No Mercy (39 page)

I
t had been almost a week since Paul spoke to Rachelle in the stairway, and he had not heard from her. He was confused that she did not accept or decline his proposal. He drove out to the Riverhead Correctional Facility, where Lynagh, Healey, and Baker were undercover to get a final report before pulling them off the assignment. He and ADA Ashley met with them in a secure room for an hour.

Baker handed over fourteen names of doctors who were given to her as accepting cash for samples of oxycodone and Vicodin or prescriptions for them. There was more. Gary Reynolds was given the name of a prominent male doctor from the Hamptons. Reynolds was given the name by over half a dozen inmates. ADA Ashley looked the list up and down as Paul asked many questions of Ellyn Baker and Gary Reynolds. By the time they were finished Paul looked at ADA Ashley and suggested it might not be a bad idea to have more undercover reporters and/or cops serve time in jails. Ashley didn't reply, but he nodded in agreement that it may need to be looked at seriously. Not only did he have fifteen names of doctors breaking the law, there was a problem with young girls aged sixteen to seventeen who were in the same cells as adult women. The overcrowding had become such an issue that Ellyn Baker was almost in tears recanting stories of possible abuse to these young girls who were afraid to talk.

“Why did they talk to you?” Ashley asked.

“They didn't have to,” Baker replied. “Remember I've been here for the past three weeks. We are not helping anyone by crowding minors in a large cellblock with women of all ages.

Yes, some women are protective, but many in here are too strong physically to fight. If this is the case in jail, what the hell is going on in the prisons?”

Powers looked over at Ashley. “We should have a meeting with DA Steinberg and Cronin. I agree with Ellyn, we need to do more than investigate these doctors.” He looked over at Lynagh and Healey, who had been standing by the door dressed in their correctional officer uniforms.

“Anything to add to this?” They both nodded as Lynagh spoke. “The staff here has been very helpful, and no problems.”

Powers nodded and looked back at Ashley. “What would you like to do?”

Ashley responded quickly, “We will try and get a warrant for the records of the prescriptions based on this undercover assignment. If we get it, I'll send auditors in and have them crawl up their asses with their own stethoscope. Prescriptions, samples coming in and out, plus we will match up the names and see how many inmates we have in here that received prescriptions from the names of doctors we have on the list. We will go from there.”

Powers nodded and looked back at Reynolds and Baker. “Gary, I want to thank you for not only being here for the past three weeks but for the past fourteen months at Bedford Hills. It was a crucial part of saving lives.” He looked at Baker and smiled. “Take Christmas Eve and Christmas off, both of you are leaving today. Thanks very much.” He touched Ellyn's hands and she felt a rush go through her.
Stop
, she kept thinking,
stop, and get control of yourself
.

Paul looked over at Lynagh and Healey. “This is your last day here as well. Finish out the day and be ready to accompany Ashley to some of our favorite doctors on the 26
^th
.” They both nodded as Powers and Ashley left the room and asked to take a tour of the women's cellblock section. They walked through and saw what Detective Baker had informed them of. There were at least half a dozen girls under the age of eighteen in the same cellblock. One of them looked even younger, but Ashley was assured she was sixteen but just looked younger.

Powers shook his head.

“I thought the reason Yaphank jail was built was to stop this shit.”

“Yes,” Ashley said, “it was the reason, but apparently it's not the answer.”

“Well,” Paul replied, “we better find it fast.”

Ashley and Paul went their separate ways as the detective sergeant drove home alone. He suddenly found himself getting depressed. He was alone, he missed Rachelle, and he missed the dogs. Most of all he was depressed he did not get a reply from his proposal. In some ways he could not blame her, but he thought he would have heard from her even if it was a no. His thoughts were interrupted with a phone call from Bud, who invited him to have dinner with him at the restaurant. “8:00 pm, OK?” Bud asked.

“Great,” Paul answered, “I need to vent anyway.”

Bud laughed, “That's what a partner does. No problem.”

He met Bud, who was waiting for him on the front side of the restaurant where the TVs are on the wall. Usually, Paul would be at table three, but there was a couple already there. Paul looked around and was hoping Rachelle would be there, but she was not. Bud sat across from Paul and had him laughing within minutes. Paul could hardly keep down his food when Bud told him the jail in Yaphank had to clear out a section because Kevin Sysco had a serious intestinal problem and the attorneys and public defender were able to convince the judge it was inhumane and cruel punishment to have the other inmates around him. Paul was laughing so hard he thought he was going to pass out.

“I love you, man,” he said as he looked at Bud. His partner nodded and looked at his watch and nodded for Joey Z to make the Fox News channel a little louder.

While the restaurant was quiet, Bud wanted Paul to see the Hannity program. Tonight it was Monica Crowley, Paul's favorite, subbing for Sean Hannity.

“Tonight,” Monica Crowley said, “I'm honored to do something very, very different. This is for you, Paul Powers.” The detective looked up startled at Monica Crowley saying his name on television.

“People have found so many ways to propose, but I'm here to say to you that I am honored to accept your proposal on behalf of Rachelle Robinson for marriage. In her words:

‘Dear Paul,

I accept your proposal and your promise. I too promise to always love you, be there for you, but most of all to always believe in you. I accept whatever life brings as long as you keep your promise. With much love, Rachelle.'”

Monica Crowley folded up the paper, looked at the screen, and said, “I don't know how to follow that up, but we'll be right back.” Her trademark smile faded out as Bud grabbed his partner's hand while Joey Z stood about five feet back with a huge smile on his face.

“I need to see her,” Paul said.

Bud smiled. “She's upstairs waiting for you, my partner.”

Paul tapped Bud's hand and ran out the backdoor, which Joey Z normally didn't like, but he made an exception this time.

Bud looked at Joey Z and said, “Well, I guess the Budster did it again.” He looked around at the dirty dishes and spoke again. “I guess I'm stuck with the check.” Joey Z laughed as he handed Bud the tab for the meal. “One thing about you, Joey Z,” Bud said, “you never forget the check.”

Joey Z always had a comeback. “Yes, my friend, but I don't have your life. I'm just a sixty-two year-old man trying to make a living.” He walked away with a smile and spoke again. “Hey, Brett! Don't charge Bud for the Pita bread.” Bud just shook his head as he laughed.

1:00 PM

Y
ou couldn't have asked for a better Christmas Eve. It was lightly snowing and about twenty-nine degrees. Deborah had asked Bud to spend Christmas Eve with her and her dad as well as close friends of theirs that had made a tradition of going over to the mansion. Bud was uncomfortable intruding on their tradition and instead he asked her to come over later and stay the night with him. While she was now twenty-eight and wanted to be with him, she was struggling with telling her father she would be with Bud for the night, especially on Christmas Eve.

She picked up Rachelle on Prospect Street to drive over to the jail to visit Madison for a couple hours. Rachelle was herself again. She jumped in the car and hugged Deborah and enjoyed giving her details of their first night together in months. Deborah was almost jealous listening to her talk about it. They got to the jail about 1:40 pm, and Madison was brought in to a special room to meet her sister Rachelle and Deborah. Correctional Officer Janet Gates was in the room as an escort during the meeting. Madison was informed that her attorney, Al Simmons, would also be stopping by.

They were in the room only twenty minutes when Paul walked in as a surprise, and it was the first time in over sixteen months that Paul had hugged Madison without a sheet of glass between them. He kissed Rachelle, who didn't want to let go of him, but he finally explained what he was doing there.

“Maddie, I wanted to let you be the first to see this.” He took a little box out of his pocket, opened it up, showed it to Rachelle, and said, “Thank you for accepting my proposal. I hope you like this.” It was a two carat marquis diamond with two round half carats on the side. Rachelle knew they were engaged, but seeing the ring and Paul putting it on her finger still made her misty-eyed. Madison looked at her sister and how happy she was, and she too became emotional. She looked up at Janet Gates, who was smiling at Madison.

D
etective Cronin drove up to the house and parked in the driveway and sat behind the wheel of his car for a few minutes and wondered if he should turn around and drive away. It was a fleeting thought, for he got out of the car and walked to the door. He rang the doorbell and walked into the foyer and was led to an office where there was a shadow of a figure sitting in the dark in the corner.

“It's over,” Cronin said. “It’s over; you need to turn yourself in.”

“What took you so long?” the figure from the shadow said.

“I needed the evidence to back me up,” the detective lieutenant replied. “Quite frankly, whoever killed Phil Smith in the barn that night was not a major concern for me. He was a no-good murdering piece of shit. I didn't even care that people thought it may have been me. But you slipped up by not telling me you came back the night before instead of the following night. The money, the payoff, the high level of technology on the briefcase all had me thinking. Then the shots that were fired, one missed, then one in the throat. A cop wouldn't have missed on the first shot, and speaking of the shot, the ballistics on the bullet showed the gun was owned by Steven Anderson from the paper Rachelle worked at, and I'm sure if we look hard enough we would find it somewhere in the house unless you destroyed it. I have the flight information and I checked; the only place that sold that kind of briefcase was your chain of stores before you sold it. You should have left another for Simmons. The cash was yours, so it’s not illegal for him to keep it. The briefcase was too expensive for me or anyone else to have.

I know it wasn't me who shot him, and only you had the means and money to do this. The money that went missing really was not missing. Anyone else but you would have made a fuss about where all the ransom money went to. Well, there was no fuss because you got your money back after you shot Smith. However, it was your love for your daughter that fired the bullet. Love, something so great can create hate toward others. I checked the technology used on the briefcase. It's the same as what's used on the mansion here. Everything has a signature.”

“What do you want me to do?” the shadow spoke.

“I want you to enjoy Christmas Eve tonight, Christmas Day tomorrow, and then I want you to turn yourself in before New Year's.”

“Don't you understand?” the man said as he came out of the shadows. “I would do anything to protect my daughter. Any father would.”

Cronin looked at William Lance. “Yes, I know, which is why I'm letting you turn yourself in. You can afford the best attorney, you were under extreme pressure. Public sympathy will be on your side. More important, there were only two people in the barn. One of them is no longer around. If you say you reacted out of self-defense it will be difficult for a jury to convict you.”

“You think so?” Lance said.

“Yes,” Cronin replied. “A jury is made up of people like yourself. There is only one version of the story, and that's yours. Get your attorney and turn yourself in. I'm sure he will want you to testify before the grand jury.”

“That's it?” Lance said. “You are going to leave and not take me in?”

Cronin took a step closer. “As I said, I won't take you in if I don't think you would do harm to yourself or others. William, your daughter needs you; she has been through a lot the past couple of years. Don't just think of yourself. Think about her.”

William Lance nodded as he spoke. “I'll turn myself in on the 27
^th
. I will need the 26
^th
to talk to Deborah.”

“OK,” Cronin said, “bring the gun with you when you do. Put it in a box and make sure there are no bullets in it.” He hesitated before speaking again. “Don't disappear, William. I will find you if need be, so think about Deborah. With a good lawyer, you won't do much time, if any.”

The two men stared at each other for another thirty seconds before Cronin said, “Merry Christmas.”

He nodded and turned around as William Lance said, “Thank you.”

Cronin got in his car and called ADA Ashley, who picked up on the second ring. He barely said hello when Cronin spoke. “I kept my promise. Merry Christmas, you son of a bitch.”

Ashley looked at the phone when he heard the click. He shook his head and thought to himself,
Same to you, mystery man, same to you.
He smiled as he rejoined his parents at the dinner table filled with his thought,
I’m sorry, Kevin Cronin, for giving you those promissory notes, but it was time, my friend.

J
ason “Jack” O'Connor was in the TV room when the guard yelled, “O'Connor, you have a Christmas gift in your cell!” The former FBI agent smiled as the guard escorted him back to his enclosed room with the small window. He walked in and always had a sarcastic smile on his face because he had won the right not to have the victims' families on his walls as Paul Powers had threatened numerous times. The photos were put up numerous times, but lawyers had gotten them removed each time.

On his bed was a shoebox-sized package wrapped in Christmas paper. He sat down on his bed and unwrapped the paper, opened the box, and found more tissue paper. He moved the tissue paper slowly to discover it was the white Ghost Face mask with the words in blood red,
No Mercy
. He jumped up from his bed and threw the mask against the door and started screaming.

“Get this out of here! Do you hear me? Get this out of here!” He started kicking the door. “Open up! Open up!” He picked up the mask and started throwing it against the wall. “Get this fucking thing out of here! Do you hear me!”

In fact the whole cellblock could hear him, but the burly guard smiled as he walked down the hallway listening to O'Connor's screams.