The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel

by Torbert, R. J. ;

  Cronin then turned his attention to Ashley and said, “And what are you doing tomorrow?”

  “You forget?” he replied. “You and I have a date with the judge.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he replied as he looked at Bud. “Get to the precinct early so we have time to review the questions.”

  “How did it go today on Saunders’ arraignment?” Bud asked. “She’s not out on bail as of now,” the assistant district attorney answered for Cronin.

  “Told ya,” Bud replied as if he were a peacock. He looked over at Lindsey and her parents heading into the house.

  “Hey, Lindsey, what time was it when you saw Assistant District Attorney Ashley for the first time?”

  “4:29 pm,” she replied.

  “Ha ha! Gotcha!” he laughed. “It was 4:27 pm. I checked my watch.”

  The girl stopped at the porch to turn around and said, “Your watch is two minutes slow, Detective Johnson. Bye for now.”

  Bud looked over at Ashley, Paul, and Cronin and said, “There’s no way she could be the Ghost Face killer, right?”

  “Yeah, right, she’s too short. OK.”

  “Ready, Paul?” Bud asked.

  They all started to laugh except for Paul, who had Allan’s wake on his mind. Rachelle was in seclusion, Allan was dead, Bud was being threatened, his father had protective detail. He wasn’t exactly feeling good about his life at the moment. Bud dropped Paul off in the back of Z Pita and told him he would be back in a couple hours to attend the wake with him.

  When Paul reached the top of the stairs to his apartment, he felt he was too exhausted to shower and go to a wake, but he had no choice. He had to do it. He knew he was in trouble emotionally, for everything happening around him was putting him in a state of depression. The safety of himself and those around him were in jeopardy, and he started to wonder if he should not have let Bud talk him out of quitting.

  He picked up the phone to speak to his father, who was always his rock. “This shall pass, son,” his father told him. “I didn’t raise you to give up. Never, ever give up. There is a reason you are in the middle of this.”

  Paul accepted his dad’s advice and asked if the Florida police were doing a good job for him. His dad answered they were but it was tough on his love life. Finally, Paul laughed as they hung up, and he got himself ready for the wake. Paul had about 40 minutes until Bud was going to pick him up, so he went downstairs to Z Pita to get something to eat quickly and had a chance to sit with Joey Z for a few minutes. A new server by the name of Rosie came by for his order.

  “All righty, now,” she said with a smile that could light up a dark room. He gave her an order for sweet potato fries and a roast beef wrap, and she replied, “Our whole-wheat wrap is healthier, OK?”

  “OK,” Paul said. He looked at Joey Z as she walked away.

  “Don’t ask,” the owner said. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

  They spoke for a few minutes until Paul’s food was served. Usually Joey Z would get up to allow his friends and patrons to enjoy their dinner, but this time Paul asked him to stay so they could talk.

  “You know,” Paul said to the owner, “there was a time when you used to tease me, saying you would like to switch places with me because you live here in the restaurant, this place has become your life. I haven’t heard you say it to me the past week and a half.”

  Joey Z smiled at Paul and said, “You know, my friend, you will never hear me say that again. Too much shit has happened, and I’ll be satisfied making sure the food and service is to everyone’s satisfaction. I do not have a problem having a boring life.”

  “I know what you mean,” Paul replied.

  Rosie came by the table to check on them and asked, “Anything else for you tonight?”

  “No,” Paul replied, “thank you.”

  “Very good, honey,” the new server replied.

  Paul looked at Joey again as the owner replied, “The customers love her personality and smile. What can I say?”

  They both began to speak at the same time, then Paul let Joey speak. Joey said, “Is it ever going to be the way it was again?”

  Paul sipped on his coffee and replied, “I think over time we will begin to live our lives again, but for it to be the same again, well, that’s a big question. I have thought about resigning because I feel the escalation of this is my fault. I got my friends, people I trust, involved, and their lives were put in danger, and Rachelle’s life will never be the same.”

  Joey Z made a signal to Tina to give him a cup of coffee as he began to speak. “Rachelle is a writer. She would not have gotten involved if she thought some maniac would try and kill her.” Paul nodded as Tina poured Joey Z’s cup of coffee. “And look at her now,” Joey Z continued. “She’s writing for Newsday, writing tweets to antagonize the killers. Why? That’s not Rachelle. She would not do anything to hurt you. If she’s doing it, it’s to help you.”

  “Help me?” Paul replied. “How can her doing this help me?”

  Joey Z took a sip of coffee and lost track for a second, saying, “What do you think of these new coffee cups? Everyone wanted bigger cups to feel like they were drinking a real cup of coffee.”

  “Joey,” Paul said.

  “OK, listen,” the owner remarked. “Whatever she’s writing, it’s my belief she either thinks it will help you find these bastards or prove something about you.”

  “Prove what about me?”

  “You tell me,” Joey Z replied.

  Paul started to get that wetness in the back of his hair again, in his neck area, and tried to change the subject, asking, “How’s business been?

  “Other business places have been affected a little bit,” Joey answered as he continued. “The teenagers and young adults enjoy the excitement and mystery, so we are getting new customers with our medium-priced menu. However, the higher-income older adults are staying away until it’s over. I personally think when the craziness is over, we will have more curious tourists visiting the village.”

  “Interesting,” Paul replied.

  Rosie dropped the check at the table. “Take your time, now,” she said and walked away.

  “Where are you off to?” Joey Z asked.

  Paul told him, “Moloney’s Funeral Home on Route 112 in Port Jefferson Station across from the Jefferson Plaza strip center, for Allan’s wake.”

  Joey acknowledged his sympathy and said he would also stop by for a few minutes. Paul put his credit card in the check cover, and they continued to talk about the state of things in the world, not just Port Jefferson, when Rosie brought back the check and slip for him to sign.

  As usual, Bud’s timing was right on. He had gone upstairs but found no one in the apartment. Since he did not get a message from Paul, he went down to the restaurant, and sure enough, he was there. Bud greeted Joey Z and sat with them for a few minutes until they were ready to go.

  “You know,” Paul said to Joey, “I think this is the longest time we have ever held a conversation before.”

  “I’m not a talker, Paul,” the owner replied, “but I’m concerned about you and Rachelle. I don’t know the others involved in this, and I’m sure they are good people, but I’m worried about the two of you.

  I may only be the owner here, but I’ve circled this restaurant thousands of times over the past few years. I see more than my customers enjoying their meals and my staff working hard. Get this thing to end so we all can move on with our lives.”

  Paul nodded and said, “OK, Joey. Thanks.”

  “OK,” Joey Z answered, “you paid the bill, so you can leave now” and smiled.

  When he walked away, Bud put his arm on Paul and asked, “Ready, my partner?”

  “Yes,” Paul said as they walked through the front door.

  As with most destinations in the Port Jefferson area, it only took about five minutes to drive to Moloney’s Funeral Home. They sign
ed in and walked in to the closed casket of Allan Jones. There were pictures on the casket of Allan and even more on a board 15 feet to the left of the casket that Paul noticed when he walked in. He paid his respects to his longtime friend and greeted his widow and family. He hugged Linda and did the same to the children before heading over to the board with all the photos on it. As he looked at the photos, Bud was extending sympathy to the family. Paul looked at the photos with sentimental emotion. There were at least three photos of just him with Allan, and one of them was slightly curled enough that he could tell it had some writing on it. He bent the photo even more to see if he could read it. It said in Allan’s writing and said, “Paul and me 1999—A true friend is felt, no words need be spoken, your eyes can see it, your heart can feel it.”

  Paul’s eyes began to tear up as he read it over and over again. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to see Rachelle, who was slightly smiling until she saw the tears in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Paul, about Allan,” she spoke. He nodded.

  “Me too,” he said as he wiped his tears. “Thank you. How are you doing, Rachelle?”

  “Don’t worry about me right now; I’m concerned about you.”

  “Well,” Paul answered, “life is complicated right now.”

  He walked over to Linda while Rachelle went to a seat and kneeled in front of her as he took her hand. “Linda, I would like very much to have one of the photos of Allan and myself. I would like to carry it with me and have it on me when we catch this guy. It will help me emotionally and give me strength.”

  Linda answered, “You take the photo and one of his family. You show him the family he destroyed, and if he goes to jail, you make sure those photos are in his jail cell so he has to think about us every day, and Paul, you get your strength through prayer. The good Lord will help you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Paul replied. “I’m not sure he will make it to jail, but I will make sure he sees the photos.”

  As he walked away, he did not even notice Bud was listening to him speak to Linda. Bud watched Paul walk over to Rachelle as she was sitting in one of the chairs in silence. She looked at him as he walked up to her, kissed the top of her head, and walked away. He noticed that she too began to have a tear trickle down her cheek. Bud acknowledged Rachelle in silence as he walked out to meet Paul.

  “Are you holding it together?” Bud asked.

  “Get real,” Paul said. “No one is holding it together. He’s going to have to be taken out before he kills Rachelle, Deborah, you, me, and the girl.”

  “Stop it,” Bud said, “I’m the crazy one here. Stop this shit! Look at me! This is going down legal!”

  Paul nodded and replied in a calmer voice, “I need to get back and decide what I’m going to say tomorrow before the funeral. Damn, I forgot the photographs. I’ll be right back.”

  “Paul!” Bud yelled. “You get in the car, I’ll get them.”

  “Just calm down,” Paul said, and told him which ones he wanted. Bud went inside to get the photos from the board. Rachelle was still in her seat but this time with her head down. Bud went over to her and sat down next to her and put his arm around her.

  She leaned her head on his shoulder and said, “I don’t know what to do anymore, everything is so screwed up.”

  Bud moved his head to see her face and replied, “Rachelle, I have to get back to him. Before it’s too late, you need to tell him how you feel about him. He’s not himself without you. I’m still not sure about the Twitter thing, but you’re both miserable without the other. Even when you pretended to be good friends, things seemed OK.” He kissed her on her forehead and got up.

  He was 10 feet away when she called to him, saying, “About Twitter, speak to Cronin.”

  It wasn’t the first time she had mentioned it, and Bud decided he was going to push the issue the next day.

  He got back in the car, gave the photos to Paul, and said, “Let’s get some sleep. Another long day tomorrow.”

  Wednesday, June 2

  Paul rolled over in bed at 6:30 am. He wasn’t looking forward to speaking at the funeral, but he knew he had to. Bud had given him the photos from the previous night’s wake, and he promised himself he would have them on his person when he finally had the one who was ultimately responsible for this.

  He got up and ran down the stairs to pick up his Newsday that was left at the door every morning. He looked for the section that carried Rachelle’s daily tweet. Today it read, “Soon you will be off the CASE, for you will get a TASTE. There’s nowhere to HIDE. It’s the changing of the TIDE.” Paul shook his head and started to call Rachelle but caught himself. “Damn!” he yelled to himself as he entered the bathroom.

  Bud was at the apartment at 7:30 am to pick up Paul. The Port Jefferson United Methodist Church was a short distance away, and Bud wanted to keep an eye on his partner as much as he could. In his mind, he wasn’t sure which was the main reason he wanted to keep an eye on him. Bud had already read the latest tweet from Rachelle and knew his tweet from this morning would be in his paper.

  As he sat in the car with his BlackBerry, he typed in on Twitter, “I will win the GAME, you will not have your FAME. The next thing you DO, I will be behind YOU.” Bud pushed the send button. He knew his tweets were escalating his status as the next target. It was Rachelle that he was still having trouble understanding. Either way, it was going to end soon. For him, for all of them, or a few more. The village could not absorb much more publicity at this point.

  Paul ran out to the car in his dark blue suit and tie with his white shirt.

  “Handsome guy,” Bud said as he backed out to drive to the church.

  Inside there were about 200 people paying their respects to Allan Jones. A few people, including his cousin and his brother from Georgia, spoke, and then it was time for Paul to get up and speak. He went behind the podium and stared into the filled seating area. There were so many faces that he did not notice that Detective Lieutenant Cronin was there or even Rachelle.

  Finally, he spoke, saying, “I feel like expressing my friendship with Allan to all of you is a contradiction of what he believed in. In this case he would forgive me. You see, being Allan’s friend was something you felt in the heart. It was something you expressed by your actions. It was something you could see without saying anything. I know this because of my friendship with him over the last 20 years, and I know this from the words he wrote on the back of this photo. I’m ashamed to say that although I was his friend, I did not always share in his feelings, and I did not always appreciate the kind of man he really was until now. But I can show my appreciation to him by my heartfelt actions to his loved ones and telling all of you here not to let life pass you by without some attempt to make it worthwhile for you and your loved ones. Have your goals, have your dreams, give it your best shot to attain them, but always remember, it won’t mean anything if someone you love or someone you care about is not there to share them with you. Allan Jones was a good man, a good husband, a good father, a great friend, and a man of strong faith. I will miss you, my friend.”

  Paul walked away from the podium and did not notice the women and some men seated who where wiping their eyes with tissues. The minister came out with last words as the casket was slowly moved to the front, with Paul and Bud being two of the pallbearers. The funeral procession to Mount Sinai Cemetery took about 12 minutes. There, some last words were spoken before everyone started heading to their cars. Rachelle saw Paul and Bud going back to the car but thought it best not to interrupt them. When Paul got in the car, his BlackBerry buzzed. It was a text from Rachelle. It said, “Your speech was so beautiful and so true.”

  He answered back, “Thank you, Rachelle. XOXO.”

  He looked over at Bud and asked, “Where to now?”

  “The precinct.” We have some questions to answer for the Long Island Pulse.”

  “How can we do that?” Paul asked. �
�We don’t have any answers yet.”

  It took Bud another 20 minutes to get to their temporary home, which seemed like it had been a month instead of under two weeks. Once they entered the precinct, Paul stopped at his desk while Bud went straight into Cronin’s office and shut the door.

  “I guess you would like to speak with me?” the detective lieutenant said.

  “Is that a problem?” Bud replied.

  “My door is always open,” the boss said, “so to speak.”

  “I’m concerned that Rachelle Robinson, when questioned about her tweets again, told me the same thing again, and that is to see you. Now why is that?”

  Cronin looked at Bud and said, “Maybe the same reason when the chief of police asks people here about your tweets, they tell him to see me.”

  Bud moved closer to his desk and said, “If the chief of police asked me personally about my tweets, I would answer him and not tell him to see you.”

  “You will now,” Cronin replied.

  “And why is that?” Bud pushed.

  Without even looking up at Bud, he replied, “Because I am the boss, and that’s how I want it handled. Dismissed.”

  Bud walked out to his desk, and laying there was an email sent to the precinct via his attention from The Shannyn T of the Long Island Pulse with questions. Bud gave it to Cronin’s assistant, telling her he might want to take a look at how he wants to answer the inquiries.

  Bud no longer had a desire to be involved. Suddenly he was feeling like a puppet on a string, and Cronin was the master. He looked at the stack of paperwork on his desk and got himself to sit down and sort through it. Cronin looked over the questions sent in from the Long Island Pulse and crossed out a few before handing the sheet back to his assistant for his detectives to answer. He told Gina to tell Powers and Johnson to get it back to him by 3:30 pm. The magazine would be out next week, so they needed to get the answers back today in order to meet the deadline. The Shannyn T wrote a note at the bottom that she would be calling around 4:00 pm to check on the status of the questions and answers. Gina brought the interview back to Bud with Cronin’s instructions.