“Yes,” Paul replied.
Cronin stepped in front of him and said, “I don’t have to remind you that you are involved in this up to your ass. The events that kicked this off were based on your theory.”
Paul shot back at the detective lieutenant, which he had never done before, saying, “Are you blaming me for this, or are you saying I kidnapped Deborah Lance and wanted all this to happen?”
Without missing a beat, Cronin came back, “I’m saying the turn of events after the kidnapping is based on your gut to figure this out. I’m also blaming myself. I let you run with this.”
“It was the right thing to do,” Paul interrupted him.
“Tell me, why?” Cronin questioned.
“If we had not drawn these assholes out they would have gotten the money and moved on to someone else after they killed the girl.”
“Yes!” Cronin yelled. “But we would not have had a dead cop and another one likely on her way.”
“No,” Paul yelled back, “this case most likely has stopped what would have gone on! The FBI had no leads that they told us about. This would not have been solved.”
“Paul,” Cronin replied, “our main witnesses are here in the hospital, and the killers are being eliminated by one of their own or someone else with a vengeance.”
“Someone else?” Bud finally spoke. Cronin pulled out the letter and let Paul and Bud read it.
“Do you believe it?” Cronin said to Paul. “Look at me, Detective. Do you believe after reading this letter that it’s bullshit or there is someone else playing vigilante behind the mask?”
“It’s one of two things,” Paul answered. “It’s Phil Smith trying to throw us off, or he doesn’t want to be framed for it. Whoever is doing it, it is clear they want us to believe it’s Phil.”
“Or,” Bud said, “whoever is doing it doesn’t really give a shit what we think and is just taking care of business.”
“Why?” Cronin remarked.
“We are going to find out,” Paul answered.
“Listen to me,” the detective lieutenant remarked. “I have a press conference in the morning, which is about five hours from now. I really don’t give a shit if you two never get shut-eye again. I want a report on the status of this given to me 45 minutes before I go on national television as to why this is happening. Have you spoken with Rachelle yet?”
“No,” Paul answered.
“If you find out anything, I want to know if she saw how Mason was killed and if the killer was wearing the mask. The same one, or a different one, and if the body type is the same that we saw on the hospital video and was described by Deborah Lance.”
“I know what to do,” Paul replied sarcastically. It was not in his nature, and Cronin was caught by surprise by his defensiveness.
“Paul, are you too close to this case? Is there something I need to know about your relationship with Rachelle? If you lie to me, I will make sure you’re suspended for 90 days. Tell me the truth, now.”
Paul looked at him straight in the eye and said, “The truth is we are friends, but I was and have been hoping for more. I care about her. That is the truth.”
Cronin paused and asked, “Can you handle this case?”
“Yes,” Paul replied.
“Listen,” Cronin said as he looked at both Bud and Paul. “I know this is different than anything we have ever worked on and maybe different than most cops have had to deal with, but if we don’t come through this and end this soon, it will be something that we regret forever, not to mention the disappointment we will carry with us. Now I need both of you to do what you have to do within the law to get this case over and out. Get with O’Connor and Sherman, and let’s put our heads together to find John Winters and Phil Smith. I need you guys to step up and be with me on this.”
As he started to walk away, Paul yelled, “Boss, can we make a copy of the letter? I think we should each have it on us.”
Cronin shook his head and gave it to Bud, saying, “Keep the letter to just the three of us right now, understood?” Cronin didn’t mention that Sherman knew about it and didn’t feel the need to tell them at that point.
As they waited in the hallway, Cronin asked one of the doctors if they had information on Officer Walker. He replied that they had given information to her husband about five minutes prior and that he was in a room set aside for immediate family in surgery.
“We are family also,” Cronin remarked.
The doctor simply replied, “Let me speak to her husband to see if he will come out and talk to you.”
Bud came back with the copy of the letter and gave the original back to Detective Lieutenant Cronin. Sherry Walker’s husband, Gabe, came out to greet the three cops. They all stood there waiting for him to speak, afraid to ask if she was going to make it.
Gabe took the cue and said, “She was lucky. The doctor told me many factors are going to save her life. The hospital being so close, her physical conditioning, and most important, the stab wound in the abdomen missed the abdominal artery. The fact that medical assistance came quickly to control bleeding is another factor.” A sigh of relief came over the detectives.
“Mr. Walker,” Cronin replied, “we are so pleased to hear this. We don’t know everything yet, but by the evidence, it’s likely she saved the life of Rachelle Robinson during the attack and intrusion of the house.”
Gabe shook his head and said, “Well, that’s Sherry. She’s always been a hero to me, and now she is to someone else.”
“Mr. Walker,” Cronin said as he turned to walk away, “I’m sure the mayor of Port Jefferson and the chief of police as well as fellow officers will be paying their respects to Officer Walker throughout the day. They won’t expect to be allowed to see her, but they will want be in the hospital to show support. I just wanted you to know, so you don’t feel bad about obligation to them. They understand, but a brother or sister in uniform in the hospital, they will want to be here to show support and respect.”
Gabe Walker shook his head and thanked Detective Lieutenant Cronin. He then said, “Maybe in a couple days, you can tell her yourself.”
“Count on it,” Cronin replied. “I’m going to get a couple hours sleep. See if you guys can find out anything here. Maybe take a nap for an hour or two while you’re waiting here.”
As he walked down the hall, Paul said he was going to Rachelle’s room. Bud decided to tag along before he went to see how Deborah Lance was coming along. They were told she would be released on Thursday, and Bud wanted to see the list of names who visited her while she was in the hospital. Paul and Bud flashed their badges at the two cops standing guard at the room. They nodded as they entered to see Rachelle sleeping, with Madison holding her hand, also asleep.
“We should wait,” Paul said. “We are going to be here all night anyway.”
As they turned around to walk out, Madison’s voice was heard saying, “It’s 3:00 in the morning.”
Paul and Bud turned around, and Paul said, “Sorry, Madison, we were just checking in on her.”
“You know,” Madison replied, “my sister’s life was a good one until the two of you got close.”
“Wait a minute,” Bud replied.
“No,” Paul said, “let her get it out of her system,” as he held up his hand to Bud.
Madison continued, “It’s one thing to be friends, but you got her involved in this, she was shot in the head, which could have killed her, and now she’s right back here again, scared out of her wits to even open her eyes. She’s going to need therapy, she’s so messed up right now. You know, Paul, I really don’t think you are healthy for my sister, and as you cops say, I have the evidence to back me up. My sister is everything to me, and I’m not going to let her get killed simply because she cares about you.”
“Madison,” Paul said gently.
“Don’t Madison me,” she replied. “Now I’m asking you to do your
job, but I don’t want you hurting my sister anymore, and I’m not talking about emotional issues. You are not safe to be involved with.” She looked at Bud and said, “And that goes for you too; let my sister live a normal life.”
Paul answered her, “So this means you are going to ask her to stop writing articles that bring attention to herself?”
“You! You!” she pointed back. “You had her write the articles to begin with! I will speak to her, but please stay away from her unless you have a job to do.”
“We will need to speak with her as soon as she wakes up,” Bud replied. Madison started to walk back to Rachelle’s bedside.
“Let us do our job,” Bud said.
“You do your job,” Madison replied, “but stay away from her when this is over. I don’t want you around her, and if you want her safe, you will understand what I’m saying.”
She turned her head to look at Rachelle sleeping and brushed her hair off her forehead. Paul walked out the door and headed down to the café, which was not serving anything at 4:00 am, but he went there anyway. Bud gave him some space for a couple minutes and thought better of it and went to check on him. He walked in and saw something he never even thought would happen. It was Paul sitting at the table with his hands over his face. He could tell by the sounds coming through his hands that Paul was shedding tears. Bud was torn up seeing his partner in a state of tears, and he sat down across from him and just sat there. No words, no talk, but he was there for Paul if he wanted to talk. Bud let Paul have the next 20 minutes to shed tears and think about everything that had happened in the past week.
Finally he spoke, saying, “She’s right. I almost lost Rachelle twice in the past week because she has been with me.”
“Yes,” Bud said, “because she wanted to be with you. She wants to be a part of what you are and what you do because it’s what she has wanted to do. Don’t you get it? This is her choice. You didn’t force her to do anything. Everybody is a little emotional right now, but I will tell you this: you let Rachelle make the decision on her life. Not Madison, not you. She is going to do what she wants.”
Paul replied, “When I saw her frightened to death sitting in the corner of her room, my heart broke in two, which tells me that maybe Cronin is right, that my head is not clear on this. All I cared about was trying to hold her and protect her, and she wouldn’t let me touch her.”
Bud put his hand on Paul’s arm and said, “She wouldn’t let anyone touch her.”
“Yes,” Paul said, “but she looked at me and said, ‘Where were you?’ like I let her down. I want to just jump off a bridge somewhere, watching her eyes look at me and saying, ‘What took you so long to be here?’ I felt my heart being stabbed.”
He went on for another hour, talking to Bud about his life, his father, his years knowing Rachelle, his relationship with Cronin. For once, Bud was a rock. He was supportive and he was serious. The conversation changed subjects as Bud spoke about his childhood. Paul learned so much about his partner and why he, as they would say, “hides behind a clown’s face.”
“I needed humor to save myself,” Bud said. “My dad was an alcoholic; he would beat my mom when he had too much to drink. I tried to stop him a few times, but he would pummel me. One night, when I was 12 years old, I went into my parents’ bedroom with a baseball bat, and I swung as hard as I could. I hurt his arm, and he grabbed the bat from me and was ready to swing back when my mom started screaming while covering me. I pushed her away and said it was OK, that I was no longer afraid of him. He was a coward in my eyes. I knew I wanted to be a cop to put people like him away. I suppose he could have killed me if he wanted to, but he stopped. I guess when he realized I was no longer intimidated by him, he simply packed up and left. We never saw him again. I was close with my mom, and it was devastating to me when I lost her to cancer when I was 25. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her. Anyway, humor has helped me get through school and my life after losing her. One thing I did get from my mom besides her fun approach to life was learning. We read so many crazy things. Not books like normal people, but things like, hmmmm, things you didn’t know about Long Island.”
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.
&n
bsp; “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.”
The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel Page 19
