In the Nick of Time (91 page)

“The Glen-Mills case—remember that, Captain?
I
solved it!” He stabbed his forefinger into his chest, claiming what was rightfully his once and for all. “Lieutenant Walker got a package in the mail about the case in Long Island; you know, the one with the stolen cars ending up in the damn river. One of ’em had a baby in the back seat! Who could forget that, huh?
I
sent that research to him, all that information that I personally collected… stayed up night after night. I gave him
everything
he needed. All he needed to do was double check my findings and make a damn arrest, and less than twenty-fours later, ya know what? He did, but he didn’t mention my name; he sure as hell didn’t!

“That wasn’t the perpetrator confessing, finally coming clean like it was said in the press! Noooo!” He shook his head vehemently. “
I
sent those damn maps for the Opal case, including the one where the body was found of that man that had been missing for months! The Victor homicide, remember that shit? I solved that too! Just ask Officer Ashton!”

He and Captain O’Sullivan shot a look at the man in question, a guy with enough tenure for two. The man stood there, stone faced, then lowered his gaze from both men.

“The Tractor-Belle case, I cracked it!” Tears welled up in his eyes, threatened to fall. “The Rifer case, guess who mother-fucking
who
! Yeah, it’s me again.” He laughed angrily. “That interrogation of the Baseline killer, I told Officer Townsend what to ask ’im, how to make him fall apart, make him tell the truth… cause I’m one of them, Captain! I’m a part of this, the people we chase and hunt down each and every day. I chase myself away every damn day, too… I’m a beast! A goddamn monster! I fight with that fucker every morning, afternoon and night!

“You gotta be a thief to understand one, Captain. You gotta get into their damn heads, know how they operate. The best hunters think like the animals they’re after; they become the beasts. They don’t just sit back passively. No,” he said with another shake of the head. “The hunter becomes the hunted. You must have a deviant mind. And I did… I
do.
That was
me
, goddamn it!
All
me! I worked, drank, and worked some damn more because that’s my fuckin’ job, and my job was my wife and my life!” Spit sprayed out of his mouth out as his eyes continued to water, anguish so deep begging to burst forth.

“I had to keep quiet, work behind the scenes… a damn ghost writer to my own life… Well, I’m
done
being invisible, Captain… done with it all.” He threw up his hands. “I’m not a drunk and sad sack of bullshit any longer. I got purpose; I got reason to live!” He snapped his fingers and looked out into the sea of people.

“Get me my search warrant, goddamn it!!!” His voice cracked. A couple of people started to move away, on the alert, as if ready to follow his orders.

“Someone taught me how to love and respect myself—someone I love with all that’s in me, and she no doubt wonders where the fuck I am right now, but I am where I’m supposed to be, doing what I was born to fucking do so that I can continue to give her all the love she needs and deserves! I’m alive; I’m a cop, a damn proud one! Brooklyn’s finest!” He beat his chest with a firm first. “Brownsville is my home. I was born and raised here, and someone is taking little girls from their families, snatching’ them up, and no one gives a shit to dig deeper, go the extra damn mile! Well, it stops NOW! Not on my goddamn watch! Not now, not ever!”

“Nick,” the Captain said calmly. “I’m trusting you… I am. What do you need from us?” Angst imbued his tone and he put his hands up in surrender.

“A search warrant in record speed, a big ass bulldozer, and a damn prayer!”

“Where’s it at, Vitale?!” someone called out.

He grabbed his jacket from off the ground and turned his back on the crowd. “6809 Linden Boulevard, and I need back up and I need it
yesterday
!”

He grabbed a second gun, strapped up, and hurried out of the precinct. In the distance, he could hear scrambling behind him, as well as elevated voices, the screams of shattered pride and a call to action. The monster within him had been unleashed to bite the heads off everyone in his way. He was returning back to the dollhouse, and if he had to tear the place up brick by tiny brick with his own hands, he simply would.

The clock wouldn’t let the hell up;
it
became the biggest monster of all, refused to release him, to slow down. So, he asked Father Time if he could take a moment of his life, steal it away, and give it to the missing girls of Brownsville instead…

They look so
beautiful… dreamlike.

The models came down the runway one by one, poised and graceful, their eyes bright and glassy. Moving to the music, they looked like musical notes in motion. Vicki gave Taryn a big squeeze, a warm hug as she observed her creations coming to life.

They do look like dolls… just gorgeous.
Each of the models on the stage had had either a partial or full mastectomy, every example showing the gamut of the lingerie line. They bounced about, their heads high, all warriors… every damn single one of them. They owned the damn stage, from the palest one, almost the color of snow with long, straight, flowing light blond hair, to the darkest, most luminescent azure, her natural hair blown out like a gorgeous coiffed halo…

They radiated from the inside out.

The dolls go marching one by one,

Hurrah, hurrah…

The warriors beat their drums,

Hurrah, hurrah…

Cancer’s a thief,

but it didn’t get shit.

The Warrior Princess

surely saw fit.

…And the dolls…kept… m a r c h i n g…

                d

              o

            w

          n.

To the ground.

To Hell…

And beyond…to fight, with the Devil…

“Y
ou can’t do
this!” the man screamed out, his blue eyes bulging from their sockets as he twisted and turned in the officer’s grip, a look of complete panic and distress on his face.

“We’ve got a search warrant, Mr. Allen…we
can
do this,” Officer Tomas said dryly.

“Over here.” Nick pointed to the ceiling in the living room, commotion all around him. Officers from three precincts moved about the premises. “There’s fresh paint there, you see? Right above here is the master bedroom, and an old fireplace. There’s water damage, too. Something leaked.” He continued to make his way around, pointing and directing like they were in the middle of a damn traffic jam.

“Open that closet right there… there’s a growth chart inside. He’s had some of the girls for almost a year! He’s been doing this for much longer than people realize—and one of the twins is dead. He drew a heart by her last growth spurt. That’s why the jackets were still in there.” He dashed away into the kitchen, giving directions amongst the chaos.

“Go over this entire kitchen from top to bottom. He’s been sterilizing everything. Someone got hurt. There was blood. If you turn the UV light on this place, it will light up like the fourth of July. Do it and video tape it.”

He snatched open the refrigerator door and pointed.

“There are five types of fruit in there and four vegetables. That means there are nine girls that are alive in this house. He keeps checks and balances in odd ways, all over this fucking place. The girls’ names are in alphabetical order, either by first or last name.” He slammed the refrigerator door shut and raced up the steps, pausing where the jam had dried a little.

“This is also how I know they are still alive, at least some of them,” he announced. “He’s been feeding them.” He pointed to the jam. “He was in a hurry, so he didn’t notice this. He has a long morning routine, but he’s never late for work, so some things have to wait until he returns…like cleaning up small messes.” He kept moving, racing about with his fellow officers on his heels. “Check this bathroom sink,” he instructed, pointing to it. “We need samples for forensics. There’s a clog in it. Water was a little backed up and drained slowly. It’s from long hair. He keeps his hair short. He washes their hair in here; it’s a routine, a ritual.” He looked towards the bars of soap. “He cleaned up some blood this morning. Look at the two bars of soap. They were originally white.”

He kept on down the hallway, frantic, not sure his mouth could move fast enough to get it all out.

“Follow me, keep up!” He kicked in the master bedroom door. “You see that fireplace?” He approached it. “Take a crowbar and pry off that wood. He’s got it blocked off… protecting something. This plywood is old, but the nails are new and shiny. He does this every damn day. Once you get behind the panels, you’ll more than likely see a lock. I’ve got the key.” He tossed it to one of the officers standing by the fireplace, then headed out the room, the noise growing louder as the sound of a drill from the first floor vibrated through the whole damn area. In another location commenced the swinging and bashing of a sledgehammer into a wall. A few moments later, someone from the first floor screamed out, “There’s blood down here!”

Nick took his time descending the steps. As he reached the front door, he looked out onto the street and saw Christopher sitting in the back of one of the squad cars, his head down in his hands. A deep hatred for a man he didn’t know birthed itself within him at that very instant. He wanted to march over there, drag the bastard out, and beat him to death with his bare hands—and if given a moment alone with the bastard, he just might.

“Oh my God!” someone screamed out so loudly, the air itself seemed to shake as if an earthquake pulsated below and above his body. Nick quickly looked over his shoulder and raced back into the house, fighting the crowd. On the first floor, part of the ceiling had been exposed. He rushed up the steps back to the master bedroom.

“Oh …God…Oh God!” He slumped to his knees as he stared at the half knocked in fireplace, the wall partially torn apart, exposing old brick and emptiness, a portal to Hell…