The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel (41 page)

“Anything to say?” he said to Cronin.

The detective lieutenant looked at Ashley and said, “This is where the game gets interesting. There’s no going back now, my friend.” Ashley just shook his head.

Cronin spoke again, saying, “Have them bring Patty down to the precinct. I’d like to hear the conversation.”

“I’ll bring the popcorn,” Ashley remarked. Then he paused before speaking again. “Your man, Bud Johnson, is getting a little worked up.”

“We all are,” the detective lieutenant answered. “They are not used to me being so active in a case. They are good cops, but I’ve been through a few difficult cases in my career as well. The publicity and pressure needs my involvement, whether they want to admit it or not; hopefully they will understand when it’s over.”

The assistant district attorney nodded and said, “I agree with your experience and taking the active responsibility on a case such as this, but it’s clear, no one knows everything you are doing, and that tells me you’re not sure if you can trust them.”

Cronin nodded and said, “Let me just say, we are going to find out who can be trusted in the next 24 to 48 hours.”

Ashley continued, “What about Healey?”

Cronin laughed and said, “I trust him to keep the girl protected, and I feel sorry for the poor bastard who attempts anything on his watch. He’s so gung-ho I’m surprised he doesn’t have a couple knives in his socks somewhere. His job is the girl. He’s not involved in any other part of this case.”

Ashley went into the precinct with Cronin, and they were informed by Gina that Patty would be brought to the interview room within 25 minutes.

Cronin was in his office when Bud came in with the
Long Island Pulse
questions and answers.

“Thank you,” Cronin said. “Just leave them on the desk, I’ll take a look at it and let you know.”

As Bud reached the door to exit, Cronin spoke, saying, “Bud, Patty Saunders is going to have a conversation with Debbie Lance. You are welcome to listen to it so we can discuss her release at the arraignment today.”

Bud turned around slowly and looked at the detective lieutenant before he asked, “You are really going to do this?”

“Yes. Do you want to listen in on the conversation?” Cronin replied.

“Who managed to work out a release for her?” Bud asked.

Ashley spoke up, saying, “We made the arrangements, but it was his idea,” pointing at Cronin.

“Why am I not surprised?” Bud said.

“Yes or No?” Cronin asked.

“Yes,” Bud said.

“OK,” Cronin said. “She will be sitting in the interrogation room with the speakerphone on. We will be in the room, but we guaranteed we would not interrupt or speak during the conversation. Can you keep your promise?”

“Yes,” Bud replied.

“One more thing,” Cronin replied, starting to leave the room. “Don’t bring your gun or your car keys in the room with you.”

Cronin went to Paul’s desk as he left Bud in the room with Ashley. Bud stared at Cronin as he spoke to the assistant district attorney. “Was that a joke? Was he trying to be funny?”

“Yes,” Ashley said, smiling. “I thought it was humorous.”

Bud looked at him and said, “I still have my gun, smartass.”

Ashley’s smile was erased as Bud pointed his finger at him and said, “Gotcha,” and laughed all the way to his desk. Cronin had just finished telling Paul to get officers assigned to the outside of the Wilkerson house from 8:00 pm to 7:00 am while Healey was inside the house during the night.

“Once you get the schedule, go down to the school and go over it with Healey, see if he is comfortable with your selections. Give him a voice, he is the one with the girl’s life in his hands.”

Paul got up to look at the duty roster and schedules for the next couple nights as Patty Saunders was led to the interrogation room.

“OK, everyone. Time to put on the seat belts,” Cronin said. “There’s no going back after this. By the way,” he whispered in Bud’s ear, “the deal struck with Saunders is discussed with no one as of now. No one. I know Paul knows, but no one else.”

“Understood,” Bud answered.

When they got to the interrogation room, Simmons was sitting with Patty, and Bud, Cronin, and Ashley each took a seat as Patty dialed Deborah’s cell phone number. It rang four times before Deborah Lance picked up.

“Hello, Patty. I didn’t want to pick up, but a promise is a promise.”

“I know, Debbie. I know you won’t believe me, but I never thought it would be like this. I swear. To prove it, I only have my life to lose and only a few years shaved off my prison sentence if I make it. I’m doing this to help finish this case for everyone but mostly for you.”

“Don’t do anything else for me, Patty. You not only almost cost me my life, but you took my dignity, my relationship with Robert, and almost my father. And for what! You call yourself a friend?”

Deborah started to cry as Patty said, “I’m sorry. I hope when my life is over, you will see it as a token from me to try and make what I can right.”

“You have my attention, Patty. What else do you want?”

“I want you to know that no matter what happens from this point on that I know I was wrong and I will regret losing you as my friend because of this.”

“Hello? Reality check,” Deborah answered. “Patty, this one thing you thought would be so smooth and end so quickly cost eight people their lives already! And it’s not over.”

“It will be, Debbie,” Patty replied. “I just wanted to hear your voice one last time. I know you can never forgive me, but I wanted to say it.”

Deborah was crying and said, “You have hurt me beyond what anyone who considered me a friend could do. I have to go now. Good luck, Patty. I don’t want to see anything happen to you, but I think it’s fair to say you brought it on yourself.”

“Yes, you are right, Debbie. This will be over, and you can come back to Long Island soon.”

“Goodbye, Patty.”

“Bye, Debbie. Thank you for speaking with me.”
Click.

As Deborah disconnected, she covered her face to hide her tears. “OK,” Patty said, “I’m ready.”

“First,” Cronin said, “I would like to have a private conversation with Ms. Saunders.”

“Hold on,” Simmons balked.

“Counselor,” Cronin said, “her rights are protected; however, she’s not going anywhere without a couple minutes with me. You can look through the glass windows if you wish, but I believe it’s important to the case to speak privately with her.”

“It’s OK,” Patty remarked.

They walked into Cronin’s office as Bud, Ashley, and Simmons looked at the two of them.

“What the hell is this?” Simmons remarked.

“Hey,” Bud said, “things could be worse. How about a song?” Simmons raised up his hand and said, “Stay away from me, you freak.”

As Cronin spoke privately with Patty, Bud sent Deborah a text asking her if she was all right. She answered back, asking him to call her. He shook his head and wrote back to her that he was directed not to speak to her until the case was over.

“I’m sorry,” he wrote. “I lost my temper with the boss about you having to speak with Patty.”

She wrote back, “I’m sorry too. Don’t forget about me.”

He answered back, “This will be over soon, and I want you to come back and spend some time with the funny man.”

“Promise,” she wrote. “I’m OK now, thank you.”

Bud’s thoughts were interrupted by Simmons, who said, “Hello to earth! Anybody home?”

Bud started singing “You Can Call Me Al” again just to see if he could get a rise out of the attorney, at the very least annoy him a bit more.

Simmons looked over at Ashley and said, “He must be getting laid tonight.”

“Where did you say you lived?” Bud asked.

“I didn’t,” Simmons said, with his smile gone.

“Oh, that’s right. Guess I’ll have to look it up,” Bud said as he went to his desk.

Simmons looked at Ashley and asked, “He’s not dangerous, is he?”

“Well,” Ashley said, “he did shoot Kyle Winters in the groin.”

“Funny,” Simmons said. Bud sat at his computer and signed on to Twitter and sang more lyrics from the song. The ADA and Simmons walked away while Bud continued until he signed off and started looking at the pile of paperwork.

Healey was sitting in the back of the room during history class. He sat in amazement as Lindsey led the class through the Revolutionary War period. She was so far ahead of her class that some of the teachers had her “teach” as part of her grade. Some had wanted to push her to high school; however, Ms. Meghan, her favorite teacher from this particular class, felt strongly that, as smart as Lindsey was, she was emotionally immature and convinced her parents she would regress to age 12 with the older kids. As a compromise, she stayed in the sixth grade but took math, science and history classes on the senior level one day a week at the high school.

Healey watched the girl he was becoming very fond of and was concerned about whether he could keep her alive. He had no doubt whoever put a bullet in Allan’s head would eliminate her in a second. As fond as he was of her, he had not spoken much in conversation with her, but she let him know she felt protected with him. As the class continued, he noticed Paul outside the door waving to him to come out in the hallway. Healey wrote a note and held it up for him to read. It read, “She’s not leaving my sight. Please come in.”

Paul opened the door as the whole class turned their heads. “Sorry, class,” Paul said as he sat down with Healey.

Ms. Meghan came to the back to greet Paul and said, “Hello there. I assume this is really important to interrupt my class.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but my partner in crime here did not want to lose sight of Lindsey, so I had to come in.”

“Well,” the teacher replied, “next time you want to come to my classroom, please knock and let me know what is it you wish to do. It’s only a courtesy that I ask.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t call me 'ma’am,’ the teacher replied.

“What is your name?” Paul replied.

“In this class, you call me Ms. Meghan.”

“Oh,” Paul replied. “I apologize, Ms. Meghan. It won’t happen again.”

As she walked away, Healey was smiling. Ms. Meghan was actually a young thirtyish woman who, although very pretty, would not take any shit from anyone, especially when it came to respecting her classroom. Most of the teachers used their last name at the school but Meghan preferred using her first as long as they respected her using Ms in front of her name. Apparently, she expected the same when it came to the adults in her class. Healey amused himself with his thoughts.
she is so pretty, if I asked her out for a drink, I wonder if she would still make me call her Ms. Meghan.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Paul’s voice.

“I’m getting shit from everyone today,” Paul said. He pulled out the schedule for overnight duty in the car for the next few days and nights. It showed Dugan from 5:00 am to 5:00 pm, Chapman from 11:00 am to 2:00 pm to give Dugan a break between. Paul had Officer Franks from 5:00 pm to 5:00 am with O’Brien overlapping and giving Franks a break from 11:00 pm to 2:00 am. Healey looked over the list silently while Lindsey continued reviewing the writing of the Declaration of Independence.

“I would be more comfortable,” Healey spoke, “if Dugan and Franks switched shifts. I’d rather have him outside while I’m trying to get some sleep, if you don’t mind.”

“No worries,” Paul answered. “Consider it done. This starts now.” Paul sent a text to the precinct to inform them of the schedule and to send Franks over to the Wilkerson house and for Dugan to get some sleep.

“How’s the girl doing?” Paul whispered.

“She is the most amazing girl I’ve ever met,” Healey answered. He continued, “Just have a conversation with her; you’ll see what I mean. A real gift to anyone who knows her.”

Paul nodded and said, “Or dangerous.”

Ms. Meghan dismissed the class, and Lindsey came to the back to Healey and to greet Paul.

“Hello, Detective Powers.”

“Hi, Lindsey, how are you doing?” he asked her.

Her attention went back to Healey, and she said, “I have a surprise for you.” Healey just stared at her. She pulled out a sketch she had drawn of the officer while he was in the back of the class.

“How did you do this without looking at me?” Healey asked.

Lindsey giggled and said, “From memory, silly. Let me get my books.”

Paul and Healey just looked at each other.

“See?” Paul said. “Dangerous.”

Paul walked with Lindsey and Healey to her next class and decided to have the conversation with her as her escort suggested. “You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?”

Lindsey smiled and said, “I think I’m fairly intelligent. Well, I think you’re pretty smart also.” Lindsey laughed.

“Who,” Paul continued, “do you think is the smartest person in the world?”

“Christopher Langan,” she answered, “his IQ has been measured between 195 and 210. He developed his own theory of the relationship between mind and reality, which he calls 'the Cognitive-Theoretic Model of the Universe.’”

“Interesting,” Paul said. “When we have more time, will you tell me more about him?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I think you will find him interesting. He rose to prominence right here on Long Island.”

As Lindsey reached her next class, Paul spoke again. He said, “Lindsey, the photo Detective Cronin showed you at the car. You remember, right?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered.

He bent down to her and said, “Can you draw me a sketch of who the person was?”

Lindsey looked up at Healey then back at Paul. “Um, I’m not sure. Um, Detective Cronin asked me not to tell anyone.”

“You wouldn’t be telling me, Lindsey. You would be drawing me a sketch.”

“Well, I suppose it would be fine as long as he wouldn’t get mad at me.”

“No,” Paul said. “He won’t get mad at you, I promise. If he gets mad, it will be at me. And besides, Officer Healey is here to be sure no one gets mad at you.”

She smiled and agreed to draw him a sketch that he would have the next day. As intelligent as she was, there still could be manipulation at the age of 12.