The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel (14 page)

“Bring in Patty Saunders now! I want her here before the FBI gets ahold of her. She called Starfield’s cell phone four times since this mess started.

Bud and Paul got up to leave as Cronin bellowed, “Dress blues tomorrow for the funeral, but get this woman in here now!”

Bud and Paul arrived at Patty Saunders’ apartment complex at Knolls Apartments on Belle Terre Road. There was no answer at the door, but they heard a cell phone ring inside.

Bud finally yelled, “Open the door, or I will huff and puff and blow this motherfucking door down.” Paul looked at him like he had lost his mind.

“What the fuck,” Bud said, “I don’t have my main piece.”

The door slowly opened, and Patty was already dressed to go down to the station. “You’re in a bit of trouble, missy,” Bud said.

“Ma’am,” Paul said, “I’m going to read you your rights, but we have questions for you at the precinct, and I’m sure the FBI will also.”

They brought her in to the precinct, where they questioned her for more than two hours. It was at this interrogation where pieces of the puzzle started coming together. She admitted to being involved in the kidnapping of Debbie Lance. Debbie had everything most people wanted in life—a big mansion, a rich daddy, money, a good job—and Patty couldn’t have any of it, so she went after Robert Simpson. Patty felt empowered when she seduced him a few times when Debbie was out of town. He stopped it out of emotional guilt after a few months, so she had gone after Daddy, the ultimate conquest, but he would have nothing of it. He was such a good dad he never told his daughter, for fear it would hurt her too much.

Patty had been promised Debbie would never be physically hurt during the ordeal, but $5 million was too tempting. Patty got the ball rolling from meeting the Winters brothers online through Facebook. They met a few times in Port Jefferson at Pasta Pasta over dinner to discuss their plans. During the interview, Patty broke down in tears that Bud felt were of the crocodile nature.

Paul moved in on Patty to remind her that because of her actions, two innocent people, one of them a cop, was killed and three others were seriously injured. “You’re going away for a long time, because of jealousy.” Patty nodded in agreement, with tears in her eyes. She continued her story and the involvement of Kyle and Phil Smith, who she believed was behind the killing of Kyle, and now Wayne.

“I guess he wants me dead now,” Patty cried.

Bud looked at her from the wall he was leaning against and said, “Honey, I think more than a few people are going to want you dead when this all comes out.”

Detective Lieutenant Cronin, who was looking through the one-way mirror with the assistant district attorney said, “We should bring in William Lance and Robert Simpson to be sure they’re not involved. The butler at the very least had an affair with Patty, so he may have had cause to be involved with this.” ADA Ashley agreed.

“Send two officers to pick them up,” Cronin replied quickly.

“I think I’m going to let Paul and Bud do it,” Cronin said. “When this thing goes to court, I would like to have them involved in most of this since they are knee-deep already.”

ADA Ashley replied, “OK, but the way this is going, there won’t be anybody on trial the way the body count is going.”

John Ashley was a slim man of 38 who had been with the Suffolk Police Department since graduating from Columbia University in New York City 12 years prior. His dark hair and brown eyes were a hit with the ladies, but his job and passion kept him a bachelor. He walked out the door as Cronin pushed the intercom button and told Paul and Bud to leave the interrogation room.

“What’s up, boss?” Bud remarked as they came through the door to the viewing room.

“Have one of the officers book Saunders, you two go pick up William Lance and Simpson, now. The FBI may have already beat us to it.”

“Boss, my gun?” Bud replied.

“Not yet,” Cronin replied. “If you don’t want to go with Paul, then sit this out.”

“I’m going,” Bud replied.

Bud and Paul arrived back at the end of Cliff Street in Belle Terre to learn that the FBI had already picked up William Lance while he was visiting Deborah at the hospital. Robert Simpson did not go to the hospital, so Paul and Bud turned their attention to the guesthouse. As they knocked on the door, they heard a crash. Paul kicked in the door as Bud ran around the back and collided with Robert.

“What are you, some kind of dumbass?” Bud said, as he held on to Robert. Bud put Simpson to the ground and started talking into his ear. “Where you going? What are you running from? Why are you banging Patty at the same time as pretty Debbie? You must be a dumbass.”

Simpson started to talk. “Shut up!” Bud interrupted. “You have the right to remain silent. If not, I may put a bullet up your ass.” He stopped as Paul came around the corner and told him his accurate rights.

As they put Simpson in the car and closed the door, Paul turned to Bud and said, “The next time you want to put a bullet up someone’s ass, make sure no one can hear you, but more important, you better have a bigger gun to do it with.”

“Sorry about that, my partner,” Bud replied.

As they drove to the precinct, Bud picked up the paper lying on the seat. It was the Tuesday edition of the
Port Jefferson Now
. He read the article written by Rachelle that included insightful detail yet cryptic messages as to what had been going on and what was yet to come.

“She’s very talented,” Bud said as he looked at Paul driving.

“Yes,” Paul replied.

“She’s very smart,” Bud said.

“Yes.”

“She’s very pretty.”

“Yes,” Paul replied.

Bud paused for a moment and said, “Is she good in bed?”

Paul looked at Bud and said, “Read the article.”

“I can’t read anymore,” he replied. “It gives me a headache. I know you don’t know if she’s good in bed because you barely have kissed her. I was just checking to see if you were listening to me. Life is going to end, my friend. One day you are going to look back and say, ‘I blew it.’ At the very least know what it was like to be alone with her. You almost lost her forever a couple days ago. If you have feelings and care about her, stop the being shy shit and make a move when this thing is over, or you will regret it the rest of your life... however long that may be. No one has been murdered here for 20 years, and now we have four people in the last week. Yes, sir, we are the hot spot among killings, and we even got a Ghost Face running around.”

Paul turned on to Route 83 South to Coram as he glanced at Bud and said, “Are you going to talk the whole way to the station, or can I listen to music?”

In the backseat, Simpson started to talk and Bud cut him off. “Shut up, dickhead,” Bud said. “Just keep yourself in the back with your mouth shut, and I might not make good on my promise.” He was, of course, referring to his bullet-up-the-ass remark back at the guesthouse, but he did not want to say it again in front of Paul.

Bud put the radio on and started surfing the channels. As he did, there was a quick bite of
Twist of Fate
from Olivia Newton-John. “Stay on that,” Paul yelled.

“Stop, will you,” Bud replied as he switched the channel. “That shit’s old. How old are you? Twenty-nine? Thirty? What’s with this Olivia thing?”

Paul replied back quickly, “Come on, no one was better than her in the ’80s, and she’s still selling concert tickets in her sixties.”

“I know, you already told me that. It’s the 21st century, man. What the fuck?” Bud replied.

Paul smiled and said, “I was seven years old and my parents took me to one of her concerts. My dad loved her music, looks, and personality, and I loved her in
Grease
. I was trying to enjoy watching her from the good seats that we had, but it was difficult until my dad put me on his shoulders so I could see her better. Watching her on stage was so incredible, especially when she did songs from
Grease
. Finally, during the show she started to sing ‘Magic.’ There was a musical interlude at the beginning of the song, and at the first lyrics—‘Come take my hand’—she reached out her hand to me and kept it there ’til my dad got me to the stage so I could touch her. She held it tight while she sang a few more lyrics and kissed me when she had a pause from singing the lyrics. It was something that always stayed with me. I guess you could say I was a fan for life because of the attention she gave to a little boy. I grew up buying her CDs as well as others, but there has always been a place in my heart for her. The cancer ordeal she went through, her boyfriend disappearing...but it was the music, her voice, and her sincere appreciation and kindness to her fans that kept me in her corner. Don’t forget, the results are there: seven number one songs in a row. The ‘Physical’ video was so far ahead of its time.”

Bud just sat there in the passenger seat with a puzzled look on his face and finally replied, “Man, you are fucked up. This is the most I have ever heard you talk at one time since I have known you, and it’s about Olivia Newton-John. I can’t even leave. I’m trapped in the car with you listening to this. And I’ll tell you something else, give me an Olivia Newton-John song that you can really dance to on a dance floor in a club setting. Tell me that. Tomorrow night, when we get to Danford’s, I will show you what entertainment music is all about.” Bud looked out the window then back at Paul and said, “Olivia Newton-John?”

From the backseat Simpson barked, “Can you guys talk about something else besides Olivia Newton-John?”

Bud turned around quickly and said, “Shut your fucking ass up or I’ll put you in a cell and play nothing but Olivia Newton-John songs. How’s that, shithead?”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Paul replied with a giggle.

Bud just gave Paul a blank stare and replied, “I want you to know that I will never forget this ride with you. Of all the times we have been together, I can tell this is the one I will always remember. Riding to the precinct with the butler listening to you go on, about Olivia Newton-John.”

“I’m not a butler,” Simpson replied, “I’m William Lance’s executive assistant.”

“Oh,” Bud shot back. “You’re now the horse’s ass, and if you are involved in your girlfriend’s kidnapping, I will save that bullet for you.”

“I would never be involved in that. I love Debbie,” was his reply.

“Well, you have a funny way of showing it, shit for brains,” Bud replied. “Quiet ’til we get back to the station.” He looked at Paul and asked, “Is there anything else we should talk about before we get to the station?”

“No,” Paul said, “I think we have bonded enough for now.” He glanced at Bud with a smile, and his partner laughed as he gazed out the window. Paul pushed the radio button and stopped it on Katy Perry’s “California Girls” with Snoop Dogg. “Is there any song you don’t know the lyrics to?” he asked as he watched Bud mouth the lyrics.

“Yeah,” he replied, “Olivia Newton-John songs.”

“Oh, brother,” Simpson said in the back.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bud yelled back. Then he looked back at Paul and asked, “You’re not stuck in the ’80s or some weird shit, are you?” Paul just laughed as Bud continued, “You’re not going to tell me you loved the show
Life Goes On
or anything, are you, because that would really freak me out.”

Paul shook his head with a smile and replied, “That show was from 1989–1993, so it was a ’90s thing.”

Simpson shook his head in the backseat as Bud just stared at him. Then Bud spoke again, asking Paul, “And you watched every episode, right, and loved Kellie Martin?”

Paul laughed and answered, “All 83 episodes, and no, I loved Corky, played by Chris Burke.”

“OK,” his partner answered, “let’s go back to Olivia Newton-John.”

“Oh, shit,” Simpson said, as Bud grabbed a paper and swatted him.

“I said for the last time shut the fuck up!” Bud said.

As Paul laughed, Simpson kept talking, saying, “I think I’d rather be in jail than listening to this.”

Paul pulled into the sixth precinct on Route 25 Middle Country Road, Coram, where they handed Simpson over to officers to allow him to get an attorney before questioning. He would be held overnight as a suspect in the kidnapping, plus they knew the FBI would be interested.

As Simpson was locked up, Paul walked up to the bars with Simpson behind them and said, “Your girlfriend was kidnapped. Her girlfriend, Patty Saunders, who you were banging, is involved. And yet what I find most mysterious is that you didn’t go to the hospital to see Debbie after going through all of this.” Paul walked away, leaving Bud there to take over.

“You really are a dumbass, aren’t you?” Bud said and then walked back to Paul to call it a night. They had a funeral to attend to in the morning.

Paul got in the car to drive to the village and called to check on Rachelle. Madison picked up the phone, and they spoke for a few minutes.

Madison said, “Rachelle is sleeping, Paul; she’s doing great. She is resting for tomorrow. She wants to be at the funeral.”

“OK,” Paul replied. “You’re a good sister, Maddie.”

“No,” she replied, “Rachelle is a good sister.”

Paul hung up from Madison and called Cronin to give him the latest updates on Simpson. Cronin informed him of the statements being gathered by the FBI at the hospital. Cronin also told Paul there was a dress rehearsal during the day for the funeral in the morning. Paul wasn’t surprised, due to the tremendous number of people who attend a fellow officer’s funeral, in addition to the need to coordinate traffic, parking, and seating. Cronin had set it up with the FBI and sheriff’s office to help out with controlling the traffic and getting help with traffic cones, water, signs, and portable restrooms. The planning and execution of a police officer’s funeral was quite a task, especially in the middle of a national case. Detective Lieutenant Cronin was expected not only to speak at Officer Victoria Davis’ funeral but also to the media outlets afterward.

The dress rehearsal went well, but that does not always equate to things going perfectly the day of the funeral. Many things need to be coordinated, and all on a strict time limit. Planning such as this requires personnel trained for such unexpected occurrences during the day. Cronin welcomed the services of the New York City agency to help with the planning and burial services at Mt. Sinai Cemetery. Without their help and experience in planning and rehearsing a funeral such as this during the investigation, the Suffolk County Police Department would have been under tremendous stress to send off Victoria Davis in the proper manner. The agency had worked with the New York Police Department in the city for years planning funeral processions.