“Tell me about the one that held you down.”
“She never spoke. The man did all the talking. Gave instructions. Do this. Do that. The woman just listened. She seemed … I don’t know. Peculiar somehow.”
“Peculiar how?”
Ellen groped for the words. “Strange. Like she was there but not really there. Sort of wiped out.”
“High? Like on speed or coke?”
“No. Different. Funnier than that. You know, like in movies. Like no will of her own. Whatever the man said, that was okay. Like he could have said jump out the window, and she’d do it.”
Yvonne thought hard and though fast. Jesus, I’ve had it backward all along. Ruben Pulido said it to me. I didn’t listen. Vanessa Santiago may have planted the bombs, but she’s not the bomber. She’s freaked. Beyond control. No, that’s wrong. Under control. Doing exactly what she’s told.
“Ellen.” Yvonne stood up. “I’m going to call EMS. Get you to a hospital. They’ll take care of you.”
“Don’t send me away, Yvonne. Not now. I’m too frightened.”
“I know you are, honey. I know. But I have to leave you now. I have to get back onto the street.” Her hand reached out for the phone. “Trust me, Ellen. It’s important for me to leave.”
“But they’ll kill you! They told me they would. They meant it. He meant it! Jamie will kill you!”
Yvonne froze in her pose. “Jamie? How do you know that name, Ellen? How do you know that name?”
Ellen’s mouth gaped. Her eyes grew wide. “I think I must have heard you use it.”
Yvonne scrutinized her carefully. “Uh-uh. Jamie is a nickname. Used by his friends.” Ellen sat in uneasy silence. “You know him, don’t you? You know Jaime DeVicente.”
“Oh God!” Ellen burst into sobs again. “I’d never hurt you, Yvonne. You know that. Believe me, please. Not knowingly. But I had no choice. He would have killed me. I had no choice”
“He’s been in contact with you?”
“Just once.” She hung her head shamefully. “That was enough.”
Panting, sweating, Yvonne held her gun in one hand and pointed it straight at Ellen Booker’s head. “I swear on Link’s grave I’ll blow you’re goddamned head off if you don’t tell me. All of it. Now!”
Ellen was more than trembling. She was in a near state of panic. “They will kill me. That’s why they came. That’s why they came!”
“Why, Ellen? You betrayed me. All of us. Why?”
“What else could I do? I had to tell them everything — from the beginning. From the very start … ” She wretched involuntarily, sick to her stomach. She put her hands to her mouth and vomited. Yvonne cocked her gun. Her hand was steady as a rock.
“You lied from the start, didn’t you?”
“No, Yvonne. No. I only left out a few things because I knew what would happen to me.”
“Then I’ll save them the trouble. Okay? My partner is dead — maybe because of you. So start speaking.”
She took dead aim. The nozzle of her Smith & Wesson touched the edge of Ellen’s hair. A single cartridge would literally blow her brain apart.
If Ellen Booker had learned one thing, it was that Detective Yvonne DiPalma would use her gun when necessary. She didn’t doubt it for an instant.
Ellen wiped her mouth. “I didn’t lie when I said I didn’t know or never met Vanessa Santiago. Only heard about her. But I had met Jamie. That part I didn’t tell you. Several times since his return from Mexico. But he made us promise we’d never let anyone know he was here. Said it would put him in trouble. Sally agreed. Once or twice he called Sally up and went over. Just to talk. Speak about his friends in Latin America, the new breed of freedom fighters, and how they were winning the revolution against fascism and America. Nicaragua, El Salvador … The contacts he’d made while in Mexico, and how much he’d learned.”
“Go on.”
“He said he’d do the same here. Only American-style terrorism. Sally laughed at him. She never took him seriously. No one ever had. Sally said he was like a child. Angry at his father. Jamie said no. She didn’t understand what it was all about. Nobody did. Not even Los Campions. And even they were disbanded. Ruben in prison. Ruben was weak anyway, he said. Didn’t have the balls for the real struggle. Never did. All talk. All bullshit and no action. Only one person did understand. Only one person he could really count on. His sister.”
“Sister? What are you talking about? DeVicente doesn’t have a sister.”
“You’re wrong, Yvonne. He does. Why don’t you ask Jamie’s father, the big shot in Albany?”
“You spell it out for me, Ellen.”
She nodded. “Years ago, William DeVicente had an affair with a poor latin woman. She became pregnant. He was already married, practicing law, and the possibility of a scandal would have hurt his career. So it was all quietly hushed up. The woman was alone and helpless, had no choice anyway. DeVicente wanted her to have an abortion. She refused. She’s very religious. He dumped her forever, warning her never to breathe a word of it. She named the infant Vanessa.”
Chills trickled along Yvonne’s spine. “Nadia Santiago,” she gasped. “Vanessa is Jamies’ half-sister.” She whispered the words, unwilling to believe it, but somehow knowing it was true. “Vanessa Santiago is the illegitimate daughter of the special assistant to the governor.”
“Now you know it all. Nadia was shut up years ago,” said Ellen. “It all happened long before William DeVicente gained any political reputation, although he was hungry for it. Ambition. Nothing was going to spoil it for him.” Ellen frowned bitterly. “Since that episode he’s paid off plenty to get rid of any records that might show him to be the father. Jamie admitted to that much himself. He learned about it, found out somehow many years ago. Now he hates his father. Despises him and loathes everything he stands for. The corruption, the lies, the deceit. The whole system. And he’s ready to help bring it down. Prove he’s not just a rich punk kid with an important daddy. Prove it to Ruben Pulido, to the world, and maybe, most of all, to himself. He’s ruthless. Fanatic.”
“So he used Vanessa all the way.”
“Used? I didn’t know it, Yvonne. Not until now. Not the way it really is. I don’t know if Vanessa is anything more than a victim herself.”
“Of DeVicente?”
“It … It’s a very sick relationship, Yvonne. Vanessa doesn’t know what she’s doing. Not anymore. She’s deeply disturbed, Jamie told Sally. Jamie loves her. I mean in more ways than a brother should. That’s the real reason he left Los Campions. Jealousy of Ruben. Of Ruben’s relationship with Vanessa. He confided once to Sally that Ruben was captured because of him. It was a setup. Jamie informed on him. Warned the police about the robbery and where Ruben could be found. They were waiting there to pick him up. Feds as well as local police. And now he’s in prison.”
“Is Ruben aware of any of this?”
“Sally confided she was going to tell him in a letter.”
“Which might have made Ruben turn against De-Vicente. So he killed Sally. Coldly. Brutally. One of his only friends.”
“That’s right. Now do you understand why I’m so afraid? My life to him is meaningless. Had I told you before I’d be dead now.”
“Does Vanessa know any of what you’ve told me?”
“Most of it, yes. She’s so screwed up anyway it doesn’t matter.”
The death threat against the governor, Yvonne realized, was as much a hidden threat against her own father. Jaime’s father. No wonder William DeVicente was so eager to throw P.D. off the track. This would ruin him. Perhaps ruin the entire administration as well. “So Vanessa finally found a way to get even with the world.”
“She’ll believe anything Jamie says. He’s shown her a way to make all her delusions come true. Remember, he’s all that’s left in her life now. She needs him. And he’ll protect her with his life. He has to. Without Vanessa, it would be his head you’re after. He’ll keep it so that Vanessa remains the tar
get. Do anything, even kill for her.”
“He already has.”
“And you’ll be next because you already know too much. He knows the police are hunting Vanessa. Knows half the world is. But only you have the edge. Eliminate you and he remains off the hook.”
Yvonne let her hand slip to her side, barrel of the gun pointing toward the floor. My God, he’s got to be stopped. They both have to be stopped.
It suddenly meant nothing to Yvonne that Armageddon — Jaime DeVicente — was determined to stop her first.
Easy, kid, she told herself. You don’t want to frighten anyone. Just be cool. Stay loose, kid. Stay loose.
She put the coins in the public telephone, dialed. A subway train rumbled along the other side of the station. The phone rang. Three times, four times. Six. Dammit! Answer, dammit.
On the seventh ring a sleepy voice picked it up. “Hello?”
“Karen? Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I know how late it is.”
“Yvonne?”
“Yes. Is Warren there? I’ve got to speak with him, quickly.”
There was a pause of hesitation on the other end. “Yvonne, where are you?”
“That doesn’t matter now. Please, Karen, get Warren for me. I have new information he has to know.”
“Warren’s not here. He hasn’t been home since yesterday. He’s looking for you. He called earlier tonight. What’s happened, Yvonne? He sounded upset. He said no one knew where you were.”
“It’s all right, at least for the moment. I’m safe. But others may not be.” I’m saying too much, she realized. Warren’s in enough danger himself already. Don’t implicate Karen as well. “Listen to me, Karen. Tell Warren that I called. Tell him there’s a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” She sounded worried. Very worried.
“Nothing that can’t be handled. Have you got any idea where Warren might be?”
“He only said that he was ordered to find you no matter how long it took. What’s going on? I have a right to know, Yvonne. Are you in danger? Is Warren?”
“No. Nothing like that. Just, er, a foul-up. If he phones you back, let him know I’m all right. Tell him to have Ellen Booker put under close arrest. Can you do that for me?”
“Let me get a pen. Hold on.” It seemed forever until Karen Resnick returned. Yvonne glanced at her watch. It was close to four in the morning. She’d had no idea of the time. She knew only that right now there were very few people she could trust. Maybe only Warren, and no one else at all.
“Okay, Yvonne. Go ahead.”
The noise of the incoming train was deafening. Yvonne held one hand to her ear as the train screeched to a halt. She raised her voice. “Ellen Booker lied to us. Have someone interrogate her thoroughly. She’s still at my place, but she won’t be for long. She’s running scared. No, don’t say all that. Just tell him to have her picked up. And that I was as right as ever. Also to alert everyone about an APB on a man named Jaime DeVicente. Can you get all that?”
“I think so. Pick up Ellen Booker. An APB on someone called DeVicente. Is that all?”
“That’ll be fine, Karen. Thank you.”
“Where can Warren reach you? He’ll want to know.”
“Right now, he can’t. I’ll try and find him. Don’t worry.”
“Yvonne … ” another pause, then: “Be careful, okay?”
“Okay.” She hung up the phone.
The train pulled out of the station, almost devoid of passengers. Yvonne sat in the last car. Her head was swimming. As the train moved she reconstructed the pieces. So many threads to sew together, so many more possibilities of what might happen next that it staggered her mind. Was it only her own cover that was blown, she wondered. Or by now had Armageddon made a hit list of everyone? She could only pray that Warren was safe and possibly alert to what was going on. What about Spinrad, though? Was he marked as well? Surely Ellen Booker was as good as dead if Warren didn’t get the message to have her held in protective custody. Would tonight’s revelations change anything? Make DeVicente think twice about the next bombing, now only two days away? Yvonne didn’t think so — but she couldn’t be sure. She searched her mind for anything conceivably left undone: any loophole, any added precaution she might take before embarking upon her new plan. As much seemed to be in order as could be put in order, she decided. So now there was only the waiting game. Less than forty-eight hours. One way or the other.
She repeated that final thought over again: one way or the other.
A fog horn blew in the distance. A thin mist had settled over the skyline of Manhattan. At South Ferry Station she got out and boarded the ferry to Staten Island along with a mere tired handful of others. Dawn was still several hours away. Black water rushed against the wooden ferry’s bow as the boat tugged on its lines at its berth. Elongated shadows danced across the hulking structure. The broad-beamed boat creaked as it gently rocked in black water, preparing for its short journey. The Pulaski was nearly half a century old and still in good service. Faithfully shuttling passengers back and forth between the tip of Manhattan and the outer borough of Staten Island.
After what seemed like a long wait Yvonne could feel the engine revving up and the lumbering old propellers beginning to spin. Atop the double-ended ship stood two pilot houses, where now the captain stood aft at his controls. He began to maneuver the bulky craft away from the slip, following the current into the open channel. Beneath the main passenger deck stood a lower deck carrying cargo of cars. Passenger cars and vans, four abreast, commuters to and from the city. Only at this hour there were barely a handful of vehicles. This was the last ferry out of Manhattan until morning. A forty minute ride across chilly waters and icy winds to tree-lined suburbs of safe schools and pretty houses.
Yvonne wandered among the empty rows of plastic seats, finally settling into one along the aisle. She threw back her head and nestled in the chair with crossed arms and legs. She felt cold, and she felt lonely. Perhaps as lonely and alone as she’d ever been in her whole life.
Were they watching her, she wondered. Had they followed her through the night, watching her every move, as Ellen had warned? She wasn’t certain. More than once she’d nervously turned to look behind at some suspicious figure. Sometimes there had been someone there, sometimes there hadn’t. Only strangers, though. Lost in their own worlds and thoughts and dreams. Not hers. Not Vanessa’s. Not Armageddon’s.
She was as vulnerable as could be, she knew. Pained. Hurting. Frightened. Betrayed. Filled with grief. A wounded urban animal out in the open, unprotected except for her own weapon and wits. Didn’t they know her weakness? What were they waiting for?
They’ll come. She assured herself of that. But not on my terms. They’ll come in their own time.
This new day was about to begin. Tomorrow would herald the opening of the awaited exposition. So it couldn’t go on much longer. The prey and the hunter would have to cross paths. Armageddon wanted her dead. Needed her dead. Almost as much as she needed Armageddon dead. This was what it all came down to. What she had wanted from the very start. The chance to meet her adversary alone.
At this moment, though, she needed some time. Not much time, really. Just a few hours with Fran. To be with her sister, cry in her arms. It was something she had to do, owed to herself. How would Fran react? Would she be unwelcome now? Would she spurn her, turn her back as Fran believed she had done these past weeks? All Yvonne wanted — needed — was to share at least a few moments of their mutual pain and perhaps find some peace in solitude. But now would her being there possibly put Fran’s life in jeopardy as well? It was a chilling thought. One that Yvonne couldn’t reconcile.
Did they know these fears as well?
Hate welled inside her. And not just against her antagonist. Right now she wanted to rail against the world. Scream against its terrible injustices. A rotting system that perpetuates itself endlessly. A system that allows life to be snubbed out like breath on the flame of a candle.
Yesterday Link was a martyred hero. Tomorrow, though, he’d be all but forgotten. Another statistic. No sorrow. Not even a memorial to remember him by. Just a name and number buried somewhere in the city’s hall of records. Lost and forgotten.
Would it have been any different for her? If Armageddon proved triumphant, if she were to die, would anyone really care beyond a few days of headlines and editorials? Of course not. Just yet another good cop killed in the line of duty. Tragic, but isn’t that what cops are paid for? To put their lives at risk?
It struck her then, as it had often lately, how much she and her avowed enemy held in common. Will, determination, strength of conviction. But most of all, perhaps, rage. A deep, smoldering inner anger that was the most powerful of all emotions. In her own way she channeled this anger at those who broke laws. Armageddon’s anger was no different — only misdirected at those who made those laws. Perverse, but true in a clinically insane way.
There was no right, there was no wrong. There was only the here and now. The players on the stage: a criminal psychopath who craved perverted justice in the name of helpless souls like Nadia Santiago. Who cared nothing for human life — including his own. A twentieth century dragon spitting fire and vengeance at civilization.
Enter Yvonne DiPalma. An upholder of the rules of civilization. Given a badge and a gun in its name. And granted a license to kill. To serve as society’s dragon-slayer.
Yes, we are alike, you bastard. We both know it, don’t we?
She held that anguished thought close in mind. The lights of Manhattan grew hazy in the distance. The spray of the waves and rocking of the boat made her feel sleepy. Yvonne realized she’d hardly slept at all in the last twenty-four hours.
The shoreline of Staten Island began to loom. Almost lightless, except for the headlights of traffic along the highway. The ferry would berth in less than ten minutes. She allowed herself the luxury of yawning and stretching out. As she started to shut her eyes she became aware of a burning odor. She snapped dramatically back into reality. Nearby, several dozing passengers also looked around, puzzled.
Black Midnight Page 25
