The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel (36 page)

While Bud and Paul were talking at Z Pita, Sherry was surprised by a phone call from Rachelle to see how she was doing. Rachelle reminded Sherry that she had saved her life and she would forever be indebted to her. Sherry was modest but told Rachelle they would be friends regardless and that they should get together when all of this was over.

“You have a deal,” Rachelle answered.

Cronin arrived at the sixth precinct five minutes after District Attorney Steinberg and Assistant District Attorney Ashley. District Attorney Steinberg was sitting in Cronin’s chair when he walked in. He slowly started to get up, but Cronin waved for him to stay put.

“OK,” Steinberg said. “What was so important that both of you need to talk to me?”

“Well,” Assistant District Attorney Ashley spoke. “Since this is Detective Lieutenant Cronin’s idea, I thought you should hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

“OK,” Steinberg said, “Let’s hear it.”

Cronin went over everything he had discussed with Assistant District Attorney Ashley about the release of Patty Saunders in a bail setup. He explained for 20 minutes the possible scenarios involving her release and flushing out the killer or killers. District Attorney Steinberg was very respectful of Cronin’s presentation and stayed silent for most of it.

“I think,” the district attorney responded, “It’s a good idea, but a judge has to be convinced it’s for the good of the investigation, and you have to get the girl to agree. She might be afraid to get out of jail.”

“Her sentence is life unless she helps,” Cronin said.

The district attorney nodded his head and said, “My only other concern is I think you have to up the bail to one and a half million. Someone out there who wants her dead may realize it’s a setup, plus how will you explain where the bail money came from?”

Cronin replied, “Well, it will be anonymous, but I have it taken care of to avoid suspicion on where it came from.”

“And?” the district attorney asked. “I assume you have given this great thought.”

“Yes, sir, I have. I’m going to end this game,” Cronin answered. “You mean case, right Detective Lieutenant?”

“Barry,” Cronin said, “this is a game where people will continue to die unless it ends.”

“OK,” the district attorney said. “Set it up.” He looked at Ashley and said, “Get with Saunders and her attorney and let me know which judge is involved. Anything else, Detective Lieutenant?”

“Yes,” Cronin replied. “I’d like steps taken to where the Cross Island Ferry requires identification for all passengers and have metal detectors installed for every passenger. As of now, a truck full of guns or a bomb can be in a car and loaded up on the boat with no one knowing. An asshole can wear an inflatable vest under his coat and have the boat blow up and be in the water. I can and have gone on the boat with my guns with no problem. In fact, as we know, the lack of security is how Ms. Lance was kidnapped in the first place.”

Barry Steinberg stood up and said, “Wow! Anything else?”

“Well, tell me, Barry,” Cronin went on, “what’s the downside of doing it? You go to the airport to get on the plane, and you show identification. You show passports, you go through detectors...”

Steinberg interrupted, “You made your point, Detective. I will check into it and see what we can do. I’m afraid to ask, but is there anything else?”

“Yes,” Cronin said. “On New York driver’s licenses, see if you can get whether the person is left- or right-handed. It’s another way to verify identification, and with technology the way it is, it will help us in investigations.”

District Attorney Steinberg nodded and said, “Let’s look into it,” as he looked at Ashley.

“One more thing,” Cronin said.

With an exasperated face, Steinberg replied, “Here we go. Now what do you need?”

Cronin ignored the remark and continued, “This plan the governor has on having a statewide DNA database is a good one. I’m sure you agree using DNA to its full potential is essential.”

Steinberg smiled as he replied, “We are in agreement on this issue, Detective.” They shook hands and Steinberg left the building within seconds.

Ashley looked at Cronin and said, “I’m surprised you didn’t tell him you needed fingerprints on licenses.”

Cronin laughed and said, “I guess I can take my chair back. The hell with it, I’m going home.” He made calls to a couple of the officers on duty, including at Lindsey’s house in Belle Terre, before calling it a night.

Bud and Paul finished up at Z Pita and made plans to meet at the security building and have Cronin or William Lance give permission to check the Pink Mansion. When Bud got home, he sat down alone at his kitchen table, and his eyes filled with tears. He called Deborah and apologized for calling late, but he needed to talk. She was a good listener.

When Paul got up to his apartment above Z Pita, he pushed the voice-mail button, and it was from his father. “Hey, Paul, it’s Dad. I’m back in Florida, and damn it’s hot. Listen, I forgot to mention to you, don’t go to Morgan’s Bar in the city. Can you believe they charge for a refill on a cup of coffee? Shameful. OK, son, I will speak to you. Love you.” Paul half-smiled, then he got the sweat on the back of his head. He sent Cronin a text that said, “I need protection detail for my father in Florida.”

Cronin pulled over on the side of the road and answered him, “Why?”

Paul replied to the text with, “Who else do you love?”

Cronin called Paul and got his father’s location down in Florida. It was about an hour away from Deborah Lance in Marco but up north toward Tampa. They hung up, and the Detective Lieutenant made calls to get a protection detail on William Powers for a few days. When questioned by his counterpart about the few days, Cronin replied, “This will be over within a few days.” He hung up and said aloud to himself, “I hope.”

He started his car up again with thoughts about whether the day was ever going to end. He turned on his speakerphone and called William Lance’s cell phone to discuss Patty Saunders’ bail money.

Bud hung up the phone with Deborah after about an hour but knew he couldn’t sleep with the chain of events that continued to happen with the case. He wrote himself a list that he needed to do for the morning. For the first time in years, he felt like he was getting overwhelmed. The list started off with: “meet Paul 8:00 am, verify Healey pickup of Lindsey to school, get photographs together for Lindsey, talk to Cronin about
Long Island Pulse
interview, call Sherry at the hospital, get permission to search the grounds of Lance’s Pink Mansion.” He put his pen down and thought he had covered everything for the morning. Little did he know his plans would be disrupted by Cronin’s request to have Saunders released on bail. It was a secret as to why she would be released, but the release itself would make national news.

Bud sat down, grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote. He made some rhymes, scratched out a few lines, and started again. The man who hid behind a clown’s face was thinking about the state of affairs, not only with the case but what was happening everywhere, and then he thought about his mother. She died too young, he thought. He started writing again. He wrote a tribute to her and then put the words in lyric form. “For you, Mom,” he said to himself when he finished it. He made a copy of it and put it in an envelope and addressed it to Deborah Lance in Marco Island, Florida. He attached a note to it that read, “To Deborah, it’s for my mother, but it’s you that inspired me to write it. With Best Wishes, Bud. P.S. Thank you.”

He went outside on his front porch and took in the stars. He decided to talk to the sky. “You know I’ve never paid much attention as to a superior being, but there has to be someone in charge of all this. Please, please give me the strength to solve this. I will do whatever I have to do to keep more lives from being lost. They say that church can be anywhere as long as you pray. If this is considered a prayer then so be it. I am asking for help and I’m asking for protection, which will allow me to keep those involved safe. We are losing good people as well as the bad. It’s not fair; don’t tell me life is not fair. I’ve never been good at this, and I may not be making that much sense, but if you are there and you are who they say you are, then you do understand what I’m saying. There has been too much hurt and too many lives changed in the past 10 days. Please allow me and the team to save lives and give peace back to these good people. I promise, sure as I’m standing here, that we will have a regular conversation if no other good person loses their life on this case. I’m sorry if I sound like I don’t care about the masked killer or Phil Smith. Right now, I will take what I can get and that’s to keep the good guys alive. If I never solve another case, I will be OK with it. If this is the end of the road for me, then so be it. I want—no, I need—to put an end to this, and I can’t do it without your guidance. Give me the strength to continue to be determined to resolve it. No matter how long this takes, please help me keep the good souls alive. I’m here to make a promise to you and that is for you to please be here now, listening to me. Thank you. Amen. Good night. I’m embarrassed to even show you I’m not even sure how to end a prayer. But know this, I will be listening as well, and I will be closer to you but understand that while I realize that every prayer cannot be answered, I think my request deserves due attention.”

Bud waved at the stars as he went into his house.

T
he alarm buzzer went off as Bud put his hand on the button to quiet the noise. He studied the time on the clock: 7:02 am. He thought Lindsey was getting to him by his new habit of checking the exact details on the time.

As he lay in bed with the television on, he thought about his speech to the stars the previous night. He remembered that while he was talking aloud that he separated Phil Smith from the masked killer. Phil Smith was responsible for the kidnapping of Deborah, the killing of Timothy and Allan, all good people. Yet, the masked killer knocked off those who were involved with Phil Smith. His thoughts continued as he shut the television off to focus more. The masked killer knocked off Steven Anderson, which had to mean Anderson had a connection with all of this. He blinked his eyes a few times to see if would clear his head of a case that had become so complex that it was cause for concern over when and how it would come to a close.

He tuned the television back to News 12, the local Long Island news station, just in time to have them announce the latest tweet from BF_TJ_GW, which had become a regular segment. Doug Geed read it, indicating it had been posted at 6:22 am. “I know you killed AGAIN, and I know you have a FRIEND, soon...it will be the END.”

Bud stared at the television with his mouth open. He sent Paul a text that maybe they needed to visit her again. He continued to watch the segment where it also read some of “Detective Johnson’s tweets,” and as of 7:00 am, he had not posted a tweet.
This is getting out of hand,
he thought.
Or is it?

His thoughts were becoming confusing. He turned on his laptop, and once it warmed up he signed on to Twitter and wrote, “This is just the START, When you play with someone’s HEART, It’s me you have to FEAR, Our date is getting NEAR.” He closed his laptop while his thoughts continued.
What the fuck am I doing?

It was past 8:00 am when Bud got himself ready to leave and meet Paul. However, there was a text waiting for him, telling him he should go see Rachelle himself and that she may be more comfortable speaking without him there. He agreed with Paul, he thought to himself. He sent him a message back that he would meet him in Belle Terre and asked him to get the OK from the boss to look around again. Bud had also been getting emails from the editor of
LI Pulse
magazine for an interview on the case. Bud had never met Nada during the five years the magazine existed, but he started friendly email correspondence with her about the magazine. He was impressed with it and was surprised when she replied to him. He looked forward to opening the magazine each month not only for the articles but got a kick out of what kind of photo Nada would have on the editor notes page. He even amused himself thinking if only she could sing, she was the type Paul would buy a CD of, she was that pretty. Bud emailed her back and told her he would be in contact with her within 24 hours.

He gave Officer Healey a call to verify he was on the way to Lindsey’s house for school, and he was already at the house waiting for her. He hung up thinking,
I should have known.

As he was approaching his car, his BlackBerry buzzed and it was from Cronin, who said, “I need you at the precinct this morning before you get preoccupied.”

Bud answered, “Is 10:00 am OK? I wanted to stop at Rachelle Robinson’s place to discuss her tweet this morning.”

“No,” Cronin replied. “Don’t worry about it. I need you and Paul to be accessible to me. Later, get photographs over to your new best friend so she can look at them after school. By the way, do you have the right officer with her?”

Bud replied, “Boss, the girl will have trouble going to the bathroom, he will be watching everything. He’s the right man.”

“OK,” Cronin said as he hung up and thought,
It must be Healey or Lynagh.

Bud called Paul and said he would pick him up in 15 minutes and that Cronin nixed seeing Rachelle. He was already on his way to Paul’s when he got the reply from his partner that he would be ready. Although Officer Healey was a serious person, Lindsey wanted him with her at the school. Although her memory was in the top 1 percent of the population, she was also extremely aware of karma. She believed in her feelings and the waves she felt from people. She felt safe around Healey, and this gave her peace of mind. Rather than unsettle the busload of kids again, Healey put her in his squad car and took her to the Port Jefferson Middle School. Her day began there, and later she would take two advanced courses in the high school for math and science.

Healey reached the school, and proving why Bud had chosen him, scouted the grounds carefully before getting out of the car and opening the door for her. He escorted her into the school and right into her homeroom. He paid no attention to the kids who would turn around to sneak a gaze at the policeman in the back of the room while class was in session.

Between classes, Healey was right beside her and was surprised it did not make her uncomfortable. It seemed that Lindsey embraced it. Some of the kids complained when Healey had to check the bathroom before Lindsey used it. Instead of throwing the girls out when he checked, he went to the boys’ room and made them leave.

During one of the classes, the principal of the school asked if he could speak to him out in the hallway, and Healey obliged only if he could see Lindsey from where they were standing through the door window. The officer was asked if there was any way to tone down the escort. The officer politely told the head of the school, “This girl is not going to be kidnapped or injured on my watch. I suggest you call our boss if you think it’s a problem having a cop in the school. By the way, from what I’ve seen so far just today, it’s probably not a bad idea to have one here anyway.”

Principal Gates realized he was wasting his time and left it alone. “OK, Officer,” he said, “please do your duty.”

“Have a nice day, sir,” Healey responded as he went back inside.

When Paul and Bud arrived at their temporary offices in the sixth precinct, they were told to go right into Detective Lieutenant Cronin’s office. When they arrived, the detective lieutenant gave Bud photographs to show Lindsey. He went through them to find photos of Deborah Lance, William Lance, Patty Saunders, Rachelle Robinson, Robert Simpson, Phil Smith, and added some fillers such as

Paul Powers, Officer Dugan, Sherry Walker, Agent Sherman, Agent O’Connor, Steven Anderson, and Roger Thompson. There were also photographs of the Lance household staff that had been put on vacation since Debbie and her dad had gone to Florida.

“You get to the grounds of the mansion, take a look around. Meet Healey at Lindsey’s house after school.”

“Boss,” Detective Johnson replied, “I think we need to speak with Rachelle about today’s tweets.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cronin replied. “I spoke to her; it’s under control.” He looked at Paul. “Patty Saunders is being arraigned today. I want you in the courtroom when it happens. In the meantime, catch up on some of your reports, stay in touch with Allan’s family, and let us know when the wake is and funeral arrangements.”

He started to walk away when Paul replied, “Isn’t that what you have a secretary for?”

Cronin turned around and said, “Yes, but I want you to do it. Get right with it or go home.”

Paul just stared at the detective lieutenant and decided to go to his desk rather than lose a stare-down with him. Cronin went to the conference room where Assistant District Attorney Ashley and Patty Saunders’ attorney, Al Simmons, were waiting for him.

He sat down and said, “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Bud was still at his desk when Paul got back. Paul said, “Maybe this isn’t for me anymore.” He took out his badge and held it in his hand. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” Bud said. “Stop this shit!”

Paul looked at him and said, “This case has changed me.”

“It’s changed all of us, Paul,” Bud replied. “And I’m not going to let you ruin your career because you have gotten yourself in too deep.”

“He has me finding out about wakes and funerals and to be a witness in an arraignment, Bud.”

“OK, Paul,” Bud replied, “have the secretary do it, but who do you think Allan’s widow wants to hear from? The arraignment thing, he has his reasons. We have to trust him, Paul. You are the best at this I’ve ever seen, especially when it comes to interrogation and the courts. Cronin knows what he is doing.”

Paul put his badge in his pocket and said, “I’m not going to make the call, I’m going to see them in person.”

“OK,” Bud replied, “but keep in touch so you can be back for the arraignment.”

Cronin and Ashley explained the deal to Simmons. As of now she was in for life. They would cut her a deal if she agreed to be let out on bail and be a spy and/or bait to flush out the killer or killers.

“Gee, let me think this one over,” Simmons said.

“A, go to prison for life, B, accept bail and probably be killed and if not go to jail for 25 years. Gosh, you guys certainly know how to make a sweet deal.”

“With good behavior, she’ll be out in less than 20,” Ashley said. “Let me talk to her,” Simmons replied.

“We need to know today,” Ashley said. “The body count is climbing, and we have to speak to the judge if your client accepts the deal.”

Simmons waved as he left the room, and as he walked by Bud without acknowledging him, Bud began singing “You Can Call Me Al” by Paul Simon. Simmons stopped in his tracks to look at Bud, who was amused with himself that he remembered the lyrics so well. He even moved a little to make believe the music was playing. He really started moving as he got into the chorus of the classic song. Simmons stood there with his mouth open as he watched the detective perform the song for another 30 seconds until he stopped.

“Are you proud of yourself?”

“Yes, I am,” Bud said. “It was a great video. I just loved it when Chevy Chase lip-synced the words.”

Simmons frowned and asked, “Are you having a breakdown?”

“No,” Bud replied, getting serious and losing his smile. “It’s the bad guys who will have the breakdown, or the bad girls, for that matter. Have a nice day,” Bud said as he walked away and sat at his desk.

Simmons went off to meet Patty Saunders to discuss the deal. Bud saw Cronin walk back to his office and told him about the
LI Pulse
interview request, and Cronin denied it unless the questions were sent in writing and they were answered by Bud and Paul under his supervision, and he wanted to add questions and answers as he felt were needed.

“I’ll ask her, boss, but I don’t know if that’s acceptable to her,” Bud said.

Cronin was getting ready to make a call as he answered Bud, “Sorry, that’s the only way we will do an interview for this case. Where’s Paul?”

“He went to Allan’s house instead of calling.”

“Good idea. Take him with you to the grounds of the Lance house, but he needs to be back in three hours for the arraignment. You have a date with Lindsey.”

“On it, boss.”

He met Paul at Allan’s house and met with the family, where they were told the wake and funeral would be delayed because the medical examiner and the district attorney’s office wanted another 24 hours. Paul and Bud spent some quality time with Allan’s family, and Paul told stories from high school. Allan’s wife, Linda, asked Paul to speak at Allan’s wake, and he was honored to be able to do it.

They left Allan’s home with the family’s appreciation and headed over to the Lances’ Pink Mansion with the permission of William Lance, which included the security code to open the gates and access the house. They drove up to the gate, and Bud pushed 2131, waited for a second buzzer, then pushed the same number backwards—1312— and the gates opened. “This should be fun,” Bud said aloud.

As Officer Healey sat in the back of the class in silence, the teacher, Ms. Meghan, was impressed how disciplined he was while the kids were working. He never uttered one word and he was eyeballing the room, the doors to the classroom, and Lindsey. One of the boys reached over to Lindsey and whispered to her, “Your cop friend looks like a robot. I saw an old movie called
Terminator 2: Judgment Day
, and he reminds me of the mean cop.”

Lindsey giggled and looked back at Healey, who winked at her then set his sights on the boy, who had a smile on his face. Healey pointed his finger at the boy and gave him a stern look, which prompted the boy to turn around quickly toward the front of the class. As the bell rang to change classes, Lindsey got up and went into the hallway, knowing Officer Healey was within 10 feet of her. As they walked in the hallway, there were many stares and whispers as the uniformed officer strolled behind her with a holstered gun tucked underneath a very light windbreaker. There was no need for the light jacket in late June, but Cronin did not want his gun visible to middle school students, especially after what had happened on the school bus. Cronin wanted a little more discretion in the hallways of the school. The principal had also expressed his concerns to the superintendent to relay the message to the Suffolk County executive, who in turn had called the police commissioner. It seems that not only did no one want to take a chance something could happen to Lindsey with the threatening letter, Suffolk executive Marshall Collins relented on the request when he found out the police escort was related to the Lance case. As a courtesy, and respect to the former county executive, Collins in turn contacted the superintendent and told him the principal would have to deal with it for a few days.

During recess, where the kids had lunch and access to go outside in back of the building, Healey told Lindsey he preferred she stay indoors, and she complied without any problems. She noticed how he had the
iPhone5,
unlike the other cops who were still using
BlackBerry’s.
The day was going smoothly until they had gym class. There seems to always be someone in the crowd. The kids were doing relay races and then began dodge ball. There appeared to be one boy who needed attention and wanted to show off in front of his classmates. He took great pleasure in trying to hit Lindsey with the ball and made quite a few remarks about her appearance in gym shorts. Healey was getting restless watching the game as the boy continued, each time he got the ball, to throw it at Lindsey. Finally, he did hit her, and it struck her between the head and her shoulders. Once the game was over, the kids were going to their lockers, Healey asked Lindsey to hold up as he approached the boy.