Vigilare (16 page)

“Remember that fake, made-up blood? Forensics thought it was planted...tampered with because it wasn’t natural?” Chief asks.

Tony nods.

“Gina’s a match. The only match, Gronkowski.” Chief scratches the side of his head. “And the skin flakes from Aubrey Raines’ apartment, two matches, the dead guy and Gina. You’re going to have to accept the facts, Tony. Gina isn’t who you think she is.”

Tony paces, biting his bottom lip, a tough truth to swallow. “Maybe. But she’s not some freak show either. Some ancient astronaut...alien...crossbreed hybrid,” he spews, his mind spinning with Dr. Godfrey’s theories.

“Alien?” Chief asks confused. “Nobody thinks she’s an alien. You alright, Gronkowski?”

“They’ve got her tied down in there. With iron shackles. Like she’s some kind of animal.”

“She’s killed fifteen men, Gronkowski. That we know of. She’s not exactly a law abiding citizen.”

“Rapists and pedophiles, Chief. It’s not like she’s going out here targeting innocent people.” Tony continues to pace. “Besides, she doesn’t even remember doing those things. When she’s the
thing
...Vigilare,” Tony says, scornfully. “She doesn’t have any recollection of the things she does. She didn’t even know she was in Randall Barnes’ apartment last night. She really doesn’t remember.”

Chief pauses momentarily before spitting it out. “Temporary insanity is a very common claim. Sometimes it’s easier to say you don’t remember, or that you weren’t yourself when you did something you know isn’t right.”

Tony eyes Chief, shaking his head with contempt. “If Gina says she doesn’t remember, she doesn’t remember. End of story.” Tony’s mind in overdrive searches through all the acute data. “Maybe there’s something, the blood thing, that makes her flip a switch, turns her into someone or something else.”

“You know how ridiculous that sounds, Gronkowski? Now you sound like them. Vigilares and aliens.”

“I know. But Jesus, something’s not right. That wild ass sparkling emerald green light Aubrey Raines reported. That’s not something she made up, Chief.” Tony hovers close to him, his voice almost at a whisper. “I saw it last night. Gina’s eyes. I know it sounds crazy, but as soon as that gun went off and she got shot. It was like the freaking Incredible Hulk.” His voice rises as he returns to pacing. “She had power, man. Like nothing else. Held me down on the floor. In a choke hold.” He smiles. “She could’ve killed me. I couldn’t match her strength. It was unreal, Chief. And when she looked at me and her eyes were ablaze, I couldn’t look away. It was like some kind of force. I swear she looked right through me, inside me, something.”

Chief pats him on the back. “I think you need some rest. Go home, get some grub, a shower, some sleep.”

“Barnes. He saw it. You won’t take my word, ask him,” Tony says flippantly. “And I’m fine. I’m not leaving her.”

Chief sighs. “I didn’t say I don’t believe you. It’s just that maybe you got caught up in the moment. Incidences have a way of exaggerating themselves. Becoming larger than what they really are. That’s all. And you’re not getting back in that room for hours. Could be tomorrow before they’re done. They’ll leave no pebble unturned. She’s their property until they say otherwise. Go home.”

Tony lets Chief’s
pebble
ride rather than correcting him, his mind not quite as playful as usual. “She could’ve killed me, Chief. She didn’t.”

“Of course she didn’t kill you. She knows you.” Chief grabs him by the arm of his coat, pulling him toward the exit door. “At least let me buy you a coffee, something to eat.” Tony resists. “For crying out loud, I’ll bring you right back here.” Tony gives in, falling in step with him.

He smiles at Chief. “You finally got one right.”

“What?”

“
For crying out loud
,” Tony exaggerates, “you finally got one right.”

Chief slaps a Vanguard PD baseball cap over Tony’s hair, pulling it tightly down over his forehead. “You’re beginning to give me a complex here.” Chief puts his thumbs inside the waist of his pants, giving them a swift hoist. “Reminds me of my third grade English teacher.” He shudders with the thought. “Used to whack me on the knuckles with her ruler. English wasn’t my best subject. She was a big ol’ broad. Wore a girdle to iron out her figure. Made me sit in the front row right across from her desk. I just knew someday that girdle would give out and I would go home shy of an eye.”

Tony chuckles. “What’s with the cap?”

“Ah, got a feeling you might need it.”

Tony shrugs, joking vainly, “The M.O. of a local hero.”

Chief raises his eyebrows doubtfully, pushing the door open to the outside world.

“There he is!” a mob of journalists and television news reporters chime.

“Detective,” a reporter approaches, shoving a microphone in Tony’s face. “Is it true you brought down Vigilare?”

“Our sources say the Vigilare is female. Is this true, Detective?” a journalist inquires. “One of your own? A Vanguard PD Detective?”

Tony pulls his cap down further over his face, shoving the reporters’ hands away, declining to answer.

“Viva Vigilare! Viva Vigilare!” a crowd of protestors chant.

“You should be ashamed, turning in one of your own,” a woman shouts from the crowd.
Splat!
the sound resonates off Tony’s back. He turns to see her holding a carton of eggs. Instinctively he takes off in her direction.

Chief grabs him, pulling him toward the squad car. “Choose your battles, Gronkowski...Police 101.”

“Oh, you want to arrest me too, big bad detective?” She picks another egg from the carton. “Always gunning for the women, huh? She was your partner. You ingrate.” She wings the egg. It goes flying by his shoulder splatting onto the squad car.

“You gonna let her get away with that, Chief?” Tony quips.

“Sure am,” he says slipping into the driver’s seat.

“That’s it. You run away little boy,” the woman jeers, sticking her thumb in her mouth. “Mama’s titty baby!”

Tony’s eyes light up, his temper aching for release. Chief imagines the steam blowing out both sides of his ears, if only emotion were visible. “Gronkowski, get in the car. That’s an order.”

Tony slaps the top of the roof before ducking in and closing the passenger side door. “Freaking bra burners,” he scoffs.

Another egg catapults into the air, landing directly atop the windshield,
Splat!
Chief pushes the lock button, peeling out from the street, shaking his head as Tony furiously jerks on the door handle.

Chapter 10

VANGUARD COURTHOUSE. TONY sits in the back of the room, unsettled, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly. His right knee bounces up and down, a combination of an inability to sit still for long periods of time and his nerves. He hears the chatter around him as the room continues to fill up. Opening statements have been delivered, followed by a short recess, and now witness testimony and cross-examination begin. Vanguard PD guards the door to his right, culling citizens and the media, turning folks away as the room has quickly grown to capacity. Everybody in town wants in on this trial.

Tony looks around the room identifying a few familiar faces. Bonnie, Chief’s secretary, sits on the bench directly behind the defendant’s chair. Tony smiles at her protective, nurturing stance. A few rows up from his vantage point, he spots William Truly and his daughter, Emily, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder among the packed house. On the other side of the room, Dr. Godfrey sits, fully contented, the fascination of the case completely vibrant in his facial expression. His bench filled with white coats, inflexible in their form and expression. Hard, swift footsteps, followed by the clicking of high-heels reverberate off the vaulted ceiling. Tony turns his attention toward the sound to find the prosecutor, accompanied by Dr. Patricia Ryan, exchanging pleasantries. Tony pulls his eyes from them, looking down at the floor, for fear he may end up in contempt of court if he acts on his initial instinct.

Dr. Ryan takes a seat at the front of the room, turning around, she addresses the white coats. The prosecutor confidently flops down into his chair, his Brooks Brothers suit perfectly tailored to his long, lean frame. He leans back, crossing one leg over the other, casually resting his elbow on the table. Fluffing his thick, wavy dirty blonde hair, he acutely assesses the jury as the bailiff escorts them in.

The chatter in the courtroom rises, Tony senses her presence. His gaze shifts from the floor to Gina. She is chaperoned through the side door by Aubrey Raines. Aubrey wears a smart, stylish navy blue pencil skirt, accompanied by a tailored white silk blouse and red Jimmy Choo’s. She holds a legal binder nervously to her chest.

“DeLuca,” Tony mutters under his breath, displeased at her choice of legal representation.

His jaw clenches, his expression less than enthused, seeing her in standard issue prison garb. He shakes his head, disturbed at the iron cuffs formed to her wrists and ankles, joined together by one long chain running from her waistline to her feet. A string of numbers imprinted on her jumpsuit over the left side of her chest, no longer representing an honorable identification to protect and serve as her Vanguard PD badge once exemplified. Now, just a number, in a long line of numbers, identifying her as dishonorable, a criminal, attached to her permanent record for life. All the work she had done to save lives, put criminals behind bars, to serve and protect. That slate wiped clean, its relevance vanished, as she had become one of those she swore to eliminate.

Reading the dissatisfaction on Tony’s face, she gives him a quick smile, returning her attention to Aubrey Raines, following her to their table in front of the judge’s bench. Tony watches her, his pity quickly turning to admiration. Her long, wavy auburn hair pulled back loosely into a ponytail, a few wisps lazily cascading around her face. Her green eyes, wide and attentive, free of fear. Her shoulders squared, even the right one cradled by a sling, held high and proud, her chin up. He grins, acknowledging her position. If anyone could make shackles and a dingy blue jumpsuit look regal and distinguished, DeLuca could. She takes a seat beside Aubrey, who instructs her to remain emotionless, look straight ahead, and avoid eye contact with the jurors.

Bonnie reaches forward in her seat, tapping Gina on the shoulder, causing her to smile with recognition. Aubrey attempts to quell Gina’s expression and shoo Bonnie away. The women do not oblige her intrusion. Bonnie holds up a makeup bag as an offering, to which Gina quickly nods. Bonnie makes her way through the knee-high swinging gate separating the observers from the observees. She plops her makeup bag down on the table, and kneels in front of Gina, giving her a quick embrace and a warm smile before she diligently applies a nice base powder to Gina’s face. She works quickly, as she knows her time is limited. The clock on the wall sounds,
tick tock
, as the seconds slip away, seemingly much faster in this moment. 12:58pm—the proceedings set to start at 1:00pm.

“Ah, that feels so good,” Gina encourages, the delicate brush gently stroking her face. Her skin devoid of and aching for anything soft and remotely feminine as of her incarceration weeks ago.

Bonnie smiles. “Are they treating you okay?” she asks intently, referencing Gina’s holding cell at County.

“As best they can,” she says, acknowledging their efforts to respect the fact she once was a cop, a detective, however having to reconcile that with the fact that she is now the primary suspect in a
killing spree
.

“Close your eyes,” Bonnie instructs, lightly dusting them with a modest shadow, making them pop by accentuating her eyelashes with mascara.

Dr. Ryan looks on at the two women, purely disapproving. She nudges the prosecutor. He waves her off, dismissing the importance of bringing attention to them or requesting a reprimand. She sits back, purposely refusing to give them any more of her attention.

“Chief wanted to be here,” Bonnie sympathizes. “Okay, open your eyes.” Gina does as instructed, her eyes now luminous and calling for attention. Bonnie smiles at her work, pulling from her bag a smooth peach blush and applying it to the apples of Gina’s cheeks.

“I understand,” Gina says, referencing Chief’s position, knowing he cannot very well show up in court in support of her, constituting a definitive conflict of interest. The local news would eat him up.

“Detective Gronkowski’s here though.” Bonnie lights up with insinuation.

Gina glances in his direction. His line of sight unwavering as he watches her and Bonnie intently, his mind somewhere between the dire seriousness of Gina’s predicament and imagining himself inserted into the current scenario being played out by the two women. “You know you’re giving him quite the show,” Gina says, with a curt smile.

“That’s the plan,” Bonnie affirms. “A show for one, a show for all.” She motions nonchalantly toward the jury. “Show them you’re just like them.”

The bailiff takes his place in front of the judge’s entryway.

Bonnie grabs a tube of lipstick, quickly, skillfully applying its naturally appealing hue to Gina’s full lips as she continues, “A woman. Soft, competent, and warm. Show them you’re human.”

“Am I?” Gina asks.

“All rise,” the bailiff orders. “The Honorable Judge Maybelline Carter.”

Bonnie smiles at Gina, gently squeezing her hand before swiftly gathering her makeup bag and returning to her seat.

“Please be seated,” Judge Carter addresses the courtroom upon taking her place at the front of the room. Pulling from her pocket a pair of glasses, she situates them comfortably across the bridge of her nose to read from the docket placed on her desk, reviewing the case.

Gina situates herself into her chair, slightly off balance due to the heavy irons, causing the links in the chains surrounding her frame to clink and clank, pulling Judge Carter’s attention. Gina gives her a respectful, slightly embarrassed, apologetic nod. The judge shakes her head.

“Bailiff,” she requests. He comes to the front of her bench. “I know we can find a way to avoid such racket.” Reading between the lines, he immediately maneuvers to Gina, keys in hand, diligently removing cuffs and shackles. “Ms. Raines,” Judge Carter reads her name from her file, unfamiliar with her presence in the courthouse.