False Witness (John Steel series Book 3) (15 page)

The British detective nodded in agreement. The same thing had crossed his mind when he read through the file. Something was off and not just slightly off.

“Okay so he gets out, the others just go with him or they’re in it together,” Sam surmised.

Steel thought for a second then nodded happily at the theory so far.

“They escape and then what?” she continued. “First thing they do is kill a guy?”

Steel rocked in his chair as he listened. “I know, makes no sense. Personally I would have bolted to Canada or somewhere far away, but, hey, everyone is different.”

McCall chewed on her bottom lip in frustration. “What about you? Any theories?”

Steel shook his head. “Nothing so far. I think first we should look at the others and see if there are any similarities and then find out if they had any connection with our Vic’s. They may be connected or they may not be, we need to know either way.”

McCall gave Steel a tired look. “Yeah I know, we have to check.”

Steel laughed then looked at his watch. “I would say let’s do it after lunch, there’s no point working hungry, it affects the concentration something rotten.” Steel stood up and headed for the elevator turning halfway and shouted back, “Do I take it you are staying here?”

McCall didn’t turn round, she simply raised her hand and waved.

*

Judge Carmen Mathews had broken for lunch. The case she was working on was a drunk driver hit-and-run with a dispute about who was behind the wheel. Unfortunately one of the two young women involved had a wealthy father who could afford a top lawyer, so the other one was in trouble.

As she walked out of the courthouse the impact of the cold breeze made her wince slightly at the initial shock, but she just smiled and closed her eyes, letting the air cool her warm skin. The judge made her way down the white stone steps and across the street.

Watching from afar the girl in the grey hoodie sat patiently, her gaze never leaving the judge. The teenager stood and waited for the right moment then pursued her.

After about four blocks the judge headed inside a large restaurant—the sort of place that didn’t accept you unless you had a platinum card and an old school tie.

The girl found her perfect spot next to a street vendor and waited. From here she could see straight into the restaurant without too many problems.

She watched patiently as the judge was brought to a table by one of the waiters. At the table Judge Mathews shook someone’s hand. The girl could not make the person out, as a large pillar obstructed her view, however she figured it was a man because of the size of his hand compared to that of the judge.

Mathews sat and she laughed as they talked, then her face changed to one that was more serious, scared even. Who was this person who could make a judge nervous, the girl wondered? She tried to look round the pillar from a different spot but found that her view was then blocked by a wall. She growled with displeasure.

She would have to wait. This mystery person interested her.

As she watched, the waiter presented meals for the judge and her companion and placed them on the table. The young woman’s stomach let off a jealous rumble.

The watcher knew that they would be in there for some time, given the way the judge was picking at her salad, so she decided to find a better observation spot.

Two men came up behind the girl and grabbed both her arms and led her towards a black van that was parked nearby.

“Make a sound and I will stab you in the kidney,” one of her captors warned her.

The girl looked shocked at her sudden abduction. She winced in pain as the man gave a quick poke to her side with the knife that was hidden under a jacket he had draped over his right arm.

She hoped that someone would notice, that one of the thousands of people around would see her dilemma and call the cops. But everyone seemed to either not see what was happening, or they simply chose not to get involved.

“What do you want?” she demanded. “If this is for ransom, oh brother, have you picked the wrong kid.” She felt another pinch to her side.

“When we get to the van you get in all normal like,” the man warned her. “Mess me around and I leave you bleedin’ here.”

She nodded quickly, but only used small movements, to prevent another penetration from his blade.

They walked quickly towards the van in silence, the girl still trying to make eye contact with anyone but failing completely.

She felt a tear build up in the corner of one eye. She had heard about these kind of incidents: young girls being dragged off the streets only to be brought back later to work there turning tricks. If she was lucky it would still be in America, but she could be taken anywhere in the world.

“I am frightfully sorry, can I trouble one of you gentlemen for directions?”

The girl’s heart nearly stopped at the sound of the voice of the British tourist. She wanted to turn around and warn him that he was in danger but she froze: she had second thoughts—if she turned to warn him they might both end up dead.

“Get lost!” yelled the man to her left.

“Sorry,” said the ever-polite tourist. “I am already lost, that’s why I am asking directions.” The British tone of his voice was firm but somehow it had a playful ring to it. It was almost as if he was trying to annoy her captors.

“I just want to know the way to the Empire State Building,” the lost tourist asked.

Megan, for that was her name, could hear the man to her left start to breathe heavily. He was about to make a move and the poor tourist would not have a chance.

“Look, limey, why don’t you find a cop or something?” the man to her left growled disapprovingly.

“You know it is really bad manners to talk to someone and not look them in the eye.”

The Brit was now seriously irritating the thug on her left and he turned to confront him.

“Sorry, my mistake.”

There was a sickening crunch and the man stumbled backwards, blood flowing freely from between the fingers that were now cradling his nose.

The knifeman turned quickly. All Megan heard was what seemed to be the sound of someone being hit hard, many, many times.

Suddenly the body of the knifeman skidded past her across the concrete paving.

Fear froze the girl in place, but something else made her turn slowly around. She was hoping to see the face of the man who had saved her. However, all she saw was a crowd of people and there was no sign of her rescuer.

There was a screech of tyres from the van as it sped off, causing her to turn around just in time to see it disappear down the street before the cops arrived.

“You okay, kid?” asked a friendly voice. She looked up to see a beat cop standing over her.

She looked around, confused, then back at the two men bleeding on the sidewalk.

“Yes, I am fine—now. Do you know who did this?” she asked, hoping for answers.

“I was hoping you could tell me, I just got called over to a fight. Say, what’s your name, kid?”

The girl seemed miles away for a second as though she wasn’t taking it all in. “What? Sorry, did you ask my name? It’s Megan. Megan Armstrong, sir.”

Tooms and Tony stood
at the side of the road looking at the broken safety fence, beyond which was the swell of the Hudson River.

They had gotten a call from the coastguard about reports of a car that had crashed into the river. A witness had seen the car crash after being driven erratically. When the police had taken the witness’s statement she had described the driver. That description sounded like that of the missing guard from the crash of the prison van.

Earlier that day Tony had put out a
Be On The Look Out
or BOLO alert for the guard, which the coastguard and uniformed officers had reacted to.

As they stood at the roadside embankment they watched the divers go down then moments later come up again, each time moving to a different spot.

Tooms nudged Tony and pointed to one diver who raised his arm to signal that he had something. They watched as a large crane manoeuvred over the spot and lowered its cable and lashing straps into the water, as the other divers went to assist.

Tony waited for the car to be brought up so they could ID the body. The two detectives stood and watched as the rear end of a car started to emerge from the deep. The men suddenly looked disappointed as a brand new BMW was pulled out and laid on the side of the road.

“Thanks, Sarge, but we are looking for a blue Ford,” Tony told the coastguard sergeant.

The sergeant leaned into the car to look at the body to confirm whether it was or wasn’t their man. “Well,” he told the detectives, “Blue Ford or not, this is your guy.” He waved a picture of the guard they had sent him earlier. The two detectives looked at each other and then moved closer.

The vehicle held one driver, who was indeed the missing guard from the prison van. All along Tony had had the feeling that the ‘mother being ill’ story was bogus, and that’s why he had put out an all points alert.

“I thought this guy was a hundred miles away,” Tooms said angrily.

“Yeah, I wonder why he ain’t?” Tony replied.

“Okay, so he gets himself a brand new Beemer, only to drive it into the Hudson!” Tooms shook his head, confused at the situation.

“Well if you’ve got to go, you may as well do it style.” Tony shrugged and smiled.

Tony and Tooms stood back as the ME—who was a short man in his late fifties, with white scraggy hair and gold rimmed spectacles—did his checks.

“Any ID, Doc?” asked Tooms, who was hoping it was someone else, who just happened to look like their missing guard.

The ME turned and tossed over a black wallet. Tooms caught it and went through the pockets. He pulled out a driver’s licence and growled. “Yeah, it’s our guy. Damn it!” Tooms bagged the evidence in a clear evidence bag that Tony held out for him.

“You got a cause of death, Doc?” Tony asked as he sealed up the bag.

“Can’t be sure,” the doctor replied. “Could be head trauma from the impact, but one thing is sure: he didn’t drown.”

The two detectives drew nearer so that they could get a better look.

“How can you be sure?” Tony asked.

The ME pointed to the dead man’s lips. “See here? There’s no foam round the mouth, which shows that the water made it to the lungs. But I will know more once I have cut the poor bastard open.”

The two detectives thanked him and made their way back to their car while CSU did their thing with the car.

There was nothing they could do there, so after leaving their business cards with the ME and CSU they headed back to the precinct.

“You smell a cover up, partner?” Tooms asked as he slid onto the driver’s seat of their car.

“Actually I smell hot dogs, I am starved,” Tony admitted.

Tooms looked at his partner and shook his head as they sped away. “Unbelievable.” Tooms grunted, and Tony laughed as he took out his cell phone.

“Agent Lloyd?” he said into the phone. “Yeah, it’s Tony—Detective Marinelli—never mind. We have a problem with the guard.”

McCall had gone through
Williams’s file and still couldn’t figure out how a career criminal had become so stupid and got caught. What also made no sense was that the killing of the undercover cop was in Battery Park and Williams at the time lived and worked near Central Park North.

The case itself was open and shut, the prosecution had all of the evidence—a witness, fibres, ballistics. All roads led to Williams.

Hell, it couldn’t have been more airtight if they had got filmed footage of it. However something didn’t seem right to her. She had never had a case like that—ever.

Tooms had phoned to tell her about the guard taking a one-way drive, which made his and Tony’s life more complicated for sure.

But she had her own problems. McCall threw down her pen and stretched, just as Steel was walking out of the elevator, holding a loaded hot dog and a coffee.

“Thought you were eating out?” she asked, almost disappointed that he had not brought her anything.

“Actually these are for you,” he told her. “I figured you wouldn’t have gone out for anything.”

McCall almost blushed with embarrassment after doubting his manners. “Thanks.” She took the food and went for the coffee first.

“Any luck?” Steel asked, hoping she had found something that they could work on.

“No, but talking of luck, Tooms and Tony found the guard.”

Steel smiled. “Nice. So are they bringing him in?” His smile faded as McCall shook her head.

“No the coroner’s doing that. They found the poor guy at the bottom of the Hudson in a brand new Beemer.”

Steel grunted disapprovingly as he picked up his coffee cup and headed for the recreation room to fill it. McCall had finished her meal by the time Steel had returned, but she seemed agitated by her findings.

“So did you find anything that might shed some light on things?” he asked.

McCall leant back in her chair and waited for John to sit. “I think our boy here knew it was a set up and now he’s out!” She raised her hands as if she had solved the case.

“Nice. So can we go home now you’ve solved it?”

McCall scowled at Steel, who smiled broadly at his insult.

“So we both agree that his capture and case at the time stank of a set up,” Steel said, looking puzzled, feeling that this whole case made no sense whatsoever. “But why didn’t anyone else pick it up? I mean for any judge or prosecutor this must have stuck out as bizarre, surely?”

McCall had to agree that it was odd, but sometimes as a cop you welcomed such easy ‘gift-wrapped’ cases.

“We need to look at the others, see if anything pops there,” he reasoned. “What if someone is setting up killers and drug dealers? Is that a bad thing if it gets them off the streets?”

McCall could see his reasoning, however one thing made it wrong. “It is if innocent people have to die.”