The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel (34 page)

Bud spoke to her about the case in general, but he left out what had happened with the dog. There was no need to fill her mind with things she could not control.

“So tell me,” Deborah asked, “what do you do with your time in the small amount of free time you have?”

“That’s the problem,” Bud answered. “My free time is very limited, and when I do get it, I don’t want to think. I have a tendency to stare at the television and just go blank. There are so many things on my mind that I have a tendency not to focus on things that would relax me or unfortunately the most important things, such as family. There are times I don’t like myself for it, and although this case is only a couple weeks old, I feel like my whole life has changed in so many ways.”

“How so?” Deborah asked.

“Well,” the detective went on, “it’s times like these that you really get to know people. There are so many lives at stake, and each of our lives depends on the other. There are bad people out there, and some, you start to have doubts about who they are.”

Deborah replied, “Does anything good come out of times like this?”

“Yes,” Bud replied. “For the same reason you get to know people a little bit better, some people are brought to you by circumstances surrounding cases. This case is the one case that we will forever be linked with. There will never be a case like this again.”

“When I was in the hospital, Bud, you told me about your dad, but you never said anything about your mom.”

“Well,” he replied, “I guess since I was working a case, I didn’t think about getting personal.”

“What about now, Bud?” Deborah asked. “I’d like to know more about the detective they call a 'funny guy who’s a good cop.’”

“I’m not sure why,” he replied, “but I’m comfortable talking to you. My mother was a good woman, so full of life. She was hard on me, but as I got older I came to realize she was very worried about me and how I’d end up. I was with her when she passed, and I spoke to her last before she went into a deep sleep. Here she is on her deathbed, and she apologizes to me for being so hard on me. I told her it was OK, that she had her reasons ,I’m sure. She replied, 'Yes, I did. I wanted you to be twice the man your father was.’ So I said to her, 'Are you disappointed, Mom?’ And she looked up at me as I held her hands and said, 'Are you kidding me? You have been so good to me, and I want you to know I love you more than you will ever realize.’ I kissed her, and she went to sleep. The doctor told me he felt strongly her passing would be within a few hours, so I got on the phone and called the family to come back to the hospice.”

Bud could not see the tears coming down Deborah’s face as he told her the story.

“You know, as I talk about this, Deborah,” Bud said, “I’ve always been a fan of poems and songwriting, and I always wanted to write lyrics that someone could put to music. I know if I sat down and focused, I could do it, just as a tribute to her. Do you think it sounds silly?”

There was silence on the other end as Deborah tried to compose herself.

“Hello?” Bud said.

“I’m here,” she answered. “I think it’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard, and I want you to write the lyrics, and I want to read them. I have a feeling it will be beautiful. Please do it; if not for you, if not for your mom, please do it for me. I really want to see it, because I know how sensitive the words would be.”

“Well,” he answered, “maybe you are the inspiration I need to actually do it.”

“Promise me you will work on it tonight,” she replied.

The detective was taken aback by how important it was to her, so he asked her, “May I ask why this is so important to you?”

“It’s simple,” she said. “I’ve been disappointed by many things and people, especially these past two weeks. I want to believe in you, not only in solving this case but as a person. I’ve only known you a short time, and as you said, these kinds of things bring strangers together. We learn about each other, and I’m interested in learning more about you, Bud, if you are interested in learning more about me.”

“Yes, I am, Deborah, but I want the case to be over.”

“So,” she answered, “in the meantime, please write the song.”

“All this pressure,” he replied with a slight laugh.

“That’s what women were put here on earth for,” she replied, “to keep the pressure on the men.”

“Noted,” he replied.

They said their goodbyes, and as Bud started the engine, Allan came back outside.

“What the hell are you still doing here?” Allan asked.

“I got tied up with a phone call,” the detective answered.

“Oh, shit,” Allan answered, “it’s gotta be a woman.”

“No comment,” Bud said with a smile.

“Since you are still here, I found some film from yesterday with Smith that you should see.”

Bud shut off the engine and went back inside the security building. Allan had the film set up, showing the Mitsubishi driving through different parts of the neighborhood.

“Here he is in front of Lindsey’s house.”

“Stop,” Bud said. “What time does your camera say it was?”

“12:04,” Allan said.

“Lindsey was right on, wasn’t she? Smith may have met his match in a 12-year-old,” replied the detective.

“Did you get results in on the Mitsubishi?” Allan asked.

Bud called in to the precinct, and of course it was a stolen vehicle from Mount Sinai. He said, “It was found in the Mount Sinai Shopping Center parked near the Rite Aid drugstore. Cronin already had the video from the Rite Aid picked up for review by two uniformed officers. They found Smith walking around buying gummy bears and Southwest Airlines gift cards, which he paid cash for at the register.”

“That’s odd,” Allan remarked. “He still has to show identification if he gets an airline ticket with gift cards.”

Bud nodded and said, “I think I want to take a ride to the store and check it out myself.”

“So this time you are really leaving?” Allan remarked.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Bud answered. “I’m really leaving. Let me know if anything unusual happens.”

“Well then, I’ll call you in 10 minutes” Allan replied. “Because this whole town has been unusual the past two weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Bud replied. “I mean, yes, yes, yes.”

Allan just shook his head and gave a final wave as Bud drove to the Mount Sinai Shopping Center, where he entered the Rite Aid drugstore.

He walked the store for a few minutes, identified himself, and asked to speak to the manager. Bud asked the manager a few questions about the footage and was told the two officers had taken the disc with the footage on it with them. Bud asked if he could speak to any of the employees who had spoken to Phil Smith. The manager led the detective to Katherine, who had rung up Smith at the register. Bud asked her a few standard questions about his mannerisms, what he had said, if anything.

“He told me I was very pretty, but I just said thank you.”

“Anything else?” Bud asked.

“Well,” she replied, “I don’t know if it’s important, but when I asked him if he had a wellness card, he said no, but he gave me a phone number that is attached to the membership number.”

“That’s good,” Bud answered. “Can we get this transaction that shows his phone number?” The manager said he could but would need time to pull out the register tapes from the day before.

“That’s OK, I will wait.” Bud said. “I’ll take a walk.”

He exited Rite Aid and starting working his way down the sidewalk. First the Subway, the dry cleaners, the UPS store. He showed the sketch that Lindsey had drawn, and no luck. He went into the small chocolate store called Private Chocolatier, then the bagel store, the TCBY frozen yogurt store, and even the pizza parlor, Rocco’s Pizza. Nothing. He kept going toward the Hallmark store and King Kullen grocery store, but first he stopped in the liquor store, Carry All, and questioned them.

As he was leaving, the young man stacking the wines at Carry All saw the sketch and said, “He comes in here every so often.”

Bud got excited and said, “This is my card; I want you to call me the minute he steps in this store. When was the last time you saw him?”

The stockman said it was the previous day.

“Please show me your camera footage from yesterday.”

“It will take some time to pull it up.”

Bud answered quickly, saying, “I have to go down to the Rite Aid, but I’ll be back in about 15 minutes. Is that enough time?”

“Yes, I’ll see what I can do.”

“OK,” Bud said. “What’s your name?”

“Ray,” the young man replied.

Bud went back to the Rite Aid, where the manager had the tape transaction of Phil Smith’s purchase: gummy bears, four $50 Southwest Airlines cards, a large Butterfinger candy bar. And he just had to get credit for his wellness card and gave his phone number. Bud called it right away.

“Hello,” a man answered.

“I’m looking for Phil Smith.”

“Why?” came the reply.

“Why do you think?” Bud asked.

“He’s not here right now.”

“Well, please tell me where you are, and I’ll be right over to speak to him.”

“No, you won’t,” the man answered.

Another voice came on the phone and said, “You’re a dead man for calling me.”

Bud was quick to answer, “And you have to be the biggest fucking asshole there is. You are so worried about getting points from Rite Aid you gave them your number. What kind of shit for brains do you have?”

The manager at Rite Aid was trying to calm down Bud and his customers at the same time, not knowing which way to turn. He was reassuring his customers while trying to get Bud off to the corner or to change his language. Bud was too engrossed in the conversation.

“You gotta be the biggest, dumb fatass there is,” Bud said.

The voice came back, “Who do you love, Detective Johnson?”
Click.

By this time, the Rite Aid manager was sweating bullets and looked comical from the episode and was very pleased when Bud thanked him and left the store.

“Sure, sure,” the manager said. When Bud left, the manager was apologetic, saying, “Sorry, folks, just another crazy person.”

Bud drove to the precinct to meet Cronin and called Paul, who was with the Anderson family. They agreed to meet for dinner at Z Pita to discuss the day. Bud banged the car, realizing he had forgotten to go back to the Carry All liquor store but made a note to call them. When Bud arrived at the precinct and his temporary desk, he told Cronin about the phone call with Phil Smith and the threat.

“Bud,” Cronin said, “you have no immediate family here, correct?”

“Yes, boss.”

“OK, you and Paul are targets, as are those you care about. Do I have to worry about anyone other than Rachelle?” the detective lieutenant asked.

“I don’t think so, boss. All our relatives and loved ones are out of state.”

Bud sat down and did paperwork for a couple hours before getting ready to leave for the day. Cronin was getting his jacket on when a boy came into the precinct with an envelope addressed to Bud. Bud called Cronin over as he opened the letter. In typed block letters it said, “SOMEONE ELSE WILL DIE, AND YOU’RE THE REASON WHY. STOP THE KILLING OR THE GIRL WILL DIE. SHE MAY REMEMBER TIMES AND DATES, BUT IT WON’T CHANGE HER FATE OR FOR THAT MATTER HER COOKIE MATE.” Bud stared at the note. There was silence.

“Lindsey!” Bud yelled. “Allan!” he started running with Cronin behind him. They jumped in the car with lights flashing with Cronin on the radio to get cars to the security building at Belle Terre and the home of the Wilkersons on Bell Circle. Bud was traveling at 85 miles per hour already.

“Call Paul!” he yelled.

As Bud drove, the detective lieutenant called him, and Paul left the Andersons quickly as he got the word.

“No!” Bud kept saying. “No! Not the girl! No! Not the girl!”

As they were driving north to Port Jefferson, assistant district attorney John Ashley was sitting in district attorney Barry Steinberg’s office with no Kevin Cronin.

“Do you want to tell me what this is about?” Steinberg asked.

“Not really,” Ashley replied. “You need both of us. Please give me a minute.” He stepped outside the district attorney’s office and called Cronin’s cell phone. The detective picked up the phone as Bud accelerated up to 90 on Route 83.

“Cronin.” Ashley calmly said, “where the hell are you? I’m sitting in the district attorney’s office with my thumb up my ass.”

“We got an emergency John; reschedule for tomorrow.”
Click.

Ashley stared at his cell phone in disbelief that he had just been hung up on. He went back to Barry Steinberg’s office to take the wrath and to reschedule the meeting.

Bud pulled on to Cliff Street and drove to the security building, where there were three cars already.

“The girl!” Bud yelled. “Where is she?”

“On a late school bus,” he was told.

“Take me to it now!”

He jumped in, and Officer Healey drove him to the bus that was surrounded by three squad cars and was waiting for authorization to be released. Paul got to the security building about five minutes later, where Cronin was inside. He walked in and saw Allan sitting in his chair with a bullet hole in his head. There was a note on the body that Cronin had with him. It read, “Stop the killing or I swear on the sky up above there will be more. Who do you love?” Paul backed off about 10 feet and started to cry. Cronin asked the other officers to leave them alone.

“You are going to have to pull yourself together and be supportive to your friend’s family.”

“I will be supportive. If you have any doubts, pull me off the case. Maybe it’s time; we need to end it.”

“Hey!” Cronin replied. “We are going to end it! But it’s going to be my way, not yours! This case is bigger than all of us, and I’m going to have to be responsible for this! This is more than a kidnapping or a murder; it’s gotten personal.” He walked up to Paul and said, “I’m sorry, Paul, I really am, but you have to hold yourself together and get to Allan’s family. I don’t want them seeing him like this.” Paul went to Allan’s body and kissed the top of his head. Cronin turned his head to give Paul privacy for a moment.