The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel (37 page)

“What’s your name, son?”

“Marvin,” he said. “What’s it to ya?”

“You’re a tough guy, aren’t you?” Healey asked.

“Yeah, so what?”

“You like singling out girls, do ya?” the officer asked.

“No, just Lindsey.”

Healey went closer to Marvin as the gym teacher was getting closer and said, “Son, I’m going to check on your father’s status with tickets, insurance, or any other problems going on. Then I’m going to ask him why he raised a son that likes to bully girls, and I’m going to do it in the classroom in front of all of your friends and classmates. How does that sound, tough guy?”

“Ugh!” the boy answered. “What if I don’t do it anymore?”

“Then I won’t do it,” Healey answered. “Your choice.”

The boy walked away as the gym teacher reached them and asked, “Is there a problem here?”

“Not anymore,” Healey answered.

He went to the front of the girls’ locker room and waited for Lindsey to come out changed and showered. He had checked it out before the girls entered to be sure there was no other way in or out. She came out about 15 minutes later as they headed off to the rest of her classes.

Sherry was getting restless in the hospital. However, the doctors were not ready to release her for at least a few more days. She was reading the newspaper about the Steven Anderson killing when she received a surprise visit from Rachelle and Madison.

“Hi there!” Rachelle said as she approached the bed and gave Sherry a hug. Sherry was excited to see Rachelle and thought she looked terrific.

“Listen,” Rachelle said, “I know I said this on the phone, but I owe you my life. Thank you!”

Sherry smiled and said, “I’m just happy I found my gun.”

Madison came over to the bed also and thanked Sherry and grabbed her hand while expressing it.

“Forget about me,” Sherry said. “How are you doing, and what is going on with your tweets?”

Rachelle smiled and answered, “I’m doing OK. I start seeing Dr. Hunt tomorrow, a couple times a week. I guess a therapist will do me good.”

Sherry noticed Rachelle didn’t answer in regards to the tweets, but she let Rachelle continue. “It’s been crazy, and now Steven is gone. I just don’t understand why or what he has to do with this. I’m writing notes on all of this. I’m going to write a book and do articles for
Newsday
on the case when it’s over or if I get out of this alive.”

Madison spoke up at the remark, saying, “Don’t talk like that. You have a protection detail with you everywhere you go; nothing is going to happen.”

Rachelle looked at Madison and said, “I may make it through this alive, but I know something will happen. Listen,” she went on, “I’m not here to be depressed, I came to give you some company.”

As Bud and Paul searched the grounds of the Lance Mansion, Bud was texting Deborah where he was in the house. They were exchanging funny messages as Bud walked around the back. Paul was inside the house making sure everything was secure. They met up in the front 45 minutes later and walked over to the guesthouse. The door had been jarred open, and Paul and Bud took out their guns and walked in the entrance with guns pointed. They moved cautiously to the den as Paul looked to the right and Bud concentrated on the left. Paul yelled “Clear!” as Bud did, and they moved toward the back of the house. As they moved toward the back, they heard running out the front that came down the stairs. They ran to the front as a man got in Bud’s unmarked car and started it.

“The keys!” Paul yelled. “Did you leave the keys in the car!”

“Yes!” Bud answered. They started running down Cliff Street and found another vehicle driven by a woman. They flashed their badges and took over her car. She was yelling, not clearly understanding what was going on, as they jumped in her car. It was a BMW 328 convertible, and Bud pushed the pedal down.

“Good thing we are in Belle Terre! Could you imagine doing this in a Ford Fusion?”

They went down Cliff Street at 65 miles per hour and saw their unmarked cruiser take a left on East Broadway and a right on Belle Terre Road. The chase was on.

“Who the fuck is this?” Bud yelled over the wind. Paul started calling it in that an unmarked vehicle was stolen and they were in pursuit. The Ford cruiser was crisscrossing and cutting off cars as it zigzagged to lose the pursuers. The cruiser hit 90 miles per hour as it traveled down North Country Road and suddenly turned right into the back entrance of Mount Sinai Schools. The cruiser cut through the road at a solid 60 miles per hour as the driver tried to lose the BMW in pursuit.

“Come on!” Bud yelled. “You son of a bitch! You’re going to kill someone!”

“Don’t lose him!” Paul yelled. Paul took out his weapon to see if he could get a shot off but decided to wait until they were off school grounds. The cruiser went through the red light on Nesconset Highway, and three cars barely missed him by turning and slamming into cars off the side of the road. “Fuck!” Bud yelled. Paul was calling for medical vehicles to the corner of Nesconset Highway and Chestnut Street. Bud had to stop, then go and wiggle around vehicles to make it onto Chestnut. He pushed the BMW to 70 miles per hour on the street as they continued the chase. The cruiser reached Canal Road and made a left and drove at 75 miles per hour to Route 83 Patchogue–Mount Sinai Road and made a sharp right and floored it to almost 100 miles per hour, going south toward the Long Island Expressway.

Bud made the turn onto Canal just as he caught the back of his cruiser turn right on to the highway. Bud got to 70 miles per hour before reaching the corner of Route 83, and like the driver of the cruiser, he gunned the BMW to 100 miles per hour, weaving in and out of cars. Paul called in for a helicopter to assist in the chase. Although Bud moved at almost 100 miles per hour, they lost sight of the cruiser as two other marked cars joined the chase. They passed the Vietnam Memorial, and Paul tried to stand up in the car to look for the cruiser.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bud yelled. “Sit your ass down!”

Paul couldn’t see anything, then suddenly yelled, “Shit! Turn around.”

“What?” Bud yelled.

Paul yelled louder. “Turn around! He pulled into the Memorial plaza. Go back!”

Bud pulled off the exit, turned left, and started going up the exit northbound. He drove the mile at close to 100 miles per hour and slowed as he pulled into the left lane to enter into the Vietnam Memorial parking area, and there it was. Bud and Paul jumped out of the BMW with guns drawn as they approached the cruiser. No one was there. They ran up the hill with guns out as the tourists stood back.

They approached the memorial, and again nothing. As they walked back to the vehicles and the parking lot, it was discovered from one of the tourists that their car had just been stolen.

“Damn!” Paul said as he got the make of the car and called it in. “Follow me back to Belle Terre so we can return the BMW to the owner.”

“Shit!” Bud said. “Son of a bitch.”

Before leaving they started checking with the memorial visitors for a description of the driver. Again, nothing of importance.

“This guy has nine lives!” Bud yelled.

“No, he doesn’t,” Paul replied back. “His time is running out. I’d like to know where the hell the helicopter went.”

He directed one of the officers to drive the cruiser to Belle Terre while his partner followed so he and Bud could stay together in the BMW. They drove back to Belle Terre to return the car to the owner, and when they pulled up to the house, the middle-aged woman was angry beyond words. She had called the police to report her car had been stolen by two police detectives. They transferred her call to the precinct commander, who in turn contacted Cronin as soon as he heard Belle Terre and the Lance Mansion. The detective lieutenant called Mrs. Theresa Williams and assured her she would be reimbursed for the use of the car and all liability would be handled by the Suffolk County Police Department.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Paul said to her. “We had no choice. This is my card if you need to reach us or if there is any problem with the vehicle.”

Paul jumped back in the cruiser with Bud. “We have to get the car back for prints. Let’s get another car out here and let the lab boys look at this.”

Bud turned to the backseat and said, “Damn it!”

“Now what?” Paul said.

“The photographs! They’re gone!”

Paul got out and searched the back and underneath. Only the four masks they had gotten from Fun World were still on the back-seat. “Well,” Paul said, “I think it’s safe to say whoever was in the car was in one of the photographs.”

“We have to meet Lindsey, and we have nothing to show for the day but a stolen car and lost photographs,” Bud said as he banged his open hand into the side of the car. “Asshole! That’s what I am today.”

“You feel like an asshole now?” Paul asked. “Wait ’til we get back and explain all of this to Cronin. “I feel like the only thing we are missing is the third stooge.”

They got back in the unmarked cruiser and arrived back at the precinct prepared to face the music with Cronin.

They arrived at his office as the detective lieutenant and Assistant District Attorney Ashley were on their way to meet Judge Green about getting Patty Saunders released on bail.

They entered his office and their boss said, “Well, well, well, I’m sure you two are proud of yourselves today. You leave keys in the car, you take some lady’s BMW to chase the bad guy, you lose him. Anything else I need to know?”

Bud hesitated but spoke up, saying, “The photographs you gave us to show Lindsey were taken from the car.”

Cronin flipped his pen in a violent fashion to show his displeasure. Assistant District Attorney Ashley was smart enough to keep silent and let Cronin handle it.

“Anything else you want to tell me?” Cronin asked.

“Boss,” Paul said, “there is a connection with all this with Robert Simpson and Phil Smith. We have to bring him in again.”

“No!” Cronin yelled. “You have no evidence. Let it be for now, and by the way, Paul, how come you never talk about the Rachelle Robinson connection?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Paul asked in a very firm voice.

“Have you read her tweets lately?” Cronin asked. “Not to mention, everyone who knows her or threatens her seems to get killed.”

“That’s not fair,” Paul answered. “We questioned her, and she tells us to talk to you.” As Paul raised his voice, he said, “Now why’s that!”

“Maybe you’re not asking the right questions,” Cronin said, “and lower your voice before I throw you through my office window.”

“OK,” Ashley said, “I don’t need to hear this. I’ll wait for you outside, Kevin,” Ashley said as he left.

“I’ll go with you,” Bud said as he tried to follow the assistant district attorney.

“Keep your ass in my office!” Cronin yelled as Ashley shut the door. “Listen,” the detective lieutenant said, “I need you guys to do your job. The media is itching to destroy our credibility and bring in outside help with this. It may be my career, but I’m not going to let it happen. If this case is not solved within the next few days, you guys will be back in uniform the rest of your careers and mine will be over. You are going to have to accept that things are being done for a reason, and some of it you may not know about for now, but it’s to protect your careers.”

“What is it we don’t know about?” Paul asked.

“Everything will come out in the wash. The most important thing is to find Phil Smith before he kills again. Get the car over to the lab for fingerprinting, get over to the mansion, and see if you can figure out what he was up to.”

“What about the photographs for Lindsey?” Bud asked.

“I’m going that way later and can take care of it after I get a new set of photos,” Cronin replied. He added, “I’ve got to go see Judge Green about the Saunders arraignment.”

“Don’t worry, boss,” Bud answered. “No way she’s getting bail.” Cronin didn’t answer as he walked by both of them.

“Boss,” Paul said as Cronin turned around. “Are we OK?”

Cronin made a face before walking out, telling Paul they were.

“A real tough guy,” Paul said as they looked at him meet up with Ashley. As Cronin went to the front desk of the precinct, he called Gina to have Officer Dugan bring him another set of the photos at the Riverhead Courthouse, where he would be meeting with Judge Green. They drove to exit 73, took the exit and made it to the courthouse within 25 minutes. They were brought to a little room to discuss the case. Patty Saunders’ attorney, Al Simmons, was already waiting for them in the room.

“Let’s talk,” Ashley said. “We have about 10 minutes before Judge Green gets here.”

“She’ll do it,” Simmons said, “on two conditions.”

“Let’s hear it,” Ashley said.

“First,” Simmons replied, “she wants to have a conversation with Deborah before she’s out.”

Cronin spoke up, saying, “She’s down South taking a vacation.” Simmons replied quickly, “She will speak to her on the phone.”

“What’s the second?” Ashley remarked.

“She wants it on the record that she initiated the kidnapping of a friend in order to get ransom. She made a deal that no one would get hurt whether the ransom was paid or not. While she recognizes that she is responsible for the repercussions of her actions and it will probably make no difference in the eyes of the jury, it will in the public’s eyes, and she wants it known there was no intent on her part the way this has escalated.

Cronin and Ashley whispered in each other’s ears for a few moments, then Ashley answered Simmons, “We will recognize in court her intent, as long as you recognize it won’t make a difference in the eyes of the law as to the kidnapping. Also, this deal is contingent upon her flushing out Phil Smith and anyone else who may be involved. The people of the state of New York will ask for a reduced sentence for the murders and request manslaughter in the second degree. The kidnapping charges stay. It’s a good deal, considering everything that has happened. We now have the murders of two good, innocent people as well as the six dirtbags that have been killed in the past nine days. She should take the deal.”

Simmons opened his briefcase and said, “You realize, of course, she is also putting her life at risk by doing this.”