The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel (21 page)

Paul was captivated listening to Bud. It was the first time he had seen Bud in such a serious mode. It was the closest to normal he had ever seen him. “Tell me about some of those details,” Paul said. After all, they had time to kill. Deborah, Rachelle, and Sherry were all in the hospital, and they were waiting until they were awake to speak.

“Well,” Bud said, “did you know that 'God Bless America,’ written by Irving Berlin, was penned while he was stationed on Long Island? One that I found amusing was that the fictional sleuths the Hardy Boys are from Bayport, Long Island.”

“What else?” Paul said.

“Did you know that Huntington, Long Island, native Mariah Carey’s nickname in high school was 'Mirage’ because it seemed like she was never in class?”

“You are just full of information,” Paul said. “Now I understand why you know so much about dates, music, and trivia.”

“We never really sat like this, my partner,” Bud replied.

“You’re right,” Paul agreed.

Bud put his arm on Paul’s shoulder and said, “I know this is difficult, and I know I have kidded you about going too slow with Rachelle, but things are different now. The last thing we need is emotional attachment. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

“Yes,” Paul replied. “It’s too late on the emotional attachment, but there has been no intimacy, and I know it probably never will be, but she’s important to me and I want to be important to her.”

“You are!” Bud said. “It’s obvious! I’m your friend and your partner. I will be here or there if you need me.” Paul shook his head.

“Now,” Bud said, “enough bonding for now. It’s 6:00 am; let’s go have breakfast at Maureen’s Kitchen. They have the best fucking baked oatmeal you ever had. We’ll get back by 7:30 am, and maybe we can talk to Sherry or one of our girls by then.”

As they got up, Paul put his arm around his partner and said, “Thanks, Bud.”

“Don’t get mushy on me,” Bud said.

They got into the car and drove to Maureen’s Kitchen in Smithtown on Terry Road and Paul reconfirmed that Bud was the expert in food. He was right. The baked oatmeal was the best he had ever had. It was ordered as an appetizer, while Bud had the Dinosaur Egg, which was three egg whites and one yolk while Paul had the pistachio pancakes. The coffee alone, in nice-sized mugs, was better than Starbucks. The only drawback to this famous institution on Terry Road was if you came after 8:00 am, you would be waiting for a while for a table. Once you got your table, it was a little loud, but the experience of home-cooked and unique offerings from the chalkboard and the friendly staff made it a favorite of Bud’s. He not only considered himself an expert of trivia but also of food, and that was something Paul would never dispute. A couple mugs of strong coffee would help Paul and Bud get through the day after being up all night.

Bud tried to keep things moving a bit, and he was used to Paul taking the lead on cases, but he realized if they were going to get through this for everyone’s best interest and safety, he was going to have to step up in the lead. Particularly if it involved Rachelle. The bill came to $40.00 with tip, and it was worth every penny.

The ride to and from Maureen’s Kitchen was 20 minutes each way, and counting the 40 minutes they were there, they arrived back at the hospital at 8:30 am. Both Deborah and Rachelle were awake, and while Bud went to question Deborah, Paul wanted to see Rachelle. He entered her room and saw her talking with Madison.

“Hi,” Paul said in an awkward tone.

“Hello,” she said.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing OK,” she replied, “considering everything, but forget about me. How is Sherry doing?”

“She's going to be fine. She was lucky,” Paul answered.

“She saved my life.” Rachelle said it again. “She saved my life, I owe her my life.”

“I’m grateful that she did,” Paul said.

Rachelle looked back at Paul with a tear in her eye and spoke with her voice cracking, saying, “You, me, it’s too complicated.”

“I know,” he answered. “I know. The important thing is for you to get right emotionally, physically. You are what is important. Everything else is secondary. OK? Just get well.” She looked at her sister, who gave her a look of agreement on her face.

“Rachelle, as a cop I need to ask you some questions about what happened,” Paul said. He asked her a few questions about the attack in the house and soon realized it was Sherry who would have to fill in the missing pieces. When he moved to the outside of the house, Rachelle told Paul she looked outside her window and saw the masked killer stab Mason.

“Anything unusual other than the stabbing?” Paul thought it was a dumb question; however, it had become routine. As it turned out, it was a good question.

“The killer bent down after he knocked Mason down and went into his face almost like he was saying something to him. It was about five to ten seconds. Then he started stabbing him. I screamed and fell back to the corner. I thought he was coming in for us, but apparently he ran away, having heard Sherry’s gun.”

“No,” Paul said. “Apparently the person wearing the mask is after those involved in the kidnapping.”

“If that’s so,” Madison asked, “how did he know to be where Deborah was held or be at our house?”

“Well,” Paul said, “if it’s Phil Smith, he knew where Deborah was being held. Knowing where you lived is another story that we have to find out, but one thing is clear, it’s either Smith trying to frame someone else, which is why he didn’t kill Deborah and why he didn’t go in your house at all, or we have someone involved that we don’t know yet. We are going to figure it out. In the meantime, cryptic messages started coming out, starting today in
Newsday
, about this story, so it’s not going to help.”

Rachelle looked at Paul and said, “Call me dumb or irresponsible, but I’m not going to stop my job or my life.”

Paul replied, “Rachelle, is it the same mask? The Ghost Face mask?”

“God, yes,” she answered. “The same as what hangs on your coat rack.”

“OK,” Paul said. “Get some rest. Thank you.” He grabbed her hand and touched her finger before he thought better of it and pulled away. He nodded to Madison and walked out of the room. He didn’t see the tears come down Rachelle’s face or her lips tighten as her eyes followed him out the door.

Bud was sitting in a chair next to Deborah Lance when she opened her eyes.

“Hey, sleepyhead, today is the big day, going home.”

“Yes,” she smiled at Bud. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” he answered, “we are here visiting our special girls,” a term he emphasized with finger quotation marks, “and since you were still here, I thought I would speak to you a bit and see if there was anything you may have remembered that would help us.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” she said as she brushed her hair back with her left hand.

“Are you left-handed?” Bud asked.

Deborah looked at him suspiciously and said, “Yes, I am.”

“Me too,” Bud said. “Did you know that left-handed people use the right side of their brain, unlike right-handed people who use their left, which means that only left-handed people are in their right mind.”

She laughed, “You are a funny guy.”

“That’s what they tell me,” Bud replied. “They claim everyone is born right-handed but only the greatest overcome it.”

She laughed again and asked, “What’s your real name, Bud?”

He leaned back in his chair, surprised by her question. “My real name is Donald. They nicknamed me 'Bud’ because Irish American families...”

Deborah interrupted Bud and finished his sentence, “Bud comes from the Irish nickname 'Brud,’ which is short for 'brother,’ so I assume you have an older brother.”

The Detective was impressed and said, “Yes, I have an older brother, Sean. He’s always been a pain in the ass, but he’s my brother. So why would you know about the name Bud?”

“I love to read,” she said. “I love trivia.”

Bud’s eyes lit up as he said, “Really? We have a few things in common.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But I’m not as funny as you.” Bud smiled back at her, and then Paul walked into the room.

“How’s it going?” Paul asked.

“I was just finishing,” Bud replied as he got up.

“Wait,” Deborah said. “Is everything true about Robert? They told me he had an affair with Patty. Did he have me kidnapped? The FBI said no, but I would like to know what you think, Bud.”

Bud looked at Paul then back at Deborah and said, “He did have an affair with her, but as of now, there is no evidence he was involved in your kidnapping. As of now, it looks like Patty was behind this.” Debbie’s eyes became glazed.

“We are going to get all of this resolved, Ms. Lance,” Paul said. “This will be over soon.”

“It may be over,” she answered, “but I have lost my two closest friends. One betrayed me with my other friend, and the other betrayed me for money when she couldn’t get the man I loved for most of my life. This will never be over for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Paul replied. “More than ever, you should want to help get who is responsible for all of this. We lost a cop, almost lost a second cop, we lost a friend, and we came close to losing Rachelle Robinson, a reporter who has been writing about the case. It was her articles that drew out your kidnappers. People have died during all of this, and I believe it was all of this dying that in reality has been a part of saving your life.”

There was silence in the room for a few seconds, which for Bud was rare. Paul continued, “Ms. Lance, if there is anything you know that can help us find John Winters and Phil Smith, I believe we can close this case.”

The young woman recalled and spoke to them about everything that happened to her from day one, from the ordeal she went through during her captivity to the phone calls between Wayne Starfield and John Winters. Bud and Paul were not surprised by anything until she remembered hearing Wayne on the phone discussing the $3 million in cash at the house.

Bud looked at Paul and changed the subject, asking, “Deborah, when you leave here, what are your plans?”

“My dad wants me to come home for a while,” she answered. “I could use some private time at the old Pink Mansion,” she smiled.

“Deborah,” Bud leaned forward, “how did you feel about your dad selling the business? After all, you were going to run it.”

“I didn’t care,” she said. “It’s so difficult these days to run your own business. He got over $45 million for the chain plus 5 percent on profit for the franchise. I’d rather have the time to enjoy my life than work too hard to maintain the lifestyle. I don’t want to sound like a snob, but I grew up watching how hard my dad worked and how much time he was away from me. As much as I would have worked hard to respect my dad’s business and make him proud, I’m not upset about the business being sold.”

Paul asked, “What about Patty Saunders and Robert Simpson? It appears they were upset about the business being sold.”

Debbie looked away and was clearly upset. She looked down at her hands and said, “I loved Patty, and I’ve been in love with Robert since I was a teenager. I don’t understand why they thought I would ever hurt them in any way.”

Paul spoke softer, saying, “Money can create evil things, Ms. Lance. I’m sorry. Listen, you are going home today, you are going to spend some time with your father. I’m sure the two of you have much to talk about.”

As they prepared to leave, Bud turned around and said, “Listen, when all of this is over, I would like to take you to lunch and have a little trivia challenge with you. You seem to be a threat to my throne, so I have to check this out.”

“You are a funny guy,” Deborah said, and smiled.

“Sounds like a yes to me,” Bud answered as he waved goodbye. The smile was still on her face when the door shut.

While they were walking down the hallway to Sherry’s room, Bud mentioned, “Interesting about the original $3 million ransom. Only the father, Deborah, and the butler knew it was $3 million exactly stashed at the house.”

“Keep it alive in your brain, my friend,” Paul answered.

As Bud shook his head, he said, “We are going to come to the conclusion that I should have put that bullet up his ass.”

“Now to the next patient,” Paul answered.

Bud replied quickly, “If I spend any more time in this fucking hospital, I’m going to get sick, have to stay here, and then I’ll really be fucked.”

They showed their badges and entered the room. Sherry’s husband and her parents were in the room giving support. Sherry raised her finger to the detectives, indicating she wanted a few minutes with her family before the questions came. Paul and Bud started a small conversation between themselves in the corner of the room to allow Sherry to have privacy with her loved ones. Within five minutes, Sherry’s parents were introduced to them and they left the room.

As Paul and Bud came closer to the bed, Sherry asked her husband to leave so she could speak freely as a police officer and not as a victim. Gabe understood, kissed her forehead, and left the room. As Paul turned his attention to Sherry, he could see the damage Mason had done by kicking her in the head. Her face was swollen with bruises and she had suffered a concussion. Bud turned on his pocket recorder. Sherry told the whole story of what happened in the house, from her walk from the bathroom to the attack in Rachelle’s room.

“I thought I failed in my duty when I heard Rachelle screaming. All I could do was fire my gun, hoping it would make him rush out and not finish her. I don’t know how he didn’t have the time to kill her.”

Paul responded, “It’s apparently in her hysterical state it might have given her enough time for you to get your gun and fire. She would be dead if not for you, Officer Walker. You’re a hero.” She looked back at Paul and appreciated the smile on his face as he said it.

Bud concurred, “You’re a hero, all right—the call to 911, shooting your firearm like you’re at some circus!”

“Oh, here we go,” Sherry laughed.

Bud grabbed her hand and said, “Seriously, you’re a hero, and if you were not so banged up right now, I’d give you a hug.”

“Last question,” Paul said. “The masked killer outside on the front lawn, did you see or hear anything?”