by Sharon Dunn
They waited until Reuben and the guard disappeared behind the door.
“He tried to hide it, but I think we’re onto something,” Jackson said. “Let’s go check the visitor logs to find out who’s been to see him.”
They left the visitation room and returned to the front desk where they had signed in before seeing Reuben. “We need to know who has been coming to see Reuben Bray,” Jackson told the clerk.
The clerk pulled out a computer notebook and typed something before sliding the notebook across the counter.
Jackson looked at the names and dates.
Darcy stared over his shoulder.
Several of the names also had the last name “Bray.”
“Maybe it’s not a girlfriend. Maybe it’s a sister who’s been doing his dirty work or some other relative,” Darcy suggested.
“Could be,” Jackson said.
Darcy pointed to some of the names on the list. “That one is a reporter and so is that one.”
Both the names were female.
“You said the perp wore a press pass at the lab—it could have been a fake or maybe she’s one of these reporters. Do you think she might be involved with him?”
“Maybe.” Darcy pointed to one of the names and shook her head. “This woman is like fifty and she’s a really good journalist. The other one is Reuben’s age.” Darcy flipped the page and scanned it. “Looks like she’s been here only three times in the last month, though. But she is a possibility. The press pass was probably a fake.”
Darcy pulled out her phone and recorded the name on her virtual notebook.
Jackson continued to look for any repeat names. “What about this one? Chloe Cleaves?”
“It’s not a name I recognize. Looks like she visits at least once a week.”
“Let’s start with her,” Jackson said. “I’ll phone into headquarters. Eden Chang, our tech expert, can input her name to see if she has a record.”
“We can find out if the guard who usually is on duty during visiting hours is here. They watch the interaction between prisoners and visitors. He might have some insight into the nature of their relationship and could tell us what she looks like.”
Jackson shook his head. “Your mind really does work like a detective’s.”
Darcy’s face brightened at the compliment. “I’ll stick to the lab.”
It took them only a few minutes to track down a guard who had watched most of Reuben’s interactions with his visitors. He met them at the entrance to the prison. They asked about family members and then the reporters.
The guard rubbed his bald spot. “He has had his share of reporters show up, but I wouldn’t say they were here for anything but a story or a statement from him.”
“And what about Chloe Cleaves?” Darcy asked.
The guard let out a heavy breath and nodded. “She’s here a lot. Even though the visits are ‘no contact,’ everything about her body language says they’re involved.”
Jackson leaned a little closer to the prison guard. He felt a sense of excitement. They were on the right track. “What does she look like?”
“Dark brown hair. Slender. Not a lot of makeup. Usually has her hair braided. You know, that fancy way,” said the guard.
“You mean a French braid,” Darcy said.
The guard nodded. “I guess.”
They thanked the man and returned to the K-9 vehicle. Jackson opened the back door. “I need to take Smokey for a quick walk. Why don’t you get in and lock the doors? I won’t go far.”
He walked Smokey to the edge of the parking lot. When he looked over his shoulder, Darcy was sitting in the passenger seat staring in his direction.
There was something in her expression that suggested a deep level of trust. These small moments—a look on her face or her hand brushing over his—brought light into his day. Somehow she’d managed to chip away at the stone around his heart. Not what he had counted on at all.
After a few minutes, Jackson returned to the SUV and loaded his partner in the back. Before he got in himself, he had a look around. After seeing Reuben, they had spent at least another half hour in the prison getting information. He didn’t know what kind of communication privileges Reuben had, but a half hour would have been plenty of time for him to alert whoever was doing his bidding on the outside that they were at Rikers.
Jackson got into his vehicle and pulled out of the lot just as Eden Chang’s voice came on the radio.
“Hey, Jackson. I pulled up the sheet on Chloe Cleaves.”
“So, she has a record?”
“A recent arrest for prescription drug abuse. But wait, there’s more!” Eden’s bright voice came across the line.
“What else did you find out?”
“I did a quick search of her name. It’s unusual enough, I thought something might come up.”
“And you found something interesting, right?” Jackson prompted. “We wouldn’t be talking if you hadn’t.”
“She hasn’t posted on her Facebook for well over a year, but Chloe used to be in training for the biathlon.”
“Really, a biathlon?”
Darcy sat up in her seat and looked at Jackson.
Eden continued. “And guess who one of her assistant coaches used to be?”
“Not Reuben Bray?” Jackson couldn’t picture Reuben as the athletic type. He was mostly an unemployed hustler and purse snatcher.
“No, but one of her coaches was Griffin Martel. He looked familiar in the group photo she posted, so I ran it through some facial recognition software. He lost his job as a coach when he was arrested for selling prescription drugs to the athletes.”
“You have no idea how much that helps us.”
“I don’t know why she would have killed Martel. Surely not just to plant a gun with Reuben’s prints on it to discredit Darcy,” the tech guru said. “And I can’t find how she knows Reuben. He’s not anywhere on her Facebook page.”
“Reuben was in constant trouble with the law. If she was in trouble, too, they might have crossed paths in a courthouse or some other place connected with being arrested,” Jackson said.
“That would be my theory, too.”
“Good work. Thanks, Eden. I’m assuming it was easy to pull a current address on her?”
“Yes. I had Dispatch send a patrol car over there to bring her in for questioning.”
He doubted that Chloe would be home, but it was a place to start. Because of her connection to Reuben, she was a person of interest. At the very least they needed to talk to her.
He clicked off his radio. He relayed the information Eden had given him to Darcy.
“I finally feel like we’re getting somewhere,” said Darcy. “A biathlete shoots a rifle and then skis. That could explain our shooter’s marksmanship skills and why she’s so athletic.”
“Chloe’s looking pretty good for our suspect.”
He turned up the street that led to the long bridge connecting Rikers Island to Queens. Only buses and authorized vehicles could travel on the girded structure. He could see LaGuardia Airport through his side window.
Dispatch came over the radio. “Chloe Cleaves is not at her apartment, but we have a patrol officer parked outside in case she does show.”
“Not surprised,” Jackson said to Darcy.
They were almost to the end of the bridge when the windshield of the SUV turned into a thousand tiny pieces. On reflex, he lifted his hand to protect his eyes from possible flying shards.
They’d been shot at.
“Get down!” he shouted at Darcy.
A horn honked as Jackson inadvertently swerved into oncoming traffic. He overcorrected. The SUV hit the guardrail, slid for several feet, then broke through and fell into the East River.
* * *
Darcy’s vision blurred. The impact of hitting the
water had left her disoriented. Her whole body seemed to be shaking. Jackson’s voice brought her back to reality. The SUV was sinking.
“Get out,” Jackson said.
The passenger’s-side window was nearly submerged. It was too late to try to get out that way. She unfastened her seat belt, knowing not to try to escape through the door until the car was covered in water so there would be equal pressure inside and out.
Jackson had already released of his seat belt and had turned to reach for the latch on Smokey’s crate to free him.
Heart racing, blood pumping, she fumbled for her door handle. Once the latch released, Darcy turned and pushed with her feet, knowing it would take effort to open the door. She squeezed through and swam upward. The cold water of the East River presented a challenge as she stroked her arms and kicked her legs. She bobbed to the surface, gasping for air, and turning her head one way and then the other. She didn’t see Jackson or Smokey.
People had begun to gather on shore. She heard sirens in the distance.
The waters were turbulent and she had to work hard to keep her head above the waves. She could feel the cold seeping in. A boat with the Coast Guard insignia was moving at a steady pace toward her.
She turned her head, searching for Jackson and Smokey, and feeling a rising panic.
Dear God, please say they made it.
Suddenly she caught sight of an object so dark, it was almost the same color as the water. Smokey swam toward her.
Fear gripped her heart.
What if Jackson had drowned?
All she could see was the black churning water all around. Then some distance away from where she and Smokey had come up, she saw Jackson’s head.
She breathed a sigh of relief as he swam toward her. His muscular arms cut through the roiling water as if it were nothing.
“We made it,” he said as he reached her and Smokey. “All three of us.”
As the Coast Guard boat drew near, Darcy swam the short distance to it and waited to be towed in while she clutched the life preserver. Once on board, a blanket was thrown over her and a Coast Guard ensign tossed the life ring out again. Jackson wrapped an arm around Smokey so they could be towed in together.
Jackson climbed on board. He addressed one of the Coast Guard members who threw a blanket over Smokey and offered him one. “I need to use your radio. We were shot at. Mostly likely from those trees that surround the Little League park. We need to do a search and get a lockdown in the area as quickly as possible before the shooter disappears into the city.”
Still clutching her own blanket, Darcy rubbed Smokey with his to dry him off. The dog turned and licked her face. She was shivering and so was Smokey. Jackson seemed unfazed by the accident and submersion into cold water.
“We can do that,” said the young Coast Guard ensign. He touched Jackson’s arm. “Sir, you may have suffered a degree of hypothermia. You need to focus on warming your core temperature. There are places belowdecks for the two of you to change into dry clothes.”
Jackson paced as water dripped off his uniform and hair. His radio was most likely too waterlogged to work. “We need a thorough search of the entire area. We have wasted precious minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” said the ensign. “We’ll radio that message to the shore right away if you will focus on getting warm and dry.”
Jackson seemed to be still running on adrenaline. Darcy shivered as she stepped up to him and took his hand. “He’s right, Jackson. We need to take care of ourselves. Our bodies have had a terrible shock.”
Jackson turned and looked at her.
“They’ll take care of the search. You’re not good to anyone like this.”
He shook his head. “You’re right. I just don’t want her to get away.”
They were escorted belowdecks by a female member of the Coast Guard who showed them where to change. Before she headed back toward the ladder that led topside, she pointed to a narrow counter space that held a coffeemaker and microwave. “You can make yourself a cup of tea or coffee once you get out of those wet clothes.”
Darcy changed into the sweats the Coast Guard provided. Once she stepped out, Smokey was waiting for her. “Jackson?” He must have gone above deck. His focus was on catching the woman who had almost killed all three of them.
“Come here, Smokey.” The K-9 wagged his tail and stepped over to her. She wrapped her arms around the chocolate Lab, glad his shivering had stopped. “I’m so glad we all made it.” She held the dog close.
Chloe Cleaves had to be the one behind the attacks. She had a motive for wanting Darcy dead. She didn’t want her to testify at Reuben’s trial. Who else would have known they would be on that bridge at that time? Reuben must have contacted her so she could get into place and wait. Every call from jail would be traced. Maybe Reuben had phoned someone who’d then contacted Chloe. She could only guess at how the message had been transmitted.
Unless the police caught Chloe today, it was just a matter of time before she came after Darcy again.
Darcy held Smokey close, fighting off the fear that threatened to overwhelm her.
THIRTEEN
Jackson paced the deck of the Coast Guard boat as they drew near to shore. He saw at least five police cars, thinking they must be from the Queens precinct to have gotten there so quickly. Unless Chloe’d had a car waiting for her, she was probably still close by. Darcy had only seen her a few hours ago at the press conference. She probably hadn’t had time to make arrangements for a getaway car and driver. The boat drew close to the dock.
Darcy and Smokey came up on deck. Her hair was still wet, but the color had come back into her cheeks. Smokey had mostly dried off.
Jackson stepped toward her. “When we get to shore, I need you to stay in one of the police cars until Smokey and I come for you. Chloe is probably still around here. She might decide to take another shot at you. I’ll make sure there is an officer close by to watch over you. Do you understand?”
She nodded and looked up at him. The affection that radiated from her expression moved him deeply.
“Smokey and I are going to find her.” He rested his hand on her cheek. “I want this to be over for you.”
“And for you, too,” she said.
The boat jerked slightly as it slipped into the dock. He fell toward her, catching himself in her arms. His lips found hers and he kissed her. As she wrapped her arms around his neck, he deepened the kiss. All the uncertainty seemed to fall away when he held her. She remained close and he kissed her head.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I promise.”
She rested her forehead against his and gripped is collar. “I know it will be, Jackson.”
With the electric energy of the kiss still making his head buzz, they disembarked and Jackson escorted her to a police car in the parking lot by the dock.
Jackson opened the back door of the patrol car for Darcy. She got in and gazed up at him.
Resting his arm on the door, he leaned in a little closer to her. “This is the safest place for you.” He reached over and brushed her chin with his knuckles.
She smiled up at him before closing the door.
With Smokey heeled beside him—Smokey’s leash had been lost in the sunken police vehicle—Jackson made his way over to a patrol officer. “I’m here to help with the search,” he told him, taking his badge out of the pocket of his sweats to show it to the officer. Though his radio was no good, he had put his utility belt with his firearm back on.
“We need all the help we can get,” said the officer.
Jackson pointed to the police car where Darcy waited. “Can you keep an eye on her?”
“Sure, no problem,” said the officer. “I’m watching the parking lot and the area around it in case the shooter comes this way. Two of our guys went through the trees toward the Little League field, one went up towar
d 19th Avenue, and the other is searching the parking lot through the trees on the other side of the street.”
Because Jackson was without a radio, he wouldn’t be able to communicate with the other officers, which would hinder him. “If the shooter makes it to 19th Avenue, we have a strong indication the shooter is female with an athletic build. If we don’t catch her, she could disappear into the crowded neighborhood of Astoria even if she was still on foot. Are K-9 officers on the way so we can search the city streets, as well?”
“Officers are getting here as fast as they can. Some are even heading over from the Brooklyn unit. Right now, we have patrol officers on the ground.”
It made sense to search the immediate area first. “Thanks. Can you please radio the patrol officers headed toward the baseball field that I’m joining the search with my dog, so they don’t hear me coming and think I’m the fugitive?”
The other officer nodded.
Jackson took off at a dead run toward where he thought the shots had come from.
He sprinted through the band of trees that bordered the baseball fields. Smokey ran close to him.
Noises to the side caused him to stop. Another officer emerged through the trees.
Jackson held up his badge. “I’m Officer Davison.”
The officer, a forty-something man built like a football player, nodded. “I heard over the radio you were helping out. We need all the manpower we can get. Some other officers are working 80th Street by the water. A few of us have the trees on this side covered. If you want to head through the Little League field toward Bowery Bay, we will have this area covered. If we don’t locate the shooter, we’ll push the search into Manhattan. Patrol cars are on their way to help with that.”
Jackson nodded. “Once I get to the edge of the field, I’m going to cut toward 19th. My guess is she’s going to try to get to where people are as fast as she can.”
“Or she’ll find a hiding place close to the water. She’d have to be running pretty fast to get to 19th Avenue.”
“Don’t underestimate her. She’s very athletic,” Jackson said.
