Fury (The Butch Karp and Marlene Ciampi Series Book 17)

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  “She doesn’t have to answer,” Karp said. “In fact, she’s free to leave.”

  “It’s okay, Harvey,” Ryder said. She turned back to Marlene. “Yes, of course I struggled. I did not want to be raped.”

  “No, I’m sure you didn’t,” Marlene said. “But what I’d like to direct everyone’s attention to is how the rope burns are perpendicular to her wrists; they look like bracelets.” She hit the button and another slide came up. “This photograph was taken from a case I did ten years ago of a woman who was tied up in the fashion described by Ms. Ryder. Notice how the burns don’t go directly across her wrist, but travel at more of a diagonal toward her hand, as though she was trying to pull her hand free of the ropes.”

  “Oh, so now you’re a forensic contusions expert,” Rachman scoffed.

  “No,” Marlene replied evenly, “but I have retained someone who is and that will be his testimony.”

  “Weak,” Rachman said. “We have an expert who will say that the contusions on Ms. Ryder were consistent with her story.”

  “Maybe so,” Marlene said, “but do you also have an expert who is going to explain how Ted Vanders’s semen got into the panties Sarah Ryder wore to the rape examination?”

  Sarah Ryder stiffened and turned white. Schmellmann began to sputter about miscarriages of justice. And Rachel Rachman screeched, “What? What kind of bullshit trick is this?”

  Karp interrupted again and turned to Richardson. “Detective, are you aware of anything that might shed some light on the current discussion?”

  “Yes, sir,” Richardson replied. “We’ve been aware for some weeks now—as has Ms. Rachman because I personally forwarded the information to her—that semen had been found in the panties of the complainant that did not match that of the accused.”

  “Yet, if I’m remembering this correctly,” Karp said, “Ms. Ryder claims that she had not had sexual contact with another man for a period of months before the alleged rape?”

  “All we know is that the semen was not a match for Michalik,” Rachman interjected. “And once again, am I the only one here who recalls that the victim’s sexual history is not relevant?”

  “Well, first of all, the shield laws are not absolute,” Marlene said. “What is relevant is that the blood type of the person whose semen was left in the panties is a match for Ted Vanders. We’re still waiting on DNA testing to be sure, but if I was a betting woman, I’d mortgage the house to get to Vegas with this one.”

  Marlene explained how she’d obtained a blood sample from Ted Vanders—leaving out that she knew the combatants in the hallway. “It was just a couple of bums brawling in the hall and Ted stuck his nose in there and got it punched,” she said.

  “Your sample was illegally obtained. It would never stand up in court,” Schmellmann said. “You didn’t have a warrant and I’m sure Mr. Vanders did not consent.”

  Marlene shrugged. “It was my handkerchief. I can do anything I want with it, including having it tested.”

  Rachman’s eyes narrowed. “You set that up. You were ready with your little handkerchief. The judge will see that and throw out your ‘evidence,’ and you’ll be lucky he doesn’t throw the book at you, too.”

  “You want to bet?” Marlene replied. “You want to bet that I can’t get a judge to order a blood test on Vanders even if my ‘evidence’ isn’t admissible? And you want to bet that I can’t make that worm Ted squirm on the witness stand until he cracks and tells the jury how he entered a conspiracy with that woman”—Marlene pointed a finger at Ryder—“to frame Alexis Michalik for sexual assault. When I’m done with him, it will be your ‘victim’ who’ll be hauled off in handcuffs.”

  Marlene took her eyes off Ryder and looked over at her husband so she didn’t see the danger until it was too late. With a shriek, Sarah Ryder pulled a pair of scissors from her purse and launched herself over the table at Marlene. “You fucking bitch,” she screamed. “You ruined my fucking plan.”

  Marlene would have been too late to avoid the attack. But Kipman saw Ryder coming and turned in front of Marlene to shield her, presenting his back to the assault. He took the scissors in his shoulder. The three—Marlene, Kipman, and Ryder—then tumbled to the ground as Karp, Rachman, and Schmellmann looked on in shock.

  The two women sprang to their feet while Kipman lay gasping on the ground with the scissors protruding from his back. The confrontation didn’t last much longer. Marlene, who’d been schooled in the “sweet science” by older brothers since childhood, tagged Ryder with two quick, hard left jabs, which rocked her head back, and then turned out the lights with a right cross. Ryder went to the ground like a sack of rice.

  Just as suddenly, Karp shouted to Fulton to cuff Ryder and ran over to Kipman. Fulton ran over and picked the still-groggy woman off the floor, placed her hands behind her back, and put on a pair of bracelets.

  Kipman was lying on his side, bleeding through his shirt. The bloody scissors were off to one side.

  When Harry’s eyes met Karp’s, Kipman said with righteous indignation, “So much for the shield law.”

  After Kipman was hauled off by the paramedics, Marlene said, “Well, except for poor Harry, I’m glad we had this little meeting. What can I tell my client?”

  “I guess you can tell him that he will not be charged,” Karp said.

  Marlene popped up out of her chair like a kid being released for summer vacation. She walked over and kissed Karp. “I’ll see you at home. I’m going to go call the Michaliks and tell them the good news, then suggest a good civil attorney to bring a lawsuit against the university…oh, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a good case against the city for Ms. Rachman’s behavior.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Karp said. “We’re closing shop at noon today, so I’ll see you in about an hour?”

  When Marlene scooted out the door, Rachman stood and quietly swept her papers into a pile and stuffed them into her briefcase without looking at Karp. She started to move toward the door.

  “Detective Richardson, do you have your handcuffs with you?” Karp asked.

  “Sure do.”

  “Then would you kindly place Ms. Rachman under arrest.”

  Rachman blinked at him several times, and then her face flushed angrily. “You can’t arrest me,” she said. “What for? All that stuff about the janitor is crap. He’s a drunk. And who cares if she had sex with someone? Besides, how was I to know that Ryder had a screw loose. I was just doing my job.”

  Karp held up a hand. “You disgraced this office. You’ve forgotten what your job is. At the very least, you’ll be indicted for obstruction of justice, false imprisonment, and withholding evidence in a criminal case. Your zealotry cost a man his job, his reputation, enormous embarrassment and pain, and very nearly his freedom. I will also personally see to it that you are disbarred. You are going to swing for this one, Rachman, big time.”

  He looked at the detective. “Now do me a favor, Scott, and get her out of my sight.”

  An hour later, he walked up the stairs to the loft, hoping that the federal agents were wrong and that he could just spend a nice, quiet, safe New Year’s Eve with his family. He knew that wasn’t going to happen when he walked in the door and saw Jojola lying on the couch, Ned and Lucy tending to him, while Tran stood next to Marlene, who was holding a sobbing Giancarlo.

  “What now?” he asked.

  Marlene looked up at him with fear and rage in her eyes. “Terrorists have Zak and they’re planning on blowing up Times Square tonight.”

  28

  KARP AND MARLENE SQUARED OFF IN THE MIDDLE OF THE living room. Tran and two of his men stood by the door as if ready to flee, while Jojola lay on the couch. Ned sat in one of the easy chairs with Lucy on his lap, her head nestled against his chest. Giancarlo had been given a mild sedative by Dr. Le and was napping.

  “I’ve got to call Jaxon,” Karp said.

  “No, please, let us do this,” Marlene pleaded. “Our son’s life is at stake.”

&n
bsp; “And if we don’t stop these guys, thousands—no, make that tens of thousands—of other people could die,” Karp said.

  “You heard John, they’re ready to blow it now if they have to,” Marlene said. “Our only chance is to convince Grale to help. The Mole People are the only ones who know the sewers and tunnels well enough to get us close. But you get a bunch of feds crashing around down there—I don’t care how good they are—and the Mole People will disappear. I’m betting there’s a lot of them who don’t want to be found by the police. And as soon as the terrorists get wind that there’s something wrong, they’ll light the whole place up.”

  “We can shut down Times Square and try to get everybody out of there,” Karp argued.

  “What makes you think that the terrorists aren’t watching for that?” Marlene asked. “There’s already a few hundred thousand people wandering around in Times Square—half of them drunk. If I’m a terrorist, I have someone watching the crowd; if the cops suddenly start moving people out, I take it as a sign that they’re on to me, and I get however many I can by lighting the fuse before all the chickens have flown the coop.”

  Karp knew that what she was saying made sense in that twisted Ciampi way. Why else was he even entertaining the idea of not picking up the telephone and calling Jaxon? He was trying not to let his fears for his son enter into the equation, but between Marlene’s arguments and the image of Zak in the hands of terrorists, he felt his resolve weakening. “So what makes you think you’d be any more successful?” he asked in a last-ditch attempt to stick to his guns.

  Marlene felt the opening and went for it. “We’ll go in as just a small group. Me, John, Tran, and some of Tran’s men. The key will be contacting Grale and getting him to help.”

  “Wait a second. I also heard John say that Grale’s gone off the deep end…or maybe I should say the deeper end,” Karp said. “At best, he sees this as the forces of good—him and the Mole People—versus the forces of evil in some climactic underground battle that they either win or Times Square gets nuked. At worst, he imagines this as some biblical milestone along the road to Armageddon…‘the moment we’ve all been waiting for, folks.’ He might even try to prevent you from interfering with the will of God.”

  “That’s why I’m going, too,” Lucy interjected.

  “Like hell you are,” said her parents.

  “If David is losing it, I’m the only one here he might still listen to,” Lucy insisted, getting up off Ned’s lap. “You know as well as I do that he believes—as do I—that there’s some preordained connection between us, some act in a play we’re in that the curtain hasn’t closed on yet.”

  “Very poetic,” Karp said, “but no way do I risk losing my daughter as well as my son.”

  “It’s not up to you, Daddy,” Lucy said softly. “I make my own decisions. Zak’s my brother, but even if he weren’t in danger, a lot of other people are going to die if I don’t get to David.”

  Karp was still trying to adjust to being told by his little girl that he wasn’t responsible for her safety anymore when Tran spoke up. “She’s right,” he said. “Our best chance is doing this the Vietcong way. A small, fast group using stealth to get behind the enemy’s lines and hit him when and where he doesn’t expect it. Perhaps with a diversion to draw his attention elsewhere, but not so large—like your friend with the FBI would certainly do—that the terrorists panic and set off their bomb prematurely. We have to count on Grale’s belief that the leader of the terrorists intends to be long gone before the bomb is set off—that’s why he has the escape route.”

  Karp studied Tran for a moment. The wide face was still handsome though furrowed with lines of age, as well as joy and sorrow, the once jet-black hair now more of a gunmetal blue-gray. The teacher-turned-guerilla–turned-bandit chief was an interesting dichotomy. He’d been such a loyal friend to Karp’s family, especially Marlene, whom Karp suspected Tran was in love with. But he was also the head of a crime syndicate and had no compunctions about using violence, even murder, to achieve his ends. He’d known the man for more than a decade, yet knew so little about what made him tick; he was sure, however, that the man’s loyalties lay with Marlene and arguing with him wasn’t going to accomplish anything.

  Karp turned to Jojola, hoping that as a police chief, the Indian would side with the notion of calling in law enforcement. Two hours after Karp had arrived home to find that the world had just gone to hell in a handbasket, Jojola was already looking better. His wound—an ugly, festering bite—had been cleaned and treated; a second shot of penicillin seemed to have kicked the infection, at least temporarily, and chilled his fever. But instead of siding with him, Jojola suggested a compromise.

  “I’m afraid I have to agree with Lucy and…,” Jojola started to say Cop, an indication of how his emotions had been warring since that moment in the tunnel. “…and Tran. We’re going to need the element of surprise to take out the enemy’s leadership, save Zak, and secure the bomb.”

  “What then?” Karp said. “So you’re sitting on the bomb when these guys regroup and come to take it back. From what I’ve heard, these terrorists have trained men with them, too.”

  Jojola nodded. “Yes, that’s where my plan would go a bit beyond what Marlene and Tran have already proposed.”

  “How so?”

  “I’d say give us two hours, and then send in the cavalry.” The others murmured their agreement.

  Feeling that he’d reached the best settlement under the circumstances, Karp voiced his final objection. “Okay, you do it your way, for two hours only. But I still don’t like the idea of Lucy going. John, you and Tran know what you’re doing, and God only knows that my wife has a certain flair for this sort of thing, though I’d hoped we’d moved beyond that. But Tran has worked with the Mole People; maybe he can persuade Grale without Lucy.”

  Before Lucy could answer, Jojola spoke up again. “I’m also going to side with Lucy on this one. I know this might not seem like a logical reason to you. But my dream told me that Grale was alive and that I needed to find him. I found him and now we know what we’re up against.

  “Lucy also has had a dream of these tunnels and Grale’s role in this. Our fates seem to be tied to each other—the three of us, and I suspect you, Marlene, Tran, even the boys. Now, it could be that the end result is only that we die together, and that these dreams and the coincidences that have played out are only the spirits’ way of calling us home. But I have to think that there’s something more to this. Some reason that goes beyond a common death. And I think Lucy is meant to be our link to Grale.”

  The room was quiet except for the panting of Gilgamesh. Then Ned, who’d stayed in the background listening to what sounded like some scene out of a Hollywood spy movie, spoke up. “I’m going too.”

  “Sorry, Ned, but no,” Marlene said. “I know you want to protect Lucy, but this isn’t a good idea. I don’t like Lucy going, but at least the risk makes sense.”

  “I can shoot.”

  “Tin cans and rabbits,” Jojola said. “There is a difference when the target is a human being and he’s shooting back at you. I don’t doubt your courage, but this is not a Wild West show.”

  “Then I’ll follow you,” Ned said. He pointed to Lucy. “Wherever she goes, I go. Try to stop me, and we’ll find out whether I’m any good at shooting human targets.”

  The older of Tran’s men laughed. “Americans are all such cowboys,” he scoffed. “They think they can ride in, bang, bang, the bad men are all dead. Then off into the sunset.”

  Tran cut him off. “Perhaps, but there is something about their cowboy mythology that you don’t realize and that is they don’t believe they can lose, even when they’re beaten. If you haven’t completely forgotten our own history, you might recall what happened to us at Khe Sanh. Yes, we eventually won our country—only to see a new tyrant take the old tyrant’s place—but it wasn’t due to the lack of courage or fighting ability of these American cowboys.”

  “An
d Indians,” Jojola said. “When you talk about cowboys, don’t forget the Indians.” He meant it lightly, but Tran’s face grew sad.

  “No,” he replied. “I will never forget the Indians, especially those who hunted us.”

  Jojola’s face darkened. “At least we didn’t murder almost every man, woman, and child in the Hmong village, or cut off their ears for the sin of ‘listening to the Americans.’ At least the men we hunted could defend themselves.”

  Tran furrowed his brow. “You think that was my doing?” he said. “I was told that was an atrocity committed by a traitor among you—a South Vietnamese officer and his men—because he suspected that the Hmong were helping us. It wasn’t true, by the way, but my men and I left them alone.” A light dawned on Tran’s face. “Ahhh, now I know why you and your partner began taking the ears of my men. It did not seem like your way at the time.”

  “And what about my friend—his name, by the way, was Charlie Many Horses,” Jojola said. “You killed him.”

  “How can you blame me for that?” Tran said. “He was trying to kill me.”

  Jojola was quiet. “I will need to ask Charlie what he wants me to do,” he said at last. “I have lived with the hatred of Cop for so long; it is a tough thing to realize that my old enemy is also my new friend.”

  “In the meantime, we have a whole new set of enemies for you two,” Marlene said. “When do we go?”

  “We will have to wait until dark—four hours from now,” Tran said. “The police are all over the area now, and a bunch of people running around with guns is going to attract more than the usual amount of attention. I have two men watching the theater now; with the two I have here our little band of sappers comes to nine.”

  “Ten,” Karp said. “Zak’s my son. I’m going, too.”

  “Sorry, Butch, but we need you here to call in the cavalry,” Marlene said. He started to argue but she put her fingers to his lips. “Please, my love, you know I’m right. Besides, if…if something happens, Giancarlo will need you. But I think we will need a tenth member.”