The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel (15 page)

Paul hung up the phone, ready to get back to his apartment. He knew it would be a long day tomorrow. A funeral for Victoria, interrogation of Robert Simpson, and Internal Affairs was scheduled to meet with Bud about the shooting. As Paul drove home he wished there was more time in the day.

As he drove to Main Street to turn right on Arden place, he decided to keep going straight, which led him directly to the Cross Island Ferry. He made a right turn on East Broadway and a quick left into the parking and loading dock area of the ferry. He got out of the car and stood in the spot where they were when the shots were fired. He kept going over and over in his mind as to how and why it had gotten this far.

He started at the beginning, the kidnapping on the ferry, which they now understood. A jealous girlfriend who wanted Debbie Lance’s life and felt empowered by seducing her boyfriend and who had even tried to bang her old man. Timothy was killed because he was overheard talking about himself being the person with Rachelle reenacting a theory on the ferry through her article. Attempts on Rachelle and the rest of the people who were on the ferry, again as a result of the article. Kyle got killed in the hospital, yet the cops were not. Debbie Lance got saved while Wayne Starfield got killed. Patty Saunders admitted to being involved and implicated Kyle, Wayne, and Phil. The evidence said Phil was the one knocking off his ex-partners, which Paul liked. He nodded his head and said “Yes” with a slight grin.

He walked over to the dock at Danford’s and walked all the way to the end of the pier. Along the way, he paused to check out the names on the back of the boats. He loved what people would name them. He had many friends who told them the happiest day of their lives was when they got their boat and when they sold the boat. As he walked along the pier, he looked at the names:
Prince Charming, Who’s Sorry Now, New York State of Mind, Blessed Event, Aunt Mary, My Rosie, It’s About Time
. He laughed as he read a few more.

Anthony Powers, his father, had always wanted to get his own boat and call it
The Wonder of You
. His father always thought it was the most romantic song he had ever heard and wanted to christen his boat with that name. It never happened, but Paul made a mental note that if he ever won the lotto, he would get that boat for his dad. His father had to sell his house on Long Island because the property and school taxes were just too high for him to afford. One of the biggest complaints about beautiful Long Island was that people worked hard all their lives to pay off their mortgages, then they were forced to move when they retired from their jobs because the taxes were too high. Paul walked back to his car, got in, and drove back to Z Pita. He knew he would have a deep sleep that night.

It was getting late, and Cronin was sitting at his desk looking at all the emails from his superiors, journalists, and peers regarding the publicity of the case. He covered his face with his hands, hoping it would make his thoughts become a bit clearer.
I’m getting too old for this bullshit,
he thought. It was a fleeting thought, and as he turned on the TV to see Fox News covering the story, he was reenergized to think,
I’m not going away just yet; we will play this through
. His thoughts changed again when he played his voice mails on his speakerphone. It was the commissioner barking, asking what was going on. He covered his face again, but this time his head was nodding sideways.

P
aul heard the knocks at the bottom of the stairway, then the running up the stairs. It could only be Bud, judging by the intermittent steps. In he walked, in full dress blues, and Paul could tell the gravity of the situation had hit Bud now that they were putting Victoria to rest. It was surreal to Paul also. He buttoned up the top portion of his uniform, put on his white gloves, and both he and Bud walked down the stairs and got into their cruiser to drive to the United Methodist Church in Patchogue. Victoria’s family lived on the South Shore while Victoria was growing up, and she stayed loyal to the church when they moved to the North Shore in Miller Place.

The beautiful church was filled to capacity with friends, family, and uniformed police officers. The casket, draped with the American Flag, was brought down the center aisle to the front. Pastor Tom came out and gave a stirring memorial service for Victoria. It lasted more than an hour, with her brother, niece, and Detective Lieutenant Cronin giving memorial speeches about Victoria.

The police then emptied the church in an orderly fashion, and as the casket was carried out from the front of the building, the officers were lined up on both sides as it was brought through. Bud and Paul had requested to be in the line, and it was approved, although Bud still did not have his gun returned to him. The officers stood at attention and saluted as the flag-draped casket was slowly walked through the line.

In the crowd were Rachelle and Madison. Madison could not talk Rachelle out of being there, but the protective side of her was clearly evident, as she would not leave her side. Nearby, Agent O’Connor, on crutches, was with Agent Sherman. Debbie Lance had wanted to be there, but the doctors were not ready to release her until possibly later in the week. The FBI as well as the police were happy with the decision to keep her in the hospital. There was no way to know for certain if her life was still in danger until the case was closed. To be sure, Detective Lieutenant Cronin had officers checking identification on patients and family who were entering the hospital, in addition to the FBI having standing escorts in the hallway near her door. Cronin also assigned Officer Lynagh to Rachelle, whose only assignment was to keep an eye on her during the funeral.

He, like Paul, was concerned about the articles being released and what was to come out later when this was closed. Rachelle wanted to be a writer as well as run a business, and it was noticed that Rachelle had started to carry a small cassette recorder with her to remember her notes. He just hoped it didn’t get her killed in the end. She was lucky to be alive now, and Cronin knew that sometimes when luck ran out for the perpetrators—or perps, as cops often referred to them—and they felt they had nothing to lose, all bets were off.

This particular morning, Rachelle had on a gray-and-black matching skirt and top. Her hair was pulled back to help with the already hot morning, and there was still a small bandage on the side of her forehead—a reminder of what had happened only four days before. Paul gave her a quick glance while he was in the line for the casket and thought to himself that even here, even in this circumstance, she was as beautiful as he had ever seen her.

The casket was loaded into the hearse as the parents of Victoria Davis put their hands on the back of the car. Victoria’s father held her mother steady as the tears came down her face. Paul could only imagine what the wake had been like the night before. Her mother had insisted on a private wake for close friends and family and would have had a private funeral had it not been for her daughter telling them six months prior that she wanted a police funeral if anything happened to her. She was proud to be a cop and loved her brothers-in-arms. After the funeral, she told them she wanted her fellow officers to have a party in her honor. Her request was going to be honored, and Bud had already made arrangements at Danford’s, upstairs, to celebrate her life.

The funeral procession to Mt. Sinai Cemetery, which took about 30 minutes, went without a hitch. The dress rehearsal to figure out the logistics of what needed to be done paid off with dividends. Most do not know the amount of time and effort it takes to coordinate a police funeral. However, Victoria received a meaningful, dignified memorial worthy of her.

When her casket arrived at her final resting place, the pastor spoke for a few minutes about her life, hopes, and desires and finished with, “I knew Victoria from the time she was a young teenager to being a proud member of the Suffolk County Police Department. We spoke many times about her beliefs, likes, and dislikes. During one of our conversations, Victoria told me that she believed that when someone died, there was a reason in how and why and when they died. No life lost is wasted if a lesson was learned. As for the funerals, she told me that they are for the living, for the memories from a funeral will last the rest of us for our lifetime. For that reason, she wants you not to grieve her loss of life but to celebrate her life by remembering her and by not letting her death be in vain.” As the pastor spoke these words, Bud considered how he thought he had known Victoria, and yet it appeared he hadn’t taken the time to know her enough. Her thoughts, beliefs, and spirit touched him through the voice of the pastor.

The most emotional part of the funeral started as the flag that draped the casket was being folded by members of the American Association of Police Officers. The flag was given to Detective Lieutenant Cronin, who slowly and in a military fashion brought it over to Victoria’s mother, thanking her for her daughter’s service, and presented the flag to her. In an unusual move, Cronin leaned over and whispered in her ear for about 10 seconds then stepped to the side and leaned over and whispered into Victoria’s father’s ear for the same length of time. He stepped back, shook his head, and saluted the flag her mother was holding a final time and marched away.

There were more than 400 people at the funeral, more than 300 of whom were officers who paid their respects to Victoria Davis’ short life. As the funeral ended, Paul thought that Victoria would have been proud of the way everything went. Yes, it was a funeral, but it was more like a memorial. One that was perfect for her. He walked by the casket, touched it, and said goodbye to her. As he walked away, he saw Rachelle and Madison walking to their cars. He tried to catch up to them but was slowed down with the crowd and the need to exchange cordial hellos and greetings with his fellow officers. He took his cell from his pocket and sent Rachelle a text message: “Sorry we couldn’t talk today, but you looked beautiful.” He put it back in his pocket when Detective Lieutenant Cronin walked up to him.

Cronin said, “Paul, you need to get back to the precinct to question Simpson. The phone records came in for Winters, and Internal Affairs wants to talk to Bud. Get your asses moving.”

Bud met Paul back at the car, and it took them almost an hour just to get themselves on the road to the sixth precinct. On the way, Paul pulled out his phone to find a message from Rachelle. It said, “Thank you, I thought you looked very handsome in your uniform.”

Paul smiled as Bud looked over at him and said, “If you don’t start taking care of business with her, I’m going to introduce someone to her.”

Paul just looked at Bud and then stared out the window. Bud started talking again anyway, saying, “Make sure she comes tonight. I’ve got something very special planned, my friend.”

“I’m sure you do,” Paul replied. He sent Rachelle a text to remind her to come. He offered to pick her up at her house, but she texted back that she would meet him there. Madison would be going with her but would be leaving the club early on a date. Rachelle sent a text to Paul that he could walk her home from Danford’s when the evening was over.

Bud and Paul walked in to the precinct to find out that Cronin was in a meeting with Internal Affairs in his office. If only they could be a fly on the wall now. Paul told Bud he would meet him later and wished him well with his meeting with Internal Affairs. Still in his dress blues, Paul met Assistant District Attorney Ashley for a brief meeting before going in to speak with Simpson. Patty Saunders was still being held without bail in lockup in the back of the precinct. Robert Simpson was sitting in the room, clearly upset and nervous, but he had waived his right to an attorney because he claimed he had nothing to do with the money or the kidnappings.

As Paul walked into the room, Simpson started yelling, “How long do I have to be here! I haven’t seen Debbie yet!”

Paul sat down in a chair and said, “I wouldn’t worry about that right now. I don’t think she will be in too much of a hurry to see you by the time the FBI is finished with her.”

“No!” Simpson started yelling.

“Calm down,” Paul said, “or I’ll leave and have Detective Johnson come in and question you. Right now he’s trying to get his gun back from Internal Affairs. Sometimes he fires his gun a little too much.”

“Keep that psycho away from me!” Simpson yelled.

“Listen,” Paul said, “just answer my questions. Calm down.”

Robert finally settled down and started answering Paul’s questions. For two hours, Robert discussed his life with Debbie, his work with William Lance, and even his intimate encounters with Patty for a few months. His indiscretions during these months were the genesis of all that was to follow.

Paul stood up to stretch his legs and looked down at Simpson. He said, “You may have had nothing to do with kidnapping Debbie Lance or the killings that followed, but by letting your dick do the talking for you—yeah that’s right, by not keeping it in your pants because you had to have another piece of ass—it was the root of all this evil. As of now, we are not going to charge you, but quite frankly I think your punishment is going to be worse because I have no idea how you are going to explain yourself to Debbie and her father. And if you are still with her and working for the old man after all this, I may just want your autograph because it would be the greatest magic trick of all time. Hold on a second,” he said as he left Simpson there and entered the viewing room with the assistant district attorney.

“Let him go,” Ashley said. “We have nothing on him for now, but I want to hear the tape again anyway.”

Meanwhile, Bud had his own interrogation to be concerned about. Officer Steve Rubelli was going through the motions, questioning Bud about the shooting at the Red Onion Café, and for one of the few times in his career, Bud took and followed the advice of both Paul and Detective Lieutenant Cronin. His answers were straight and to the point.

It had been Cronin’s statement before he walked into the room that made an impression on Bud. As Bud was walking to the room, Cronin had grabbed his arm and said, “No hiding behind a clown face today. There are people here who care and are concerned about you. I let you go out on calls with just a backup gun because I want you involved in the trial. Don’t prove to them that I misjudged you. Don’t prove to them I don’t know what I am doing by making poor decisions when it comes to you. But most of all show them how intelligent and how good of a cop you are without sidestepping stress with the humor. This is serious. Make sure you project the attitude that you know how serious it is.”

Bud had gotten to the door, turned around, and said, “I won’t let you down, boss.” Cronin nodded as Bud stepped inside.

Detective Lieutenant Cronin had also spoken to Rubelli in his office before his meeting with Bud and told Rubelli just how he felt and what he would do if Bud didn’t get his gun back. When Rubelli asked Cronin if he was threatening Internal Affairs, the detective lieutenant answered back quickly, “No, I’m protecting you. I’m telling you that you have a good cop here who witnessed a fellow officer shot and killed, who is knee-deep in the middle of this case, which is the biggest case in this town for the past 20 years and for certain the rest of our careers. He finds himself alone in the back of a restaurant with a cop killer. He did what every one of us would do, and quite frankly many cops would have done in the shooter. Detective Johnson had the frame of mind to shoot when he felt threatened. So what I’m saying, Officer Rubelli, is that I’m letting you know if he doesn’t get his gun back from the review board, I’m going to fight it aggressively. And quite frankly, I don’t think public opinion on this one would be too interested in your side of things. So go do what you have to do, but keep things in perspective. We are talking about a gunshot to someone who was murdered at the hospital by someone who was involved in the killing of a cop. Thanks for your time and for listening.”

Officer Rubelli left the office knowing that Cronin had a point, and unless Bud surprised them with answers completely out of the ordinary for this type of case, Johnson would get his firearm back. Bud did not let anyone down. He sat in the meeting before the Internal Affairs review board and convinced them he attempted to avoid the discharge of his firearm. He ended the interview by saying, “I love being a cop. I love my brothers-in-arms family and I’m proud to be here and I understand why you need to do this, but I need you to understand that we officers who have gone through something like this need the support from all our brothers. A good cop was killed because she happened to be in the same car as the target. It’s more important to me that we lost Victoria Davis than it is about me shooting a cop killer in the groin.”

Bud was excused and went back to Detective Lieutenant Cronin’s office to give him the details of the meeting. Phone records came in of John Winters’ calls to Patty Saunders, seven times; Phil Smith, eight times; his brother Mason, four times; Kyle Winters, five times; and Wayne Starfield, 14 times during Deborah’s kidnapping.

“I guess we have enough for a warrant,” Cronin said as he picked up his phone and called Agent Sherman and informed him they had pretty good evidence to pick up John and Mason Winters. As soon as he hung up the phone, it rang again. This time it was Rubelli on the other end. “Thank you,” Cronin said as he hung up the phone. He opened his draw and pulled out Bud’s Glock 9mm gun, an Austrian-made pistol that was a favorite of cops and standard issue to FBI agents. Cronin amused himself by thinking it was also a favorite of rap stars. After putting it back in its holster, he gave it to Bud.