Paul opened the door as the whole class turned their heads. “Sorry, class,” Paul said as he sat down with Healey.
Ms. Meghan came to the back to greet Paul and said, “Hello there. I assume this is really important to interrupt my class.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but my partner in crime here did not want to lose sight of Lindsey, so I had to come in.”
“Well,” the teacher replied, “next time you want to come to my classroom, please knock and let me know what is it you wish to do. It’s only a courtesy that I ask.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t call me 'ma’am,’ the teacher replied.
“What is your name?” Paul replied.
“In this class, you call me Ms. Meghan.”
“Oh,” Paul replied. “I apologize, Ms. Meghan. It won’t happen again.”
As she walked away, Healey was smiling. Ms. Meghan was actually a young thirtyish woman who, although very pretty, would not take any shit from anyone, especially when it came to respecting her classroom. Most of the teachers used their last name at the school but Meghan preferred using her first as long as they respected her using Ms in front of her name. Apparently, she expected the same when it came to the adults in her class. Healey amused himself with his thoughts. she is so pretty, if I asked her out for a drink, I wonder if she would still make me call her Ms. Meghan. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Paul’s voice.
“I’m getting shit from everyone today,” Paul said. He pulled out the schedule for overnight duty in the car for the next few days and nights. It showed Dugan from 5:00 am to 5:00 pm, Chapman from 11:00 am to 2:00 pm to give Dugan a break between. Paul had Officer Franks from 5:00 pm to 5:00 am with O’Brien overlapping and giving Franks a break from 11:00 pm to 2:00 am. Healey looked over the list silently while Lindsey continued reviewing the writing of the Declaration of Independence.
“I would be more comfortable,” Healey spoke, “if Dugan and Franks switched shifts. I’d rather have him outside while I’m trying to get some sleep, if you don’t mind.”
“No worries,” Paul answered. “Consider it done. This starts now.” Paul sent a text to the precinct to inform them of the schedule and to send Franks over to the Wilkerson house and for Dugan to get some sleep.
“How’s the girl doing?” Paul whispered.
“She is the most amazing girl I’ve ever met,” Healey answered. He continued, “Just have a conversation with her; you’ll see what I mean. A real gift to anyone who knows her.”
Paul nodded and said, “Or dangerous.”
Ms. Meghan dismissed the class, and Lindsey came to the back to Healey and to greet Paul.
“Hello, Detective Powers.”
“Hi, Lindsey, how are you doing?” he asked her.
Her attention went back to Healey, and she said, “I have a surprise for you.” Healey just stared at her. She pulled out a sketch she had drawn of the officer while he was in the back of the class.
“How did you do this without looking at me?” Healey asked.
Lindsey giggled and said, “From memory, silly. Let me get my books.”
Paul and Healey just looked at each other.
“See?” Paul said. “Dangerous.”
Paul walked with Lindsey and Healey to her next class and decided to have the conversation with her as her escort suggested. “You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?”
Lindsey smiled and said, “I think I’m fairly intelligent. Well, I think you’re pretty smart also.” Lindsey laughed.
“Who,” Paul continued, “do you think is the smartest person in the world?”
“Christopher Langan,” she answered, “his IQ has been measured between 195 and 210. He developed his own theory of the relationship between mind and reality, which he calls 'the Cognitive-Theoretic Model of the Universe.’”
“Interesting,” Paul said. “When we have more time, will you tell me more about him?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I think you will find him interesting. He rose to prominence right here on Long Island.”
As Lindsey reached her next class, Paul spoke again. He said, “Lindsey, the photo Detective Cronin showed you at the car. You remember, right?”
“Yes, of course,” she answered.
He bent down to her and said, “Can you draw me a sketch of who the person was?”
Lindsey looked up at Healey then back at Paul. “Um, I’m not sure. Um, Detective Cronin asked me not to tell anyone.”
“You wouldn’t be telling me, Lindsey. You would be drawing me a sketch.”
“Well, I suppose it would be fine as long as he wouldn’t get mad at me.”
“No,” Paul said. “He won’t get mad at you, I promise. If he gets mad, it will be at me. And besides, Officer Healey is here to be sure no one gets mad at you.”
She smiled and agreed to draw him a sketch that he would have the next day. As intelligent as she was, there still could be manipulation at the age of 12.
“Thank you very much, Lindsey. Enjoy the rest of your day.” As she walked into class, Paul looked at Healey, who kept his eyes on her, and said, “You got your hands full, my friend.”
Healey smiled and said, “Tell me about it,” as he walked into the class.
Paul walked outside to begin his ride over to the lab to check on the ballistics of the bullets, and then he was going over to the Anderson home. The funeral was today, and Paul was thinking maybe of holding off until the morning. He checked his Twitter and saw Bud’s tweet. He thought, Please, this has to end soon. He promised himself he would do everything to be sure it would come to a conclusion.
After a few minutes of conversation, Cronin opened the door to his office and told Patty, “Good luck at the arraignment.”
She met up with Simmons and a police escort until the arraignment with Judge Green in a few hours. Simmons wanted to review some things with her.
Ashley walked in Cronin’s office and shut the door. He said, “I suppose you are not going to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Believe me, my friend,” the detective lieutenant answered, “you don’t want to know, at least not now.”
Ashley raised his hands in the air and said, “You’re right, I don’t. But I do have to do my job and uphold the law, Kevin.”
The detective lieutenant stopped what he was doing and looked at the assistant district attorney and said, “Have I ever asked you to do anything other?”
“No,” Ashley said, “but you have me scared on this one.”
“It’s all going to work out. Simpson will go through with the bail money, and you make sure Judge Green doesn’t take a coffee break during the arraignment.”
Ashley shook his head and said, “I’ll take care of it. Who’s going to keep an eye on her once she is released?”
“Bud and Paul, for starters,” he answered. “Then we will pull them off her and put uniforms on her.”
“OK, I’m leaving,” the assistant district attorney said. “I can’t hear any more of this.”
Cronin laughed as he shut the door. He picked up the phone and pushed Robert Simpson’s cell phone number. He answered.
“You’re on. Don’t screw it up, or I’ll send Officer Lynagh over there to spend a few nights with you. Patty will be released in about four hours.”
He disconnected and then called William Lance, who picked up within a couple rings. “OK, Mr. Lance. The game will be reaching the climax soon. Please deposit the money to the bail bondsman, $200,000,. Thank you and don’t forget to call our friend.”
William Lance had agreed to do what Detective Lieutenant Cronin wanted him to do because Cronin had convinced him this was the best way to stop the bloodshed.
Cronin walked over to Bud as he was shuffling his papers and said, “Make sure you are going to the arraignment today. Stay with Patty and get her settled the first few h
ours.”
As he walked away, Bud began talking to himself, saying, “Do you want me to clean the bathroom, shine your shoes, and feed your pets also?”
Cronin’s voice bellowed from the other side of the room. “Not now, but if you screw this up, you may need a new job.”
Bud couldn’t believe he had heard him and said, “Sorry, boss,” as he gave Paul a call to see what was going on.
Cronin sat down at his desk and looked at the Long Island Pulse interview with Paul and Bud. He had asked his secretary to furnish him with additional information on the magazine with an issue. He looked through it and thought it was very well put together. It was an older issue given to him from Gina, dated March, 2011, that had NBC news anchor Soledad O’Brien on the cover. It was an easy read and very informative about local events on Long Island. Almost like the Port Jefferson Now except that was a newspaper form with this being in the form of a magazine.
Under the words Publisher and Editor was the name Nada Marjanovich, who had been in occasional communication with Bud through email over the years. He also noticed the names under Intern and saw The Shannyn T, while everyone else had a regular name. He smiled and noticed in the back of the issue why Bud enjoyed reading it so much. A page filled with interesting facts or great trivia appeared to be a regular feature called “Pulse Rate.”
So, he thought to himself, this must be a source of all his trivia shit. He was surprised to read that 75 percent of all gold in use across the world has only been out of the ground since 1910. He looked at the notes Gina gave him, and it stated the magazine had a 100,000 monthly circulation and was published 10 times a year. He was satisfied to let the interview be published in the issue as he started reviewing the questions and answers.
They were all pretty basic, such as, “How does it feel to be involved in the highest-profile case in Long Island history?” Both Bud and Paul had each answered the questions well, and he saw no problem with the interview until the last question.
“Do you have any potential suspects in the case, and when do you estimate it will be resolved?” Bud had answered, “We have people of interest in the case and those we are checking carefully. We believe, based on the evidence we have compiled, this case will be coming to a close soon.” Paul had answered, “I expect the case to be resolved shortly. Our goal is to stop the killing as soon as possible.”
Cronin wrote down his answer: “We know who is responsible for the killing of innocent people, and the case will be over by the time this article is published. As for the killings by the person wearing the Ghost Face mask, we hope to have it resolved once we arrest the person responsible for killing three innocent people.”
He handed it to Gina to type and send back to the offices of the Long Island Pulse, Attn: The Shannyn T. As Gina typed she stopped as she read what Detective Lieutenant Cronin had written.
She pushed her speakerphone button and asked, “Sir, are you sure this is what you want me to send?”
“Yes,” Cronin answered.
He sat there with his thoughts and knew he should have checked with legal before sending it in, but he knew they would have stopped him. He had never felt so strongly about a case. He knew this was the right thing to do, and he knew that the Long Island Pulse would get it out sooner than the release next week. He thought to himself, Let the games begin. Now let’s separate the men from the boys.
Gina was finished within five minutes and walked in to her boss’s office and said, “Sir, I’m ready to send it through email.”
“Go ahead,” Cronin said. “It’s OK, Gina.”
She sat down at her desk and pushed enter.
The Shannyn T was talking to her pet fish, Pocky, when the email came in, and when she got to the last question that had Cronin’s statements, she started flapping her hands in a violent motion, which was common when she was either excited or extremely nervous. She read his answer three times, and it didn’t change. She printed it out and ran into Nada’s office to show her the interview.
“Read the last question!” The Shannyn T yelled.
As Nada read it, her face turned red. She looked up at her intern and said, “If you were getting paid, I’d give you a raise,” and they both laughed.
Nada picked up her cell phone and called the precinct to speak to Kevin Cronin. She was put through to him right away.
“Thank you, sir, for the information. As you know, our issue is not published until next week. However, due to the nature of your statement, I would like to release it to the networks right away.”
Cronin paused for a moment then said, I had a feeling I would be hearing from you. Thanks for asking. I would be fine with you releasing it, but it would be helpful if you released it to the networks tomorrow morning.”
Nada replied, “Tomorrow morning it is. If I may,” she continued, “why release this to us instead of a Newsday or a New York Post?”
“Well,” Cronin answered, “Bud told me that, although he never met you, you were always cordial and always replied to him with every email, no matter what the contents were. I like that in a businessperson. We are all getting so caught up in our lives that we need to give some time to those who have shown us we are in their thoughts. You never asked him for a story or an interview. I think he appreciated it, and I wanted to respect his opinion on giving you the information.”
Nada was appreciative of his remarks and promised she would hold it until the morning. Cronin disconnected and turned on the little television that was in his office.
Phil’s disposable cell phone rang, and he picked it up before it rang for the second time.
The voice on the other end began talking, saying, “Patty Saunders is going to be released on bail today.”
“What?” Phil interrupted.
“Shut up and listen!” The voice on the other end said. “You are going to meet three guys at the McDonald’s in Miller Place at 8:00 am tomorrow morning. They will be giving you instructions and what is going down. Their names are not important; you will know who they are.”
Phil was getting angry and said, “You are going to have to tell me more than this. Who the fuck are these guys, and how the hell can we trust them? And even if we can, there are only so many ways to split the five million. Besides, I know there is really only three million in cash at the house.”
The voice on the other end got louder and said, “Leave the worries to me. The three guys you are meeting don’t want the cash. They want considerations in return that only I can give them. Simpson is going after the cash to get Saunders on bail. He will have to put $200,000 down today, which means there is $2,800,000 left somewhere. He has to be eliminated as well as Patty, Rachelle Robinson, and the girl.” There was silence on Phil’s end.
“So,” the voice on the other end spoke again. “You got a problem with taking a 12-year-old out?”
“No,” Phil answered. “What I have a problem with is taking out four more people in the next 24 hours while they have protection.”
“That’s what my people will explain to you when they see you. They will help you. The girl remembers every date, every minute, and every detail that she experiences. She cannot be alive when this is over. As for Simpson, I will take care of him myself. He screwed me and now wants to bail out that bitch, and the one no one can seem to kill wants a piece of the action. So they all have to go.”
“OK,” Phil answered. “I will meet your guys. But one other thing. What about the guy running around as Ghost Face?”
“No problem,” the voice said. “First of all, they have a lead on who it may be and think it may possibly be you trying to frame someone. Either way, we don’t have to share the money with as many people.”
“True,” Phil answered. “But how am I going to get off Long Island? They have my photo plastered in print and on the news.”
The voice replied, “Not to worry. I will make sure you get off the island. Once Saunders
is out on bail, she will contact Simpson for the cash. She has to be wasted before she spends all of it getting her ankle monitor off and trying to disappear. One last thing,” the voice said, “just what in the hell are you doing in a Rite Aid store buying Southwest Airline cards for?”
“I thought,” Phil replied, “it would be a backup insurance plan to have them if I needed them.”
The voice laughed and said, “You still have to give a name and show identification. You are seen on surveillance video, and then you leave a phone number for your membership points.”
“It was a disposable phone,” Phil said in defense.
“You got rid of it, right?” the voice asked.
“Yes,” Phil answered.
“Just keep using the one I gave you,” the voice said. “You need me alive to help you, and I need you alive to get rid of the witnesses or anyone that can hurt us.”
“In that case,” Phil said, “I want that son of a bitch Johnson. I want to put a bullet between his eyes like his friend Allan whatever the fuck his last name was. You should have seen his reaction when he saw me just walk in like a Sunday stroll. It was quite a surprise for him.”
“How did the girl get away?” the voice asked.
Phil replied, “Very difficult to explain. She was there in the office with Jones, I saw her, but she was nowhere in sight when I shot him.”
“Well,” the voice said, “you made me look bad because I had sent a note to the precinct saying their lives were over. You should have seen that asshole running from the precinct to his car when he figured out a simple riddle.”
Phil laughed, “He’s gotta go before we get out of this place.”
“Oh, I have a feeling he will die a slow death,” the voice said. “All right,” Phil replied, “let me get ready, and I’ll meet your boys.”
“Where are you staying?” the voice asked.
“Between the gym for showers and using our friend Anderson’s office and the place you let me use on occasion, it’s not easy. The Now offices are closed temporarily, the gym never checks for more than my gym number. I walk in and rattle off my number with no identification, so I’ve been washing there. The cash you gave me helps with local motels, so I’m getting by waiting for the big payday.”
The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel Page 39
