The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel (5 page)

S
even Days Until Ransom Due

Rachelle sat down at her computer Sunday morning and wrote about the theory of the Lance kidnapping. The headline read “The Port Jefferson Kidnapping—Local Police Detective’s Theory.” She wrote about Paul’s theory on how they kidnapped Debbie and how they got away with it. She wrote about how the Cross Island Ferry never checked vehicles getting on or off the boat and never checked bags from pedestrians walking on or off, not to mention metal detectors for guns and bombs.

She wrote how Debbie Lance drove onto the ferry, was most likely thrown into a trunk of another car, and another person drove her car off the boat and left it on the side of the road in Connecticut. Whoever kidnapped her, paid for her vehicle in cash, allowing anyone to drive it off the boat. With no reservation, there were no names, and there would not be proof if her father had not witnessed her car loading on the ferry. All they cared about was that the number of vehicles on the boat matched the number of tickets sold on the boat. Rachelle criticized the security of the ferry to the extent that she demanded that security cameras and a security system be put in place to avoid this kind of event from happening again. The ferry had what looked like cameras on the boat, but no video was recorded the day Deborah disappeared. She continued writing to tell her readers she would be on the boat Saturday to reenact what local officers believed was how the kidnappers pulled it off. She surprised herself because she had just told Paul she couldn’t write it, but she did just that. As she put the finishing touches on the article, she sent Paul a text asking if she could stop up at the apartment before she started work at Z Pita. He replied right away to stop over.

She arrived at Paul’s door, knocked, and ran up the stairs. She greeted Paul with a hug and said, “I’m sorry to stop over. I know you didn’t think you would see me for a week.”

Paul laughed. “Don’t be silly, Rachelle. What’s up?”

“Please read my article and tell me if anything comes to your mind.” He sat down and read. Her writing was so precise and so descriptive he felt like anyone reading it would feel like they were a witness to it.

“Nice,” Paul said. “Lets see what happens, if anything. Maybe something, maybe nothing, but I have a feeling something will happen.

“Paul,” Rachelle replied, “I know what you mean, but if this goes to print for Tuesday’s edition and people from the Cross Island Ferry read this, what’s to prevent them from stopping us from doing this reenactment? The kidnappers have already accomplished what they wanted. They have Debbie Lance.”

Paul thought about it for a moment and suggested that it would be impossible for the ferry to make adjustments within four days. He said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already making adjustments, Rachelle. They know something occurred on the boat, and they’re going to try and fix it fast to avoid the criticism. Now your article will be the icing on the cake. They have Debbie, but I want them to think I know what happen. I want to put doubt in their mind before they kill her”

“So, you’re fine with this?” Rachelle replied.

“Yes,” Paul answered, “it will be fine. It’s time to ruffle some feathers. Besides, your article may even save her life if she’s not already dead. If they know we’re on to them, they may hold off killing her to avoid a murder rap.”

Rachelle paused, looking at Paul, and replied, “Will I see you later downstairs for dinner so we can talk more about this?”

“Yes, of course,” Paul replied. He gave Rachelle a hug and whispered in her ear, “Everything will be fine. See you in a couple hours.” He kissed her forehead, which surprised Rachelle. She felt close to him and she didn’t want to leave, but she ran down the stairs to typeset the article. Paul looked around the apartment as he stood alone and spoke out loud: “Things are going to change around this town very soon.”

Rachelle finished up her article and made it in to Z Pita by 4:00 pm to prepare for the Sunday dinner crowd. Joey Z was ready to leave when she got in to relieve him. Joey Z was a man of 59 years of age who was one of the hardest-working men Rachelle had ever seen. He bought the restaurant known as Z Pita 20 years prior. It was Port Jefferson’s first firehouse station which is why it had a historic landmark plaque on the sidewalk in front of it. Joey Z had also purchased the building that housed the other famous bar in town, Billie’s, well known for its oversized drinks and burgers. He was rich in real estate but always complained about the hours he worked. After a while, everyone took his complaints with a grain of salt. They all knew he loved coming to his restaurant, and the customers appreciated seeing him constantly walking around to be sure everything was going smoothly with both customers and the employees. He taught Rachelle to be the same way, and she was, with few exceptions. When she saw someone she knew, like Paul or Madison, she would sit with them for a few minutes before their meal was served.

Rachelle checked the reservations and the tables requested and made sure table three was left open for Paul at 6:00 pm.

Paul arrived at 6:05 pm, and Rachelle sat with him for 15 minutes before his food was brought to the table. It was the first time in quite a while that they spoke about things other than the kidnapping. She had the most beautiful smile to Paul. He wasn’t long into his dinner when Timothy walked into the restaurant and was going over his and Rachelle’s schedules to get together. Paul tried to ignore it and looked down at his dinner when Rachelle walked over to him. Tim looked over at Paul and gave him a wave, and Paul gave a meek smile in return. Paul left a note for Rachelle to call him when she was ready to walk up the hill to Prospect. She didn’t get out until 11:00 pm, and it was a chance to see her again. Plus he figured if something was going on with Tim, she wouldn’t call him anyway. At 11:10 he got a call from her, and he met her at the back door as she was locking up. It took less than 10 minutes to walk her home, and again there was Madison. As usual, as he walked away, she said, “Thank you, Officer Powers, for taking care of my sister.”

As the door closed behind her, Madison looked at Rachelle and asked, “What’s going on with you two?”

“We’re just friends,” Rachelle replied. “Besides, Timothy asked me out.”

“Oh, good,” Madison replied. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I gave Officer Powers a go?”

As she started to walk away, Rachelle grabbed her hand and with a tear in her eye said, “Please don’t, not now.”

Madison looked puzzled but said, “OK, but there is a time limit, big sister.”

Rachelle smiled and said, “Well, at least you know who the older one is.”

S
ix Days Until Ransom Due

Rachelle received an email from Steven Anderson at about 8:30 am praising her article. It was going to press, and it would be on the front page of the
Port Jefferson Now
paper for Tuesday’s edition. Her ambition and desire to be what she described as a “real” writer was only challenged by the fact that she actually and truly enjoyed working at Z Pita and felt she also had a future there with Joey Z from the way he treated her. He let her do whatever she desired in the casual eatery, with his easygoing personality. There was never a problem when she wanted to put a woman’s touch in the place. She never mentioned it, but her thoughts would not let her forget that she also enjoyed the human interaction with the customers, particularly the regulars.

She laughed to herself when she thought that maybe she should write a book on the things that had happened with customers at Z Pita alone. She never knew what was going to happen once the day began. Most customers were terrific and polite; however, there were always a few that went against the grain. The staff had always been carefully selected, and it showed. The regulars had told Rachelle that dining at Z Pita for 15 years or more, there was never a long wait to get someone’s attention for help. Between the young staff and the experienced staff of Tina, Rebecca, Melissa, Emily, and Bobby, not to mention Joey Z walking around, it was difficult to find a reason to complain. Rachelle continued to laugh as she found herself trying to convince herself that she wanted Z Pita in her life as well as a writing career. Her thoughts were broken by a phone call from Timothy.

“Hello, beautiful Rachelle,” she heard as she answered the call. “Hi there,” Rachelle answered.

“How’s your day going?” he asked.

“Well, since it’s only 9:00 am, I would say not bad,” she laughed. “Well, good,” he replied. “I was just calling to see if we can work something out this week to get together, maybe tomorrow night to celebrate your article coming out?”

“Umm,” she replied. “I can’t tomorrow night, but why don’t you come into the restaurant tomorrow morning and we can look at our schedules. I’m sorry I didn’t have time earlier, but it was hectic at work.”

“Sounds like a plan; no worries,” Tim answered.

Rachelle disconnected the call and turned on the television to relax a bit before taking a shower. She surfed the channels until she found Suze Orman. She loved learning from Suze and found it very amusing to watch people try to get her approval for a $10,000 vacation. Her iPhone rang again, and it was Joey Z seeing if she could make it in by 11:00 that morning. He had an unexpected problem at his house, and he was adamant about who was in the restaurant when he wasn’t there.

Rachelle pushed the button to end the call and spoke to the television. “Sorry, Suze, I will see the end of your show one day.” She jumped in the shower and made it to Z Pita by 10:30.

Rachelle’s day always went quickly when she was at the restaurant. Being the hostess/manager and seeing the regulars during the day made a 10-hour day seem like five hours. The weekdays were mostly supported by the regulars, while the weekends saw more out of towners. However, what Rachelle liked best about Joey Z was that if any of the regulars wanted a table on the weekend, he would work them in, no matter what. This particular day, Rachelle had a chance to see many regulars, such as Dennis and Mary Ann, Steven and Julie, and Cassie and Matt. A day like Monday at Z Pita would give Rachelle the conflicted feelings she had about what she wanted from life. As those feelings continued to give her pause, Paul walked in, which startled Rachelle, who promptly dropped the dishes she was carrying.

T
he
Port Jefferson Now
paper came out with the theory behind the kidnapping on the front page, and it resulted in many compliments and calls to the
Now
office, including one from the editors of
Newsday
, Long Island’s biggest paper, which had one of the biggest circulations in the United States. It also caught the eye of John Winters, a strapping six-foot muscular 48-year-old man who lived up on Thompson Street. He called his brother Mason, who lived next door, to come over. Mason was over within minutes.

John threw the paper at him when he walked in and yelled, “Who’s talking?”

Mason looked at the front page and said, “What do you mean? This is a guess, a theory.”

“Really ?” John replied. “They also got most of it right! Some theory! Get the group together and have them meet us tonight at Timothy’s Bar and Grill for a few drinks.”

“How about dinner at the Village Way?” Mason asked.

“What are you, fucking crazy? We won’t be able to hear ourselves talk if they’re having karaoke night,” said John.

“OK, OK,” Mason replied. “8:00 pm, Timothy’s Bar and Grill.”

John read the article three times. He had heard of Rachelle Robinson before but had never paid much attention to her. He decided he would give her attention now. The article named Detectives Powers and Johnson but did not name the two locals who would be involved in doing the reenactment Saturday on the ferry. Mason called Wayne Starfield, his brother Kyle Winters, and Phil Smith to meet them at Timothy’s Bar and Grill at 8:00.

Starfield replied, “Who’s with the girl if I come?”

“Tie her to the bedposts tight. You’ll only be gone for about an hour.”

As 8:00 approached, Wayne tied Debbie to the posts and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be gone for about an hour. If I come back and it looks like you made any attempts to escape, I’ll slowly take your clothes off and rape you until dawn in every which way. Do you understand?”

Debbie, shaking, nodded her head in acknowledgement, whimpering in terrifying cries that were muffled by the heavy cloth tied over her mouth. William Lance’s daughter was so terrified of being raped and tortured she was not going to attempt anything.

The appointed hour of 8:00 came quickly. John and Mason walked in to see Starfield and Phil waiting for them at almost the exact table Paul spoke to Rachelle, Timothy, and Allan the week before.

“Have you read this?” John asked as he sat down. “The whole town is talking about this.”

“Yes,” Starfield answered, “but there’s nothing we can really do about it.”

“The hell we can’t,” John replied. “The article is close to what happened. If we don’t stop her, she could lead everyone to us.” The crowd at the bar interrupted their discussion with loud laughter and high fives.

“What’s going on?” John asked the waiter.

“Timothy, the owner, is one of the locals written about in the paper in regards to the Lance Kidnapping, and he’s telling customers some fun theories,” the waiter answered. John’s eyes widened as he looked back at his table of friends. “We should pay him a visit tonight,” he said.

Sitting at the table, if anyone paid attention to them, they looked like a bunch of rowdy characters from a movie. Starfield was 5’5,” missing teeth, and had long blond hair and beard. Phil Smith, although 5’8,” had a menacing look with a heavy mustache and long black hair. John, at 6’4,” was husky with a potbelly but was clearly the leader by his body language. Mason, the younger brother, was 5’9” and thin, with short blond hair. He was no match for John intellectually or physically. Phil took a sip of beer as he stared at John.

“Why are we here in a public place discussing this instead of your house.” Although it was a question it didn’t sound like one by the sound of his voice. John resented the comment and gave Phil a returned stare that had daggers in his eyes

“Because I like the beer here, and besides, look what we learned about Timothy over there just by being here.” They had a couple more beers before leaving for the evening.

Timothy closed up the bar at 1:00 am, which was normal for a Wednesday night. As he got to his car, he pulled out his keys and heard a noise. As he turned around he was tackled. On top of him was the famous mask from the movies, but it was different. It was silver, and it was wrinkled. Tim was subdued by two others, who also had the same—but different—mask. One was gray with cracks in the mask, and the other was a straw-looking Ghost Face.

“What do you know?” came the voices behind the silver wrinkled Ghost Face mask. Timothy could not speak fast enough for them, because he was going into shock. The silver wrinkled Ghost Face mask came down and stabbed him in the stomach.

“So,” one of the attackers stated, “you think you know everything about the kidnapping?”

As Timothy lay there with blood starting to come from his mouth, the three attackers ran off as their sick laughter filled the night. Timothy pressed his OnStar button from his key ring, and within minutes the police and ambulance were there.

Paul and Bud heard the call on their radio and rushed to Mather Hospital to meet the victim. When they brought him in, Paul was shocked to see it was Tim. They rushed him to surgery but it was too late, Timothy had bled out. Bud grabbed the ambulance attendant and the first officer on the scene.

“What did he say?” Paul asked, walking up to the trio.

“He kept saying, ‘Ghost Face mask, wrinkled, kidnapping, Zombie, Scarecrow’ over and over again,” ambulance driver said.

Bud looked at Paul. “What the fuck? Why? What does Ghost Face have to do with kidnapping?”

Paul replied, “We’re going to find out.” The detective put his hand on his forehead clearly upset over the murder of Timothy. His thoughts were interrupted by his partner.

“Shit,” Bud replied. “I don’t want to get involved with this Ghost Face crap. What does ‘wrinkled’ mean?” Paul left the hospital with Bud behind him.

“I have to tell Rachelle and Allan first thing tomorrow that we’re going to speak to the makers of the mask.”

It was 2:30 am when Paul rang the doorbell to Rachelle and Madison’s home. Madison answered, and by the look on Paul’s face, all she could say was, “What happened?”

“Please,” Paul said, “get Rachelle.”

Rachelle came out in her bathrobe and held on to Paul as Bud stood by. “Rachelle, Timothy has been killed,” Paul said.

Rachelle covered her face with her hands and started crying. “What happened? Why?”

“He kept saying, ‘Wrinkled Ghost Face, zombie, kidnapping’ over and over.”

“I don’t understand,” Rachelle replied as the tears flowed. Madison was holding her from behind.

“It’s possible the kidnappers responded to the article and found him.”

“I never used his name,” Rachelle yelled, as tears flowed even more. “All right,” Madison said. “Please, let me take care of her.” Madison took Rachelle to bed and came back out to Paul. “anything else? Is my sister in danger?”

“I’m not sure yet,” said Paul. “This is odd, but then this whole case has been odd from the beginning. She never mentioned his name in the article, yet the day the article is published he’s killed. There has to be a connection somewhere. I’ll be in touch. I’ll pick Rachelle up in the morning for work.”

“I don’t think she’ll be going to work tomorrow,” Madison said. “She may have a few things on her mind.”

“OK,” Paul replied. “Call me if she decides to go out.”

They left the house, and it was Bud’s turn to vent. “Fucking almighty. Just what we need. This will be all over the country. Ghost Face returns to Port Jefferson. I can see it now!”

“Bud,” Paul replied, “it’s a mask connection.”

Bud said, “Movies, TV, commercials. Why can’t this be a normal case? That mask scares the hell out of me!”

Paul’s cell phone rang. It was Detective Lieutenant Cronin. He said, “See me first thing in the morning. I want to know how you’re going to handle this. You better have some answers because the FBI will be here in the morning.” The phone went dead without even a goodbye.