The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel

by Torbert, R. J. ;

  Rachelle folded her arms and looked at Bud before saying, “I’m not going to let these people stop me from what I want to do. You know, Paul asked me to write about this, and I agreed. Now that we are involved in one of the biggest murder cases ever on Long Island and I’ve been a target twice, it won’t change anything if I stop. I’m doing what I think is right for me and for this case.”

  Bud shrugged and asked, “Even if it gets more people killed? Because you know Paul won’t stop; he will die for you. And not because he’s a cop; it’s because he loves you.”

  “Oh, come on,” Rachelle answered.

  “Stop!” Bud yelled. “You’re a smart girl. I’m a smart guy. He may not have said anything like it to you but only because he’s afraid of losing you as a friend. Sad in a way, to be afraid to tell someone you love them for fear you will lose them in your life. He’s my partner, and I will be one unbearable cop if his life changes for the worse because we don’t know everything.”

  “I understand,” she replied.

  “Do you?” Bud shot back. He repeated himself, saying, “Do you? I don’t want any more killing for anyone. This town has suffered enough, you have suffered enough. Sherry, Victoria’s family, Timothy, enough. One thing is clear. I will protect my partner, but when it comes to you, I won’t be able to protect him. So think about what I’m saying. I’ll see you later.” He gave her a hug and she grabbed him and held on for a few seconds before letting him go.

  “Are you OK?” he asked.

  “No, I’m not. Go, go. You have a job to do.”

  “OK, see you later.” He left her walkway and waved to the unmarked vehicle about 50 yards down Prospect Street. When he got in the car, he was receiving a transmission from Paul.

  “What’s up, my partner?”

  “It seems Simpson was not arrested because of Detective Lieutenant Cronin’s directive. I think we need to talk to him about a few things.”

  “OK,” Bud replied. “I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

  When Bud arrived at his desk, Paul was anxious to go to Cronin’s office. They arrived at his door, and he waved them in as he spoke on the phone. They stood by silently as he finished his conversation, placed the receiver down, and looked at the two young detectives.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “Boss,” Paul spoke, “you had Simpson excused on a misdemeanor?”

  “So?” Cronin replied.

  “So he could be in jail and off the streets.”

  “He’s not our vigilante killer or responsible for any of the killings or the kidnapping. I want him out and about, and it’s my feeling whoever else is responsible will want to contact him. Any more questions?” the detective lieutenant asked.

  “This morning, you met with Rachelle and left with her from the hospital?” Paul asked.

  “Yes,” Cronin said. “I had more questions to ask her,” he replied. Paul said, “She won’t stop the tweets on Twitter.”

  “I know,” Cronin said.

  Bud spoke up, asking, “Boss, why is Rachelle telling us to speak with you when we ask her certain questions?”

  “Because she doesn’t want to lie to you.”

  “Lie about what?” Paul said forcibly.

  “We will discuss it later,” Cronin answered. “In the meantime, I need you guys to spend the rest of the day with Agent Sherman and gimpy O’Connor. They have some information and a theory on Phil Smith. I’m beginning to wonder if he is even in this town.”

  “The postmark on the letter has Port Jefferson,” Bud said.

  “Yes, it does,” Cronin said. “I will see you guys tomorrow. In the meantime, I want you to see what our good friends at the FBI are doing.”

  They left the detective lieutenant’s office and passed the precinct commander on the way out. “What’s happening, boys?” he asked. “Detective Lieutenant Cronin,” Paul answered.

  The remark surprised the commander, and he made a mental note to mention it to Cronin when he saw him.

  As Bud and Paul drove in the car, it was clear that Paul was visibly upset. He said, “It’s days like these I just want to pack up and move away.”

  “Hang in there, partner. Who knows, maybe we’ll get shot and get disability,” Bud replied.

  Paul looked over at Bud and started laughing. Then he said, “You’re a funny guy, Detective Johnson.”

  “That’s what they tell me,” he answered.

  Friday, June 24

  Paul got himself up at 8:00 am, took his shower, and was downstairs at Z Pita to meet his dad for breakfast before he headed into the city for his reunion. He sat down after giving his father a kiss on the top of his head and was served his coffee by Rebecca before he even said good morning. He asked to see a copy of the morning Newsday, and because of the popularity of Rachelle’s tweets, there was a subheading at the bottom of the page for BF_TJ_GW’s daily tweet. Her messages had become so popular that the Internet searches for the three founding fathers had increased by more than 14 percent in the past week. He turned to page four. There was her miniature picture with the daily tweet: “I know what you want, it’s the MONEY, which makes it very FUNNY.” Paul covered his eyes in disbelief as he handed the paper over to his dad to read.

  His father put the paper down and said, “You have really gotten yourself in a situation.”

  Paul looked at his Dad and replied, “You’re right. If I didn’t ask her in the first place to write the articles, she would not be in this thing so deep, but I have tried to get her to stop. She’s making herself a target, and I don’t know why.”

  “Well, you just have to see how this thing plays out now,” his dad replied. “Come on, let’s talk about something else before your old man heads into the city.”

  Joey Z stopped by to say hello and sat down at the table, which was very rare for him.

  “Have you spoken to Rachelle?” Paul asked him.

  “Yes,” the restaurant owner replied. “She told me she will be back within a week, that all this will be over. However, I have concerns even when this is over.”

  “What’s that?” Paul asked.

  Joey Z looked around to make sure things were running smoothly, as he always did, before he looked at Paul again and said, “She is a celebrity, she’s in Newsday every day. The Port Jefferson Now has her tweets in order in the weekly paper. The whole damn town is on the national news, and it’s not just about the killing. They’re giving Rachelle so much attention. Between the articles, the shootings, I’m really thinking hard, but Paul, I’m not sure I want this attention at the restaurant. If cameras and news reporters are going to be in here covering her, my business will be hurt badly. I love Rachelle, but life changes as we get older, and right now I have doubts about all this.”

  There was silence at the table, and then Paul’s dad chimed in with, “I think that’s the longest amount of time I ever heard you talk.”

  Joey Z smirked for a few seconds before he looked at Paul as the detective spoke. Paul said, “I know and understand what you are saying, Joey, but all of this will pass. It’s true what you say, everything you say, but Rachelle wants to be a part of this restaurant. She loves being here, loves the staff and you; maybe one day she will love your tenant also.” The last statement appeared to go right over Joey Z’s head as Paul continued, “Keep your mind open, Joey. Don’t make any final decisions ’til you sit with her for an hour when this is over.”

  “I agree,” Joey Z responded. “I will hold on. We want her here, but I need to think about my customers and my staff. The attention needs to be on the customers, not the owners or the managers.”

  “I agree,” the elder Powers said. “How about a refill on the coffee?” Rebecca was over in seconds to fill his cup.

  “I understand you are off to the city,” Joey Z said to Mr. Powers.

  “Yes,” he answered. “I can’t take all this excitement. It’s time to
see old friends and talk about the memories of what was a great company that was destroyed by outsiders.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Paul said. “See what you started?” he said to Joey Z. “OK, I have to run, I’ve got to get to the gym for an hour. Dad, I love you and will speak to you tonight.” He kissed him on the head and winked at Joey Z as he left. He could tell by the look on Joey Z’s face that he was expressing a sarcastic thanks for leaving his dad with him to talk history.

  It took Paul 15 minutes to get upstairs to retrieve his gym bag and get to the Planet Fitness in Rocky Point, which was about five miles east of Port Jefferson. The treadmill for an hour did his body and mind good. He always had trouble keeping from being bored on the treadmill until he joined the Planet Fitness club. They had 12 televisions, all in a row, showing different channels, so he could switch to any channel while he was working up a sweat. He didn’t hear his cell phone ring because it was in his locker. Bud was on his way to the precinct when his cell rang. It was Allan at the security building in Belle Terre.

  “What’s up, my partner’s high school friend?”

  “Bud,” Allan replied quickly, “Deborah and her father are leaving town. They have a home in Marco Island, Florida. I’ve asked them to wait, but they are going bye-bye.”

  Bud turned the car around and said, “Tell them to wait. I will be there in 10 minutes.” He hung up as he sped up the engine.

  Allan went out to the car and told Deborah that Bud wanted to say goodbye. While she waited for Bud, she called Rachelle to say hello and goodbye and told her they needed to get together when all of this was over. She hung up the phone as Bud’s unmarked cruiser drove to the security building. He greeted William Lance and then gently touched Deborah’s arm to pull her aside for some privacy.

  “What’s going on? You shouldn’t be leaving the house.”

  “Um!” she said. “We were told it would be best to leave town for a week.”

  “Who told you that?” he asked.

  “Detective Lieutenant Cronin,” she said. “He suggested it to us, and we decided it would be good to be away.”

  Bud was puzzled and exclaimed, “What the fuck?”

  “Hey!” she said, “no F words,” and hit his shoulder.

  “OK, OK,” he said. “Listen, keep in touch with me, please, while you’re in Florida.”

  “OK,” she said.

  “Promise me!” he said again.

  “I promise, I promise.” She leaned her head in and kissed the side of his cheek. The look on his face told the story of his disappointment as William Lance drove away.

  Bud turned to Allan and said, “I don’t know what the fuck. I mean, shit is going on, but it’s clear Cronin knows something we don’t.”

  “Take it easy,” Allan said to him. “Just go talk to him.”

  “Listen,” Bud said to Allan, “keep an eye on the house.”

  “Don’t worry,” Allan replied, “the electronic security there is pretty tight.”

  “All right, see you later,” Bud said. “I’ve got to get to the precinct. Did you call Paul?”

  “Yes,” Allan replied, “no answer on his cell.” Bud got in his car and drove to the precinct. He entered Detective Lieutenant Cronin’s office and shut the door, a sign that Cronin knew would not be good.

  Rachelle and Madison were in the kitchen talking over a cup of coffee when Rachelle’s cell rang. “Hello,” Rachelle answered.

  The voice on the other end was disguised and said, “Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “Oh, hi! How are you?” Rachelle answered.

  “Don’t ask me how I am, you little bitch.”

  “What do you want? Oh,” she replied, “you read my tweet today. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Listen, my sister is here now. Can you call me back in 20 minutes?” Click, dead silence.

  “Who was that?” Madison asked.

  “Someone from Newsday asking about the article I promised I would submit, but I said I would hold off until the investigation was finished. I’ve always wanted to write a book, and I think it’s my destiny with everything happening the way it’s going.”

  Madison finished her coffee and got up to leave.

  “Half a cup today?” Rachelle asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Madison answered. “I have dance classes to worry about.”

  “You have a perfect body,” Rachelle said to Madison as she was going out the door in her leggings and body suit.

  “I’m younger than you,” she grinned as she kissed her goodbye. “Ha, ha, very funny,” Rachelle said, closing the door. She sat down in the kitchen, and within 10 minutes her phone rang again. “Yes,” Rachelle answered.

  “What do you want before I kill you once and for all?”

  “You can’t kill me,” she replied. “You’ve tried twice, and now I have everyone watching me, so good luck with that one.”

  “What do you want?” the eerie voice said. “Don’t make me ask again, you snub little shit.” There was silence for a few seconds.

  Rachelle took a deep breath and came out with it. “I want some of the money,” she said.

  “There is only three million!” the voice yelled.

  “Tax-free three million,” Rachelle replied, “and I can find out exactly where it is in the mansion, plus the family is on their way out of town as we speak. I want half a million. I will have my contact get the money, take my 500,000, and give you the two and a half million.”

  “How do you know I won’t kill you?” the voice on the other end said.

  “You won’t because I have tweets locked away that will be published if something happens to me. They’re in good hands. So think about it, and let me know, because, you see, I know who you are.” Click. She covered her face with her hands as they shook uncontrollably. “What am I doing?” she said to herself.

  Paul left the gym and called Allan back after hearing his voice mail. Allan brought him up to date on everything as Paul drove to the precinct. His thoughts were frustrating him. He had gone to the gym for 90 minutes and the Lances left town on the advice of Detective Lieutenant Cronin.

  When he arrived, Bud was already in the office with the boss. He knocked and opened the door to repeat the question that Bud had asked regarding Debbie Lance leaving town with her father.

  Cronin picked up some papers to look busy and raised his eyes at them to say, “Because she will be safe, she’s not involved with any of this except that she was kidnapped and beaten and would be dead if not for our hero friend in the mask, as well as Sherry.”

  Bud and Paul looked at each other as Agents Sherman and O’Connor came in to the precinct with a vengeance. They opened the door as Cronin expected.

  “Just who the hell do you think you are?” O’Connor yelled as Cronin just looked at his papers, ignoring them.

  “Cronin!” Sherman spoke. Cronin began writing scribble on a piece of paper, but they didn’t know.

  In a calm voice Cronin said, “You didn’t knock first.”

  “What!” O’Connor yelled.

  Bud interjected. He said, “You didn’t knock first, numb nuts!” He looked back at Cronin to see his displeasure and said, “OK, he didn’t say the numb nuts part, that was me.”

  Sherman pulled O’Connor, closed the door behind them, knocked, and came in.

  “How can I help you?” Cronin said. This whole play put a smile on Bud’s face.

  “You sent Debbie Lance and William Lance out of town, therefore possibly jeopardizing the investigation.”

  Cronin stood up and sat on his desk before saying, “First of all, I didn’t force them to go anywhere. I suggested it. They have a home in Marco Island, Florida. If the FBI wants to speak to them, I will give you the address.”

  Bud added, “You guys do have an office down there, right?”

  “Bud!” Cronin yelled.

  “Sorry, boss,” Bud repl
ied.

  Cronin looked back at Agents Sherman and O’Connor and said, “Look, we want them safe. Plus someone is killing the suspects. How do we know it’s going to stop there? If Phil Smith is doing the killing with the mask on, we don’t know for sure he would stop. And by the way, if it wasn’t Smith, then he should be coming up dead shortly. Come on, guys, we don’t need Deborah Lance here on protective detail.”

  Sherman replied, “Don’t you think you should have said something to us? It’s just not about the police in the handling of this.”

  Cronin answered back, “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t tell my team either. I just didn’t think about it when I offered my opinion to them. That’s it, fellas, that’s all it is.”

  O’Connor replied, “You will keep us informed on the information you received?”

  Cronin looked at Paul, who in turn answered, “Yes, of course.” As the FBI agents turned to walk out, Bud asked, “How’s the leg feeling?” to O’Connor.

  “It’s feeling OK, no thanks to you. People get shot when they are around you.”

  “Not me,” Bud answered as they closed the door. Paul was laughing at Bud’s remark as he looked at Cronin’s serious face.

  “You two clowns ready to get to work today?” Cronin asked. “On it, boss,” Bud said as they left.

  “Wait!” Cronin yelled. He handed a piece of paper to Bud, saying, “This is the Lances’ address in Marco Island. Get with the local authorities and have them keep in touch with us.”

  Bud took the paper and said, “I noticed you didn’t give the address to the FBI.”

  “They didn’t ask me, Bud,” he replied. “Pay attention to the details.”

  Bud looked at the address on Collier Boulevard. He had stayed at the Marriott on Marco Island a few years before and had fallen in love with the little town near Naples. He smiled and sent Deborah a text. She was on the Expressway, exit 49, westbound in the stretch limousine when she saw it. It said, “Enjoy Marco, maybe I’ll visit Marco after we catch the bad guys.” He got a text back that said, “If anyone can, it’s you.” He got in the car with Paul behind the wheel.