the precinct.”

“Thanks,” Bud said as he sat down.

“However,” Healey said, “your man Powers, along with Officer Lynagh, are near the top in Suffolk County.”

Bud looked up at the uniformed officer and said, “He never spoke about it to me.”

“He’s a modest guy,” Healey said.

“However, your girl in the hospital, Sherry Walker, she was number one in all of Long Island this past year.”

“OK, thanks,” Bud said as he looked at some papers on his desk.

He kept staring at the same piece of paper but had no idea what was written on it. His thoughts were elsewhere. He could feel his heartbeat through his temple.

He was so engulfed in his thoughts that it startled him when his phone buzzed with a text from Deborah. He looked at his phone, and it said, “Have a nice day. Thank you again for the beautiful note.” He shook his head, trying to keep his mind clear as his thoughts were taking him to a place he didn’t want to go.

He sent Paul a text saying he was on his own with the Anderson family. He got up and decided to pay Allan a visit in Belle Terre. He stopped at Paul’s desk and glanced over the top of it. Newspaper; paper cup; top drawer half open; articles concerning the case cut out and in a neat pile; Rachelle’s tweets printed out; precinct paperwork; photos of his dad, mom, and the group that included himself, Rachelle, Allan, Timothy, Madison, and Joey Z.
Those were the days,
he thought. The photo had been taken only a month before, but now it seemed like a lifetime ago. He shook his head and went back into Cronin’s office.

“Why did everyone pull security from the mansion? First you, and then the FBI.”

“Because we are spending too much overtime on a house with no one there,” Cronin answered.

“Why did you send Deborah and her dad to Florida?”

“I didn’t send them,” Cronin replied. “I asked them to leave town ’til this was over, and they complied. Any more questions?” Cronin asked.

“Yeah, I mean, yes. Is there anything you are not telling me?”

“You mean us, Detective, right? Last time I checked, you have a partner.” Cronin stood up and said, “This case is a complex one, and until the photographs of the case have been developed a little bit more, there are things that should not be said.”

“Photographs?” Bud said.

“Manner of speaking,” Cronin said. “Until more is clear.”

“OK,” Bud said. “Your age is showing.”

“Get the hell out of here,” Cronin remarked. “Make yourself useful and find a bad guy today.”

“Yes, boss,” Bud said as he walked out.

He got in the car and drove to Belle Terre to see Allan. It took Bud about 15 minutes to get to the security house to see Allan. Detective Johnson told Allan he didn’t want to ask the same questions as Paul, so if he could just review with him the questions he asked, it would be a big help to him.

Allan told him Paul wanted to know by whom and how many times the Lance Mansion was checked on by security. He asked if there were cameras at the security house for the grounds from Cliff Road; the answer was no. The cameras were on the road near the entrance and in the driveway at the gate. The video monitors were located in the security building. Allan told him once every hour he did a drive-by in the community. Paul also asked if they had stopped anyone that didn’t live in the neighborhood, and the answer was no. He then proceeded to drive toward the mansion for a hands-on look.

“Did you leave anything out?” Bud asked.

“Don’t think so,” Allan replied. “You guys better end this soon, or I’m asking for a raise. This is bullshit.” Allan told Bud he had missed Paul by 10 minutes.

“Anything else?” Bud asked.

“Yes, but it’s personal stuff. He’s my friend, remember?”

“Yes,” Bud said. “He’s my friend also, and my partner. Nothing you want to tell me?”

“He’s hurting, that’s all I’m going to say. I’m not going to break his confidence.”

Bud replied quickly, “But you would if you thought he was going to hurt someone or himself, right?”

Allan was taken by surprise and asked, “What are you saying?”

“Just what I said,” Bud said. “You wouldn’t be silent if you thought someone would be hurt.”

“He’s worried about you and Rachelle,” Allan answered. “And because I’m your friend too, I won’t tell him what you said to me.”

“Allan,” Bud replied, “this is a case where this village is a firestorm of publicity. In case you haven’t noticed, we are having trouble putting the puzzle together. There’s never been a case like this ever on the island, and quite frankly I have not heard of anything like this in the States. Questions are going to be asked that you may not like or I may not like, but it has to be done.”

Allan walked over to his desk and picked up
Newsday
. He said, “Can you believe this shit? People are buying the paper to see what Rachelle wrote. Today’s tweet: 'You may think you are the star, but you won’t get very far. Why? Because I know who you are.’ They are printing your tweets to add to all this bullshit.”

“I know what I’m doing, Allan.”

“Oh, come on,” Allan yelled. “You are going to get yourself killed, and that’s what your partner is worried about.”

“OK, OK. Calm down. I’m going to get out of your way and take a look at the mansion,” Bud replied.

“Yeah, knock yourself out,” Allan remarked.

“It’s yes, not yeah,” Bud remarked.

“Oh, fuck you!” Allan yelled. “Just go!”

Bud smiled as he went to his car satisfied that he had irritated someone else today. He got in his car to drive to the end of Cliff Street and called to check on Sherry. She was in great spirits and appreciated that Bud checked on her.

“By the way,” Bud asked, “have you heard from Paul in the last couple of days?”

“Yes, I have,” she answered. “He is here now, if you want to speak to him.”

“No, no,” Bud replied. “I just wanted to know if he had been in touch with you. By the way, I heard you were top marksman with a rifle last year.”

“That’s right, honey,” she replied, “and it’s top marks
woman
to you, so watch yourself, sweetheart.”

The call ended, and they hung up the phones as Bud arrived at the end of Cliff Road, where it became a dead-end circle. He stopped the car, got out, and looked down at the harbor. It was a beautiful sight to digest. He left his car at the end and walked to the front gate of the mansion. He then walked to the second gate that guests and occupants of the pool house used. Everything looked OK, boring, he thought to himself. Maybe Cronin was right. Why spend tax dollars on house security when no one was there?

He saw the camera on him from the road and noticed the red light on the top. He took a chance that Allan was watching him, so he started dancing and waving to the camera. Allan had made it a point to watch since Bud was there, and it made him smile while adding “Sick fuck” to what he was watching.

Bud started walking to the house, when Allan noticed a shadow in the bushes near the gate. He zoomed the camera in tight to try and get a look. It was a dog, a beautiful dog. It looked like a King Charles Cavalier, and it was roped to a tree. Evidently, it had fallen asleep behind the bushes, but apparently Bud had awakened him. There was an envelope attached to the collar of the dog.

Allan called Bud on his cell, couldn’t reach him, and ran to his car to block the road so Bud couldn’t get by. He was in the middle of the road with his vehicle when Bud approached him. Allan yelled, “Turn around, there’s a dog with an envelope on his collar.” The detective turned around and drove back down, with Allan following him. They reached the second gate, and Allan led him to where he saw the dog. Sure enough, scared beyond comprehension, the dog tried to jump into Bud’s arms just happy to see a human.

“Hope it’s not a bomb,” Bud said.

“Come on!” Allan said as he began to pet the dog. Bud took the envelope off the collar that said MINTY.

“Hey, Monty!” he said.

The dog began licking Bud, just happy that someone knew his name. Bud opened the envelope that had DETECTIVE POWERS written on the outside of it.

“It’s addressed to Paul,” Allan said.

“Sorry, too late,” Bud said. “I didn’t see it.” He unfolded the paper, and it said,
“Detective Powers. I told you to stop the killing. Tell me, WHO DO YOU LOVE?
I will not miss the next time.”

“What does it say?” Allan said.

“You don’t want to know,” Bud replied.

“I do if it involves the security of this neighborhood,” Allan replied.

“No, no, my friend. It doesn’t,” Bud answered. “There’s a phone number on the dog tag. Let’s go see who the owner of this beautiful dog is.”

Allan called, and it turned out Monty belonged to a 12-year-old girl who was heard crying in the background when her father picked up the phone call. The house was located just a couple blocks away on Bell Circle.

“I’m coming with you,” Bud said. “I have questions.”

They got to the house, and in the driveway already waiting was the father and the daughter. Bud could see from the girl’s face that she had been hysterical. Allan handed the dog to her and told her how he started licking Bud when he called out his name.

Bud looked at the father and said, “What happened? Dog got loose?”

“No,” the father said. “Lindsey was playing in the front yard. This guy from the road asked for directions. She was taught to stay in the yard, so she spoke to the man from about 20 yards away. He thanked her, but the dog ran to the car and, according to Lindsey, he got out and swooped up the dog and drove off.”

“Did you call the security building?” Allan asked.

“Not right away, but we called the police when it happened, and they still haven’t come yet.”

“OK,” Bud said. “Can you give me a description of the man?”

“Lindsey can,” he said. She went inside the house and brought out a piece of paper that appeared to have a professional-looking sketch. She handed it to Bud.

“Shut the front door! That’s Phil Smith! You drew this?” he asked Lindsey.

The father answered for her, saying, “She’s in advanced classes for art.”

“No shit. I mean, for sure,” Bud replied. He continued, “I don’t suppose you got the vehicle information, like a license plate?”

“New York plates, KNA-2388,” Lindsey answered.

“How old are you?” Bud asked. “Do you want a job?”

“Bud!” Allan yelled.

“I’m not kidding, Allan, this kid is gifted. What do you want to be when you grow up?” he asked her.

“I’m going to be a judge,” she answered.

“That’s interesting,” Bud replied. “Why?” he asked, hoping to cross her up.

“Because I like making decisions,” the young girl answered right away, with a serious look on her face.

“Well, I have a feeling you are going to make it. Here’s my card. You call me if you need me in 10 years or if you have any information before that time.”

Bud and Allan both got in their vehicles and drove back to the security building. They went inside, where Bud looked at the sketch.

“Nice way to catch yourself,” Allan said to Bud. “Shut the front door? Interesting.”