Green Light (Sam Archer 7)

by Tom Barber

  She folded her arms defensively, looking at the two detectives. ‘So what’s the other reason? Leann?’

  ‘We’re from the Counter-Terrorism Bureau. We’re taking a look at the case.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, I got a call telling me you found her killers. Why the hell are you still looking at this? And why Counter-Terrorism? You’re telling me Leann was mixed up with terrorists?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Marquez said. ‘Two of our colleagues were shot that night with Leann. That’s why we’re involved.’

  Karen didn’t reply.

  ‘One of them has gone missing and we’re trying to find him. His name’s Sam Archer.’

  ‘The blond guy?’

  ‘That’s him. He came to see you?’

  ‘He did; two days ago. Friday night.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’ Josh asked.

  She took a breath. ‘Leann. He told me he was there when she died. All you other people that showed up talked about her like she was an inconvenience, just because of what she did for a living. But he seemed different; more respectful. I liked him.’

  ‘How did he appear? Angry? Upset?’

  ‘More curious than anything. Like you, he said he wanted to make sure they got the right guys but I didn’t take that too seriously. I knew they had but his girlfriend got shot and I felt bad for him, so I was happy to talk for a while.’

  ‘How long did you talk for?’ Josh asked.

  ‘Twenty minutes or so. Maybe thirty. Then he left.’

  ‘Do you know where he went next?’

  ‘No idea. I stayed up here.’

  ‘His car’s been parked on this street for the past two days collecting tickets.’

  She shrugged. ‘Can’t help you, I’m afraid. But you’re taking another look at Leann’s case?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marquez said. ‘Just a precaution.’

  ‘Why? Do you have other leads?’

  ‘Just one.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Archer was going around asking the same kind of questions we are. And he hasn’t been seen in over two days.’

  The comment lingered in the air. Karen nodded.

  ‘Well, I hope you find him,’ she said. ‘I mean that. He seemed like a nice guy. I liked him. A lot more than I liked the rest of you.’

  A beat later the door was closed in their faces again, leaving Marquez and Josh staring at the wood.

  Not far south on the Lower East Side, just twenty four hours after he’d been released from a twenty one day stretch in prison, a thirty two year old pimp called Alex Santiago was lying on the floor of his two-man apartment, his eyes bulging in terror as he watched two figures in white overalls and black gas masks pour a translucent chemical liquid into his bath-tub.

  Santiago ran six escorts for his employer, including Kelly Greer and Cece Mills, and had always enjoyed enforcing a certain level of discipline on the girls, ensuring he received the right amount of fear and respect in return. However, right then the tables had been turned; he had a strip of duct tape over his mouth, more wrapped around his ankles, and his wrists were bound behind his back with zip-ties. Gagged and bound, he tried to shout but any noise he made was reduced to a murmur by the duct tape and masked by the sound of splashing as the bath was being drawn.

  Sucking air in through his nose, his mouth covered by the tape, his eyes started to water from the acrid chemical smell.

  He’d quickly realised the liquid in the tub wasn’t water.

  Behind Santiago, the front door opened, and a figure in white overalls and a gas mask eased himself back through the door into the apartment, carrying another cylindrical can which he passed to one of the two others filling the bath.

  ‘How we doing?’ he asked, his voice sounding disembodied from behind the mask.

  ‘With this, it’ll be ready,’ one of the others said, a woman judging by her voice, as the third person poured the last canister into the tub.

  ‘Clock’s ticking,’ he said. ‘Both of you, go downtown and get the last girl then bring her back here.’

  He looked over at Santiago.

  ‘I’ll get started on this one.’

  Nodding, the pair walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind them. Now alone with Santiago, the large figure walked over and stared down at the bound man on the floor, whose eyes widened with terror as they stared back up at him.

  ‘Bath time, Alex,’ he said.

  A beat later the man knelt down, settling his heavy weight on Santiago’s torso and placing his large hands around the pimp’s throat.

  Then he started throttling him, Santiago’s face turning crimson as he suffocated, the last thing he saw before he died being a gas mask with a pair of dark emotionless eyes looking down at him.

  SEVEN

  Walking out of Karen Casey’s apartment building, Josh and Marquez stopped side by side on the porch step, taking in the scene around them as if it might offer up some clues as to where Archer could have gone.

  Vehicles were parked along the street but there were several free spaces available, one of which would have been occupied by Archer’s car just several hours ago. Aside from traffic moving along the Avenue, the only movement on the block was the occasional pedestrian and three small girls playing with a skipping rope on the sidewalk opposite.

  ‘Well that was a wasted trip,’ Josh said.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Marquez said, looking down the street at the intersection, the way they’d come and the route which Archer would probably have taken. She pulled her cell and went to call the Bureau; there were cameras covering each road down there. If Ethan could pick up the car, he might also be able to track Archer after his chat with Karen Casey and figure out where he went next and why he left his car behind.

  However, as she brought up Ethan’s number she paused, looking over at the group of young girls engrossed in their skipping game across the street. Putting the phone back in her pocket for the moment, she moved down the steps and crossed the road.

  ‘Hi girls; can I talk to you for a second?’

  She showed them her badge as she spoke and their game came to an abrupt halt, the three of them looking scared.

  ‘We didn’t do anything,’ one of the girls said.

  Marquez smiled. ‘I know. Actually, I need your help on something. It’s very important. Do you live here?’

  The two holding the rope looked at each other and nodded. ‘We do. She lives down the street.’

  ‘OK. Now think hard. Were you here on Friday night?’

  Before they could answer, the door to the building behind them opened and a woman walked out, presumably the mother of the two girls.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked sharply.

  Marquez nodded, showing her badge to the woman. ‘You live here?’

  Seeing the badge the woman softened slightly and nodded, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the ground floor apartment facing the street. ‘In there.’

  ‘Were you around on Friday night?’

  ‘Sure was.’

  As Josh joined her, Marquez pointed across the street. ‘A colleague of ours was last seen inside that apartment building on Friday evening, around 7:30pm. He’s a blond guy, late twenties, good looking. Did you see him?’

  ‘Yeah, I saw him. Hard to miss, right?’

  ‘Did you see him arrive or leave?’

  ‘Leave. I felt pretty bad for him, nice-looking guy like that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Josh asked.

  ‘I’d just called the kids in and saw two police cars pull up; four cops stepped out. They stood around for a moment, like they were waiting for someone. A minute or so later, your guy walked out.’

  ‘Did they talk?’ Josh asked.

  ‘Not exactly. They slammed him against one of the vehicles and put him in handcuffs.’

  Marquez turned to look at Josh beside her, her eyes widening as realisation dawned.

  ‘He wasn’t too happy about it,’ the woman continued. ‘They put him
inside one of the cars. Then they drove off.’

  Three miles south on Delancey Street in the Lower East Side, a beautiful red-headed twenty year old escort called April Evans walked rapidly towards her apartment building, Cece’s scream so abruptly cut off fifteen minutes earlier still echoing in her ears. Rounding the corner and moving fast, glancing around to make sure she wasn’t being followed, April reached her apartment building with relief.

  Letting herself in and closing the door, she took some deep breaths, trying desperately to steady her thoughts and think clearly. Turning to look through the glass, she couldn’t see anything unusual, just some passing pedestrians, several cars and a white van parked outside.

  She started to climb the stairs, even her slight weight causing the old wood to creak as she made her way up. Arriving on the 3rd floor, she cautiously peered each way down the corridor, making sure it was empty. Satisfied, she walked towards her apartment and reached into her bag for the key, wanting to get inside quickly.

  Then she suddenly paused and looked down the empty corridor.

  She could have sworn she heard the stairs creak.

  She stayed where she was, her key in her hand, listening. The apartment building was quiet. She waited a few moments but still couldn’t hear anything.

  It must have been her imagination.

  But as she was about to insert the key in the lock, she spotted something else.

  Resting on the floor by her feet.

  The East Village 13th Precinct was on 21st Street, just around the corner from Karen Casey’s place, so Josh and Marquez were there in ninety seconds or so. They’d already entered the building and were now confronting the desk sergeant, who although being co-operative was struggling to understand what they were saying.

  ‘Just hold on,’ he said. ‘Start again. What’s wrong?’

  ‘A member of our team was arrested two nights ago by officers from this Precinct. We want him released right now.’

  ‘I just told you I don’t work nights. Let me check the system.’ Tapping some keys, he clicked into the computer. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Sam Archer. He’s a 3rd Grade detective with the Counter-Terrorism Bureau.’

  He typed it in, then nodded. ‘He was booked in on Friday night. Says he accessed confidential police files whilst on suspension and harassed a family member of the victim. Orders here are to keep him locked up until his suspension hearing at Police Plaza tomorrow morning.’

  ‘We want him released right now.’

  ‘On whose orders; yours? Get out of here.’

  ‘Maybe we should call Lieutenant-General Franklin and tell him what happened?’ Josh said.

  ‘That’s a bold threat.’

  ‘He likes Archer. A hell of a lot more than he’ll like you.’

  Looking at them and realising they weren’t kidding, the desk Sergeant hesitated then made a decision. He checked the system again.

  ‘As it happens, your man’s not here anymore.’

  ‘Was he released?’ Marquez asked.

  ‘No. There wasn’t enough space here so they shipped him uptown ‘til his court date tomorrow. You need to take it up with them.’

  ‘Where uptown?’

  The man paused, not quite able to make eye contact with Josh and Marquez.

  ‘Rikers Island.’

  Already inside April Evans’ apartment, one of the figures in white overalls and a baseball cap stood waiting with a chloroform-soaked rag in his right hand, ready to pull the bitch in the second she stepped through the door.

  He’d heard the shitty old wood creaking as someone climbed the stairs and had just received a text telling him the girl was on her way up.

  But the door didn’t open. Perhaps she’d stopped to talk to a neighbour or something.

  The man waited.

  A few moments later, getting impatient and not hearing any voices, he eased the door open and looked outside.

  The corridor was empty.

  Looking to his right he saw his companion suddenly appear from the stairs, having come up from the van.

  ‘Where the hell is she?’ he asked.

  The other figure stopped.

  ‘I thought you already had her?’

  ‘You sent him to Rikers?’ Josh said incredulously, leaning over the desk. ‘A police detective? Are you kidding me?’

  ‘I didn’t, the last shift did. And it says here he’s suspended so technically right now he ain’t a detective. He’s booked in ‘til his hearing tomorrow morning.’

  He looked at them and shrugged.

  ‘Sorry. Nothing I can do.’

  Without wasting another second, the two Counter-Terrorism Bureau detectives turned and ran outside to their car and climbed inside. Slamming his door, Josh fired the engine and took off down the street as Marquez pulled her cell phone to call the prison. Although they now knew where he was, both of them were now infinitely more concerned about Archer’s safety than they’d been a minute ago.

  He was locked up inside Rikers Island, the city’s biggest prison and the second largest in the country.

  An unarmed police detective.

  Surrounded by the some of the most dangerous criminals in New York State.

  Lowering herself down the last rungs of the fire escape ladder, April hung for a moment then dropped onto a large metal garbage receptacle with a thump. Sliding off the edge and landing on the ground, she hurried down the small side alley then paused when she reached the end, looking cautiously round the wall.

  As she watched, she saw the door to her apartment building on her right suddenly open and two figures in white overalls and Yankee caps hurry out, looking left and right, clearly searching for someone.

  She jerked back before they spotted her and thought for a moment, her back to the wall, her heart-pounding.

  She stayed where she was for a few more seconds.

  Then she turned and ran down the alley in the opposite direction, exiting at the other end and taking off down the street as fast as she could.

  EIGHT

  Ten miles away, dressed in the orange Department Of Justice overalls and white shoes that all inmates were required to wear, Archer watched as the gate to the busy prison yard buzzed and then opened in front of him, his heart thumping and his mouth dry.

  ‘Move, pretty boy,’ the guard behind him said, drawing his baton. ‘Rec time.’

  With inmates already in the yard turning to watch and no choice other than to do as he was told, Archer walked forward and immediately felt the clock on his life start ticking.

  The last four weeks had unfolded like a slow-moving nightmare but this current predicament was beyond anything he could have expected, all triggered by that night in the car park when Leann Casey, Vargas and he had been shot. Help had arrived minutes after the shooting and treatment on Alice had started immediately. Archer had sat with her in the ambulance and watched as the medical team fought frantically to save her, her heart stopping twice on the way to the hospital. She’d clung to life by a fingernail, Archer not leaving her side until she was out of immediate danger, Josh taking care of Isabel.

  Once the medics said that she was going to pull through, followed a short time later by a call from Shepherd telling Archer he needed him back on duty at the Bureau, he’d reluctantly left her in the care of the two guards and the medical team. He, Shepherd, Josh and Marquez had waited anxiously for any updates from Homicide, becoming increasingly frustrated when constantly told the investigation was still in progress.

  Last Saturday, eight days ago, their patience had finally run out and they’d headed over to the 114th to try and get some answers. The Precinct boss, Lieutenant Royston, had been both arrogant and uncooperative, in the end ordering them to leave. Shepherd had done his best to reason with the man, but it had been hopeless. He wouldn’t listen.

  Realising they weren’t getting anywhere, they’d headed for the door, but just as Archer had been walking past Royston the Lieutenant had made a derogatory comment
about Vargas.

  It’d been like holding a flame to a box packed with tinder.

  Before he could stop himself Archer laid the son of a bitch out, firing off a vicious right hook that had taken the fat Lieutenant completely unawares, knocking him out cold. Archer had been suspended immediately, his badge and gun confiscated, and was banned from every police Precinct in the city. His hearing was due for tomorrow morning, Monday, but he knew that was just a formality. He was going to be demoted out of Shepherd’s team and he knew it. He’d be lucky if they didn’t bust him out to some middle of nowhere beat in Staten Island.

  But it had also meant that now he had nothing to lose.

  Josh had called on Thursday, saying Homicide had finally come through and found the shooters. Finding it all a bit convenient, Archer had broken the rules by contacting a friend at the 114th and persuaded her to pull a copy of the case files for him, the first time he’d seen them since the shooting. After noticing something that didn’t ring true, he’d decided to pay Karen Casey a visit late Friday afternoon, thinking she might be able to shed some light on who might have wanted to kill her daughter. She’d been cold, distant and edgy at first, the atmosphere only changing when she accidentally dropped a china cup from a high shelf on the floor, smashing it to pieces. After a pause Archer had bent down and cleaned it up without a word, which seemed to thaw her frostiness towards him.

  After that, she’d opened up but hadn’t told him anything that wasn’t already in the file. Then, just as he was leaving the building he’d found four cops waiting for him on the street, taking him down right outside Karen Casey’s apartment building. Royston’s handiwork, no doubt; no-one else could have moved in on him that fast.

  The son of a bitch must have had me watched, Archer had quickly realised.

  He was waiting for any excuse and I gave it to him on a plate.

  He’d been cuffed and arrested on harassment charges, which was complete bullshit. He’d been pissed off but not worried, expecting to be taken to the station and released after he made a call to Shepherd and explained what had happened.