The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel (11 page)

A sudden loud voice from ADA Ashley was heard. “Are we interrupting anything, gentlemen? There should be no secrets; we are all on the same side on this one.” Cronin motioned for Paul and Bud to stay silent.

“I’m just making sure, John,” Cronin replied. “We all fired weapons, except for Paul, at a cop killer, and Bud shot him in the groin. I don’t want my men going through this thing to where the investigation is hampered or delayed because Internal Affairs is looking to nail someone.”

Ashley responded quickly, “We are talking about a cop killer; they will do the routine investigation. However, this guy was unarmed when Detective Johnson shot him.”

“He had just killed one of us!” Cronin bellowed. “He wouldn’t show his hands! He wouldn’t stand down and moved toward Johnson after what happened. Any cop would have fired, maybe killed him. Bud intended to shoot him in the leg and hit him in the groin.”

Cronin motioned for Bud to leave, and he did. Commander Williams and Agent Sherman were enjoying the show and stood there silently watching. Then Cronin got a call from the chief of police, wanting to know what Cronin was going to say at the press conference. “I haven’t rehearsed it yet, Chief, but I will give one within the hour,” Cronin answered.

He put the phone down and looked at Paul. “Where the hell are William Lance and Simpson? Get their asses in here, or we will show up at their house,” he said. As fate would have it, Officer Dugan knocked and opened the door to Cronin’s office and told the group both men were at the precinct. They came in, and by William Lance’s face, Paul knew something else was wrong.

“What now?” he asked.

Lance looked at Detective Lieutenant Cronin and said, “They called. The ransom drop is canceled for tomorrow. The new demand is $5 million and the release of Kyle Winters without questioning, or they will send parts of her body to me in the mail.”

Agent Sherman finally spoke up, saying, “They won’t harm her. They want the money too much.”

Cronin turned around and looked out his window in the parking lot. “Yes, they will,” he replied. The room grew silent, waiting for his follow-up. “They shot up the Cross Island Ferry, killed an officer, and put hundreds of people in harm’s way. They value their freedom more than the money. They want Winters freed so he won’t talk, or they will try and kill him, and if Deborah Lance has seen her kidnappers, they will kill her also.”

As he turned around, he looked at Lance and Simpson. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lance, but these are the cold, hard facts. If there is anything that has happened today that shakes your memory, anything that seems like a coincidence or reminds you of anything, now is the time.”

Lance sat down in one of the chairs as another officer came in with the list of license-plate numbers that Cronin asked for that were on the streets and metered parking lots of Port Jefferson Village. He gave a list of names to Paul, Lance, and Simpson. “Any names familiar on the list? Take a good look.”

There were more than 350 names on the list. While they were studying the list, Cronin looked at Ashley. “John, I have a press conference in 20 minutes, and I don’t even know what I’m going to say yet. This is such a fucking mess because we are not coming up with why this happened in the first place.”

Paul interrupted, “Well, well, well, looky here. Roger Thompson from Fun World was parked on East Main.”

William Lance interjected, “Patty’s car was in the village lot behind Pasta Pasta restaurant.”

Cronin looked at Paul and said, “Bring them both in here.” He then looked at Lance and Simpson and said, “Patty Saunders, your daughter’s best friend, correct?” William Lance nodded. “Anything else we need to know about her?” Cronin asked.

“They went to high school together and have stayed close,” Lance answered.

“That means you know her?” Cronin said, as he looked at Simpson.

“Yes, I know her,” he replied.

“Where has she been all this time since her best friend was kidnapped?” Cronin shot back.

“She’s been in touch with the family. She’s upset; she was supposed to be with her the night of the concert, as you know,” replied Simpson.

Paul interjected, “Why wasn’t she with Debbie on the boat? Why was she already in Connecticut?”

“Ask her yourself,” Cronin said to him. “Get her ass in here quick.”

Agent Sherman, who had been very patient during this conversation, finally spoke up. “Detective Lieutenant, I’m sorry about your police officer, but we have an agent shot and injured as well as the kidnapping. This will continue to be a joint investigation, especially now that Internal Affairs is involved with all the shots fired from your gun today. We were also aware of Patty Saunders from O’Connor’s input of the investigation. The FBI will be with you at the press conference.”

Usually Cronin would have fought this, but he decided that misery loves company.

“Yes, Agent Sherman, I agree we need to work together on this. I would suggest we listen to the taped call before the press conference.” He looked at Commander Williams, who was taking notes and using his tape recorder during this meeting, and said, “And you, sir? What are you going to be working on?”

Commander Williams was quick to respond, “The Coast Guard is going to find out why executives of the Cross Island Company didn’t show up today at the meeting and we are going to draw up a suggested outline of what they should be doing from a security standpoint from now on. If they don’t comply, we will work hard to shut the operation down until our waters are safe between New York and Connecticut.”

Cronin nodded and looked back at Lance. “Did the agents at your house say where the call came from?” he asked.

“It was Connecticut,” Lance said, with no surprise in his voice. The Detective Lieutenant looked back at Paul and said, “Well, that’s a bunch of horseshit. Detective Powers here was right all along.

There are too many things happening here in Port Jefferson Village. The comfort feeling is just too—well—comfortable. The calls may come from there, the car may have been abandoned there, but they are here, hiding in plain sight, and now we have one of them.” He called for Officer Lynagh to come into the office.

“Sir,” Officer Lynagh replied.

“Make sure Rachelle Robinson has two officers outside her door at the hospital. No one enters other than her doctor, her nurse, me, Detective Powers, Detective Johnson, and immediate family. The same goes for O’Connor’s room door. Add Agent Sherman to the list on the rooms. Anybody else that requests entry, call me for authorization.” He looked back at Agent Sherman and asked, “Can we get the recording of the call relayed here?”

The tape was played in Cronin’s office. In a disguised voice, the caller said, “The ransom has been increased to $5 million, and Deborah Lance will only be returned alive if Kyle Winters is returned without questioning. We are watching. Release Kyle Winters from the hospital, or any possibility of her return is eliminated.”

Cronin looked at everyone in the room and said, “Mr. Lance, I will see you in a couple hours, and Mr. Simpson, stay close by. I still have questions for you.” He pushed his intercom and reminded Gina to send some officers to pick up Patty Saunders and Roger Thompson. He looked at Paul and said, “Meet back here in a few hours. Go to the hospital and check on everyone and keep Bud in ‘low mode’ ’til we get a clear on this from Internal Affairs. I don’t expect a big problem.”

Paul left the precinct and got into his car and drove over to Z Pita to speak with Joey Z about Rachelle and then drove to Mather Hospital. He met Allan with his car keys, thanked him, and told him to get home to his family. As he approached Rachelle’s room, the two officers were already at her door and nodded to Paul as he showed his badge and they checked his name on the list. He walked in, and Madison was there at her bedside.

She looked up and smiled at Paul, saying, “She’s going to be OK. The bullet grazed her head, and the glass from the windshield created the other cuts, but she’s going to be fine,” as they hugged.

Paul looked back at Rachelle and said, “I’m going to sit with her for a bit before I go back to the precinct. Why don’t you take a break for a couple hours? I’ll be here ’til you get back. Give yourself a chance to get out of that dancing suit and clean up. Shit,” he added, “I sent Allan home; he could have given you a ride.”

Just then one of the officers opened the door and said that a gentleman named Allan wanted to know if Madison needed a ride. They looked at each other and laughed as Madison said goodbye.

Paul looked at Rachelle laying there, taking a nap. He sat down where Madison had been and started looking at all the papers that Madison had spread out. They were articles all written by Rachelle. He had only half-read most of her work because of time constraints, but now he wanted to read them. The article that captured his attention was the piece he had heard about on and off for a year: the history of Port Jefferson Village.

Rachelle was such a history buff that it was why she had first applied at Z Pita years before. She knew it was Port Jefferson’s first firehouse building and fell in love with the historical pictures that hung on its wall, such as the original bank of Port Jefferson that had a view of Z Pita as the firehouse with the bell tower as well as the New York Bakery and many others. It planted the seed for her to write about Port Jefferson, originally called “Drowned Meadow,” because the present business district had been a marshland that flooded with every high tide. Her article contained information about the first resident of Port Jefferson, John Roe, who built his home in 1682, which was still standing today. John Roe’s descendants lived in the area into the 19
^th
century, and although there were only five houses in 1797, Port Jefferson was a prominent commercial center by the 1850s. Her article was so well written that Paul couldn’t stop reading.

As he sat there, he came to appreciate Port Jefferson even more because of the simple facts and details she had written. Things such as a quote from Captain James McAllister in 1912 saying that “Port Jefferson harbor was the most beautiful he had ever sailed into.” The town was renamed Port Jefferson in honor of the third president, Thomas Jefferson, in March 1836, and became a bustling port.

Rachelle’s choice of living on Prospect Street was because of al the historical homes, such as the Capt. C.E. Tooker home, the R.H. Wilson home, and the John Mather home. Her article went into detail about the Mather home and Mather, who had left money for the hospital that she was in at this moment. She studied the history of the village so much that she grew to love it with a passion.

Paul looked at her and held her hand. As he held her hand, Rachelle awoke but was too tired to speak. She laid quietly as Paul began to speak to her aloud, not knowing she could hear him. “Rachelle, there are many things I don’t understand right now, but I want you to know how much you mean to me. We have been friends for years, but when I’m not with you, I miss you, and when I’m with you, I feel whole. I need to be whole and be me, and I can’t do that without you. I have been stubborn and shy in wanting to talk to you about my feelings, but my insecurity has stopped me from telling you these things. When all of this is over, I will speak to you and tell you all of this, but it’s important for you to get well.” He kissed her hand and continued as Rachelle listened. “I will not take you for granted anymore, as I sit here and think about our past, our talks, our laughs, and your incredible work and success at the restaurant and the paper. I wonder if this is my fault, but I want you to know I will do everything to protect you—not because it’s my job but because I need you in my life. If that sounds selfish, I’m sorry. I guess it’s good you are not hearing this because I’m probably screwing this up!”

Paul leaned in and bent down closer to Rachelle’s face as he moved strands of her hair. “I would kiss you now, but I don’t want the first time I touch your lips to be like this. I need you to want it too.” He moved up her face and kissed her forehead. He went to the door of her room to look for Bud and to check out a television to see if Detective Lieutenant Cronin was having the press conference. He went to the lobby of the hospital as Rachelle opened her eyes with a half smile on her face and a tear in her eye.

The lobby had Fox News on, and there was Detective Lieutenant Cronin in a recorded conference that had been shown live 30 minutes prior. It was short and to the point, and he took no questions. He said, “This has been the longest day of my career as a police officer. Today we lost one of our own, Officer Victoria Davis. An outstanding officer, a better person, and a friend to all of those who worked with her. We have been investigating the kidnapping of Deborah Lance and the murder of Timothy Mann, which are proving to be connected. And now we have the death of Officer Davis and injuries to FBI agent Jack O’Connor,
Now
reporter Rachelle Robinson, and the suspect himself, who was shot by one of our detectives. There is a list of demands by the kidnappers/murderers, which we are evaluating now. We will act accordingly to bring this to a close in the best possible way to resolve this case without any more injuries and death. Thank you.”

As he started to walk away, a reporter shouted, “That’s it! Just walk away. No questions, no answers!”

Cronin stepped back to the microphone and said, “I had to go inform the parents of Victoria Davis that their daughter died today in the line of duty while trying to save the life of Rachelle Robinson. We are not going to jeopardize any more lives at this juncture of the investigation. I don’t want to visit any more parents. Please respect that for now, and be patient with us.”

The silence from the reporters was a perfect time for Detective Lieutenant Cronin to walk away.

Paul went back to check on Bud, and a PBA delegate had just left the room when he got there.

“Paul,” Bud said, “I really don’t want this. We have work to do.”

“Listen,” Paul said, “it’s for your own good. This will be over soon, but we have to be certain Internal Affairs is not looking for a badge to take in all this, especially yours.”