She stood, pulled off her jacket and covered Roy Ingram with it. Then she rushed down the stairs.
It was virtually lightless. Only dim shards of pale light seeped through cracks in the wood ceiling above. She felt for the wall. It was roughly hewn brick. South Street was one of the oldest parts of the city. And below the surface were a labyrinth of man-made tunnels, some of them more than a century old. Some leading to sewers, others to deserted subway tunnels, and others to what had been the thriving docks of its busy harbor.
It was hot and hard to breathe. Her heart pumped blood faster and faster to compensate for the lack of oxygen in her lungs. She moved forward as quickly as she could, feeling her way at times, frequently stumbling along broken stones. The passage turned, then turned again. She could smell seaweed. A tang of salt. The water was close. They were at the edge of the seaport itself. The crowds were directly above. She could almost make out the tinny voice coming from the loudspeakers.
A shaft of light appeared from ahead. An entrance to a storeroom of some kind showed itself off to the side. She struggled to catch her breath. Santa Claus and another figure darted away from the brightness and into the dank room.
Wiping sweat from her brow, Yvonne approached the door slowly. She had them, she knew. Had them both. But what about the bomb? Had it already been set?
DeVicente had taken off the Santa Claus beard and hat. He was standing over a slender figure sitting passively in the corner of the storeroom. Yvonne stood in the doorway and pointed her gun directly at them.
She said nothing. They saw her and stared.
“Make one move and you’re both dead,” she said coldly. The barrel of her Smith & Wesson aimed straight for DeVicente’s heart.
DeVicente made no effort to argue. He lifted his arms high. Vanessa Santiago stayed as she was, making no effort to move.
“You too, up!”
Vanessa Santiago shared a look with her companion. Jaime DeVicente nodded, and she stood with her hands behind her head. The storeroom was filled with buckets and old mops, paint cans, orange crates turned into makeshift furniture. The only light was provided by a small oil lamp. There were a few blankets and pillows in one corner. Yvonne realized they had been staying down here, probably for days. Planning their moves ever so carefully.
“Move out into the center of the room,” she hissed, directing them with her gun.
“You won’t need that, Yvonne.”
Hearing the voice of her tormentor startled her more than his use of her name.
She wiped her brow with her left forearm. Then she stepped inside. “I want to know where you planted the charge,” she said calmly.
DeVicente smiled. “Look up the governor’s ass.”
“I count to ten — then I shoot. No questions asked. Understand me?”
“It really doesn’t matter anymore, Yvonne.” He was brazen, this cool, calculating psychopath. He looked so plain, so ordinary. Little more than a kid. Nothing special or interesting about him at all. The only striking feature was that his nose was crooked. It had once been broken. “It’s over, DeVicente. For you and for Vanessa.”
“For a long time now, Yvonne.”
She started off her count.
“I won’t tell you a thing. Not that it matters. The timer was set two days ago. We didn’t even have to be here.”
“You’re lying.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To see it happen. Witness it. You spoiled that for me. I was looking forward to the view.” He shrugged as if all he were speaking about was a missed day at the beach. “Nevertheless, the bomb is going to detonate with or without me. So you can shoot whenever you feel like.”
Her eyes tightened. “Why? Why did you do it?”
“Why? Because it had to be done.” If she were expecting him to spout political ideology she was mistaken. “See, Yvonne, not everyone has a price. Sometimes you misjudge people. Like what’s going on above us now. Those politicians up there; know what they are? Garbage. Human garbage. They prey on people. Use them. Grow rich off them.”
“And you slaughter them.”
“Wrong again. I warn them. It cost a handful of lives, but so what? I had to reach the people by the millions. It was the only way. What difference if a few suffer. People die in this city every day. More murders in a week than I killed altogether.”
“You murdered innocent people. Mutilated Sally Cooperman, Sam Battaglia.”
“There’s always a price, isn’t there? What is it the politicians are fond of saying? No free lunch?” His thin mouth widened into another smile. “When those like Ruben are long dead and forgotten, I’ll be remembered. Immortal in a way. It’s a good feeling knowing you’ll be the vanguard of what will alter this rotting society forever. What matter is life when you can have that.”
“You are a very disturbed man, DeVicente.”
“Like father, like son.” He lifted his brows, brown eyes gazing at the ceiling. “Any moment now the governor is going to speak.”
“And you’ve timed your bomb for the event?”
“You seem frightened, Yvonne. Afraid of death? Yours will be quicker than I planned. Not like your black partner. When I shot him I could see the pain. I watched him bleed.”
“You son of a bitch — ”
He threw himself to the floor, reaching inside his shirt for his Magnum. Yvonne didn’t hesitate. Before he could fire her .38s exploded inside his chest. Jaime DeVicente’s body lurched like a puppet on strings. Blood sprayed like a shower. His body convulsed for a moment, then stilled at her feet. Shades of darker red spread across the Santa Claus costume and into pools.
Vanessa kneeled over him. She stared down at the corpse with no sign of emotion. Then she looked up at Yvonne.
“Which boat? Where’s the charge?” hissed Yvonne. Time was down to minutes at the most, she knew. And if she had to, she’d kill Vanessa as quickly as she had DeVicente.
Large, expressive eyes gazed at her. Childlike. Sad. So sad. So pained. “The Santa Gloria,” she said. “Brazil.”
At that moment there was noise from behind. A panting Winnegar and Spinrad came running. They stood with drawn guns in the archway.
Yvonne breathed with relief. “Thank God you’re here.”
Winnegar shouted over his shoulder to Spinrad. “Got that? It’s the Brazilian ship. Santa Gloria. Clear the dais! Ship could go up any second. Move it — now!”
Face beaded with perspiration, Spinrad sped as fast as his weight could carry back down the tunnel.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
She moved closer to Vanessa. “You’d better come with me.”
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked. Her voice was so fragile, Yvonne realized. Expression so confused and frightened.
Yvonne could have burst into tears at the sight of her. How much she had come to loathe the image of this woman. Painted a portrait in her mind of some homicidal maniac. What stood pitifully in front of her was someone quite different. Vanessa Santiago was a lovely young woman, beautiful in every respect. Except inside her tortured brain. She had become a child almost, bewildered and beyond understanding. Her mind unable to comprehend the reality of what had happened. Lost forever in a fantasy world. It was true: She didn’t know why she was doing what she had done. Just being guided and told. Ruben Pulido had not really lied to her after all. Only tried to shield what he knew was a very ill and tragic woman he loved.
She hated DeVicente for what he’d done; used Vanessa as his tool of vengeance, his willing pawn in a game that had taken far too many lives. She prayed to Cod that his stilled body would move, rise up — so she could shoot him down again. And in that moment of anguish and tormented anger she remembered a promise. A promise made long ago to Ruben Pulido. That if possible she would bring Vanessa Santiago in. To find help. Perhaps one day even a return to reality.
She dropped her gun to her side. �
��No,” she said softly as Winnegar stood silent behind. “I’m not going to kill you. Nobody is. I’m going to try and help you get well.”
“Jamie told me I shouldn’t listen to what others say. He told me they would only hurt me.”
“No one’s going to hurt you,” Yvonne said gently. “There are people who really do want to help you, Vanessa. Can you believe that? Can you trust me?”
Blood smeared over her hands and clothes, Vanessa rose to her feet. “I’d like to see my mother.”
“Sure, honey. I’ll have your mother come to see you.” Vanessa smiled like a happy child. Yvonne put her arm around her shoulder. “Now let’s get out of here, okay?”
“Okay.”
The .38 bullet slammed through Vanessa’s chest. Yvonne gaped in horror, frozen. Vanessa was hurled forcefully back against the wall, then slowly slumped to the floor. Her expression was inquisitive. Then her eyes closed and she quietly died.
Winnegar stood emotionlessly in the doorway, gun in hand.
Yvonne lunged for him. “Why did you do it? Why? You son of a bitch!”
“Listen to me, Yvonne — ”
Then the blast shook the warehouse to its foundation.
XXXII
“You bastard, why? Why did you do it?”
“Sit down, Yvonne, will you?”
She ignored him, continuing to pace across the office. She inhaled on her cigarette, angrily snubbed it out in the ashtray. Without hesitation she lighted another one.
Winnegar squirmed in his chair. “The press conference begins in half an hour. They’ll be expecting us downstairs. The mayor is going to officiate. You, Resnick, and Spinrad are going to personally be given citations by the commissioner. There’ll also be a special posthumous one for Link.”
“That supposed to make everything somehow all right?” she flared.
He went on as if he hadn’t heard: “And, as you probably know, your promotion will become effective immediately. Congratulations, Lieutenant DiPalma.”
She glared harshly. “You make me sick, know that? All of you. A bunch of snakes.”
“They’re expecting to meet the team that broke Armageddon wide open,” he doggedly continued. “We want maximum publicity out of this.”
“All right. I’ll be at your damn press conference.”
“Not mine — the mayor’s.”
She leaned over his desk, palms flat. “But you’re not going to like what I have to say, any of you. I’ll blow this whole thing up in all your faces. The press will have a lot more questions to be answered by the time I get through.”
Winnegar’s demeanor turned a shade darker. He kept his temper under control. “You’re acting like a fool, DiPalma. Something I never expected from you.”
“And killing someone in cold blood is something I never expected from you. Why, Joe? For God’s sake, why did you shoot her? She was in my custody. Wasn’t going to harm anyone.”
“She was unstable. Armed. I — we — caught Armageddon committing a criminal act and prevented her from ever hurting anybody else again.”
“She wasn’t the bomber. DeVicente was. He was already dead by the time you got there. We both know it.”
“Oh yeah? Remember Lady Luck? Link himself, dying in the hospital, told you it was Vanessa Santiago who planted that bomb. We also have every reason to believe she planted the one at One Hundred Thirty-Fifth Street, on the Staten Island Ferry, and at South Street, too.”
“Don’t try to lay a line down on me, captain. Please. DeVicente was behind those bombs. Trained for it in Mexico. We all know it. So why the game? Why the goddamn game?”
He leaned forward, hands clasped. His voice was quiet, like a professor wearily explaining to a student why she received a poor grade. “No game. No one denies DeVicente played a role in this whole matter. But only as an accomplice. Blackmailed into it by a deranged woman who threatened to expose his political past.” He studied her as she continued to pace.
“I misjudged you completely. I thought you were better than the rest. Those sleazes who’d compromise their mothers for a price.”
“And what the hell makes you so sanctimonious? You were hungry for a chance at this one. Saw glory dancing in front of your sweet eyes. My most ambitious squad leader, remember? You didn’t have any hesitation whatsoever about taking this on, or did I misjudge you? Maybe the rigors and pain of policework aren’t what you’re cut out for after all.”
“You have no right to accuse me of anything. I did my job. I hunted the bomber and found Armageddon. Through hard work and sweat. Don’t ever preach to me. I lost a partner. Damn nearly lost my own life.”
“You cracked the case, Yvonne. No one denies it. You fingered and caught Armageddon. And you’re about to be rewarded for it.”
“Stick your promotion. I won’t be bought.”
“No one’s buying you off. Vanessa and DeVicente are dead, that’s all that matters. It doesn’t count one bit who pulled the trigger. I’ll take responsibility for the dirty work, if that helps ease your conscience. This sudden rush of guilt. Crossfire in a dark room. What more do you want?”
She regarded him with disdain. “Maybe a little justice.”
“We have justice.”
“This whole thing is a whitewash. We’re covering up. You and I both know it. We’re saving the governor’s political ass.”
To her surprise he nodded in agreement. “Off the record, Yvonne? Sure we are. Look, you know what a near disaster we had out there. Thank God it wasn’t worse. Half the people on the dais might have been killed. So we got lucky for one. A fluke. The bomb’s explosive thrust blew starboard instead of portside. Armageddon didn’t lie. That bomb had been hidden for days. So carefully planted we’d have never located it. It was only because of bad weather the captain shifted his boat by a few degrees starboard to prevent her from listing in high wind. Made all the difference in the world. Instead of God knows how many fatalities we got away with a handful of injuries. Only a few of them serious. Good Lord, you’re going to be a bloody hero, Yvonne.”
“A hero,” she mimicked. “I saw the newspapers this morning. Our governor was the hero. Page one, photos of him personally assisting the injured to the ambulances. Hell, we just about handed him a million new votes.”
“Was that a crime? Thank our bomber. Armageddon’s just about assured him a reelection victory. Morbidly ironic, isn’t it? The man they vowed to kill winds up being helped by his would-be assassin.”
“What about William DeVicente?”
Winnegar sucked on an unlighted pipe. “He’ll be resigning as soon as publicly feasible, I’m told. He’s persona non grata. They’re clearing out his desk unofficially already. The governor doesn’t want any hint of taint before he announces his reelection campaign.”
“So William DeVicente is off the hook. Doesn’t matter that he hampered a police investigation in progress. That by implication he bears some responsibility for what happened.”
“In any case, politically he’s dead. Relegated to oblivion. Obscurity. Career ruined. He’ll never hold any public office again. Guaranteed. You have your pound of flesh, DiPalma. As much as you could want, believe me. But when it comes right down to it, he wasn’t the one who set those bombs.”
“No. His children did. Because of their hate for him. Think the world would like to hear that Vanessa Santiago is his illegitimate daughter?”
“That can’t be proven.”
“I bet the News might prove it if I gave a little help while they do some scratching.”
“Yvonne, you’re looking for serious trouble. I think you should let it go.”
“Is that a threat, sir?”
“No, lieutenant. Just a caution. Let that out and you’ll make us all seem dirty. A part of his sins. And we’re not. Just cops caught in the middle of a highly charged political circumstance. Victims ourselves in a way.”
“Make me laugh, Mister Future Commissioner. They ought to give you an Academy Award.”
&n
bsp; He banged his fist on the desk. “Think I like this? Wanted it this way?” His mouth was quivering, eyes ablaze. “Shit.” He looked away in frustration. “DiPalma, these are directives coming from the top. Neither I, nor anyone in P.D., have anything to do with them.”
“The governor’s mansion in Albany pulling some strings for a change?”
“No. From Washington.” His voice lowered. “The FBI has it all on file. They know everything, all the dirty linen involved in this case. But for their own reasons — in conjunction with the state department — they want the matter dropped. Too many international implications. Mexico is involved, where Jaime DeVicente got his training. Nicaragua, also, I understand. Even the Turks have a stake in here. Don’t forget it was their trade fair. They don’t want to be tied in any way with what’s been happening. The FBI wants this episode wrapped up neatly and expeditiously. Once and for all. No international repercussions of any kind. Strictly a local matter, not fuel for our enemies. Jaime DeVicente and Vanessa Santiago. We had to take both of them out.”
“Captain, don’t you understand what you’re telling me to do? You’re asking me, all of us, to go downstairs to that damned press conference and blatantly lie. Falsify the facts in a case that cost people their lives.”
“No lies at all. Just facts. And the facts are that Vanessa planted the bombs. Wrote the notes. Officially DeVicente was just a dumb kid who got caught up in more trouble than he could handle. His death was regrettable but unavoidable. In fact, a story is going to be leaked that he was Vanessa’s hostage all along.”
“You make me sick.”
“Shut up, DiPalma. Or walk right now. I mean it.”
She handed him her gold shield without hesitation. “Vanessa Santiago was not Armageddon. Jaime DeVicente was.” She placed the badge on his desk.
“We have no proof of that.”
“Don’t play police psych mind-fuck with me. P.D. be damned, I have to live with myself. I like to sleep at night.” She was trembling.
Black Midnight Page 28
