Tyrel smirked, because Shane was now grasping at straws.
“Plants lack the complex nervous systems and brains that animals have to process pain. It’s not an advantage that plants feel it. Pain is ingrained by evolution so animals can understand that something is wrong with a certain part of their body and tend to it. Like licking the wounds or escaping predators. Why do plants need pain if they can’t even move?”
“But research—”
“Like I said, you have a choice. Are you going to eat something that may feel pain, that doesn’t bleed or scream or try to run away when you cut it? Or are you going to eat something that surely feels physical and emotional pain, which bleeds a ton, screams, and kicks on its own blood and shit as you murder it?”
Shane was speechless.
“Humans are hypocrites, you know? They say they don’t want to pollute the oceans to save fish, but they kill them anyways by fishing. They protest against poachers, but they also murder pigs and cows in millions. And why are you outraged when a dog suffocates in a car? It is bad when a dog, cat, or a whale is killed, but somehow it’s okay when other animals are murdered? Why is it any different? Who are we to decide one life has more value than the other?”
Shane didn’t answer.
“I know why. It’s because you want to satisfy your salivating mouth. So you support mass murder. You have the power to resist temptation and give up meat. By doing so, you are helping to cut out the demand from your part. If everyone does that, there will be no demand whatsoever, and murder on a huge scale will be stopped.”
“If I stop eating meat,” Shane said, “I become a vegetarian. But if you do, you are still a deranged murderer.”
“No, I’m killing killers, which sorta makes me a hero, not a murderer. I say that eating meat is wrong, and blah blah blah, but I love it. I’m addicted to it. Meat is just delicious. But unlike you, I don’t sin to eat meat, so I don’t have to stop. And the taste is not very different. Humans taste like pork and chicken, too.”
Shane covered his mouth and dry heaved. Then he slowly straightened.
His voice shook. “You should be locked in a padded room with a straitjacket till you’re put down.”
“I don’t really mind. I’d say it’s far better than living in a world dominated by a hypocritical species with an over-inflated ego that destroys so much. Air, ocean, land, even space. Humans ruin everything they touch. Mother nature was a green, fresh virgin who provided for so many living things for so many eons before humans came along. We’ve abused her, raped her, and made her a vengeful bitch who is now trying to kill us at every chance she gets.”
“What are you even—this is how it has been, like, forever!”
“Then change that system. A brilliant system must make the world a better place, reduce pain and suffering, and spread love. Only a species like that, a selfless species, can ascend, cure death, build a sphere around the sun, and become powerful enough to travel across galaxies. But us?” Tyrel scoffed. “We aren’t smart. We are uncompassionate Neanderthals doomed to die out. So I don’t mind if I go a little sooner than the rest of you.”
“Do you even… I mean—” Shane massaged his temples. “There is no use.” He started walking.
“Babe?” Tyrel called.
Shane stopped but didn’t turn, so Tyrel strode up to him.
“You know my secret. You better—”
“Are you going to threaten me, Ty?” Shane slapped him. “I can’t tell it to anyone, not because I’m afraid of you—I’m not—but because I love you. Or at least, I used to. So I can’t send you to jail no matter what kind of a sick bastard you are.” He let out a long breath. “Anyways, it’s only a matter of time before you get caught.”
“Huh?”
“You have a criminal record. The police will eventually find you.”
“I won’t get caught. I’m smarter.”
“Isn’t that what criminals all over the world say before getting caught? And don’t you know, for every smart and determined criminal, there is a smarter and more determined cop out there.”
A few moments later, Tyrel heard Shane’s car start and drive away. His throat had dried up from all the arguing, and his head spun.
What if Shane went to the sheriff and spilled the beans? It wouldn’t be the first time he caved in to pressure. But Tyrel couldn’t imagine killing an innocent person, let alone his lover.
In that case, it would be foolish to stay in Apex anymore. He had to go into hiding, preferably in a place that had a lot of people, where he wouldn’t stand out. Small towns were out of the equation. He could go to LA, but cops would go there, too. Shane knew Uncle Charlie.
Where could Tyrel go? What city was better, more populous, and diverse than LA?
Chapter 20
April 8, 2019. 08:14 P.M.
“You were smiling,” Emma said.
“Definitely, Detective Chase,” said Bill. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.”
Both were squatting near Gabriel’s head, frowning down at him with the interest of rookie archaeologists discovering an ancient pit toilet.
Gabriel sat up and rubbed his eyes. Then he regarded his peers, wearily. Really? They woke him up to tell him that?
Emma knew about Gabriel’s condition with nightmares. Apparently it had come as a surprise when she spotted him smiling with his eyes closed. Instead of allowing him to enjoy whatever had made him happy in the dream realm, she had let the curiosity get the better of her and partnered with Bill and plundered it.
Time spent with Liz the previous night was the cause of Gabriel’s rare smiling disorder. She visited his sleep, enchanted his nightmares into sweet dreams. Though he couldn’t recollect it all, his mind vaguely remembered flashes of Liz’s arms around his neck. They were near a river or a beach, because he heard water burbling in the background as their noses rubbed. Should be a long-dead fantasy, because it didn’t associate with any of the real memories he shared with Liz. Real ones from their forlorn relationship were dark and painful.
He heaved himself up from the floor and staggered to the bathroom.
* * *
Before his juniors went home, Gabriel emailed them each a file. It was a list of people who had traveled in and out of Seoul, around the date Mr. Woo was murdered, the same list Inspector Han had sent him.
Gabriel had gone through the dates closest to the murder, but there was still a large part of the list that needed scrutiny. So he asked for their help, instructing them to run background checks on the passengers. It wasn’t an efficient way to narrow down persons of interest. But he had no other choice, not until David found something viable in Simmons’s laptop.
Gabriel sat in front of his MacBook and opened his portion of the list. When he tried logging into the police server, he was denied access. Great. His credentials had been revoked. Now he couldn’t use the state and federal crime registries.
But Emma could.
He used her password to logon. While it loaded, he took a hit from the inhaler. Then he researched the passengers’ histories and ticked them off one by one.
What most people didn’t know about detective work was that it’s less about car chases, explosions, or slow-mo summersaults, and more about working with data, just like many other jobs. Data from witnesses, Crime Scene Unit, first responders, forensic scientists, medical examiners, suspects, and interrogations. It was all about data. Gargantuan amounts of data. Knowing how to plod through the murky ocean of information, and recover valuable parts from it, gave veteran detectives their edge.
In what Gabriel had covered so far in Han’s list, no passenger had a criminal record. A few had brushed with the law, but their offenses were limited to unpaid parking tickets, running red lights and such. Not one person from the manifests had been to prison, and consequentially no one had needed to file petitions for expungement.
As Gabriel was looking at another passport image of a tourist, he received a call. The display read Joshua.
>
“What’s up, Dad?”
“I think I must give up now, Gabe.”
Gabriel stiffened and sat straight because Joshua’s words slurred. Like Gabriel, his dad was also an alcoholic, but had almost twenty-three years of sobriety under his belt.
“Dad, where are you?”
“Detroit.”
“What happened?”
“I was close in ’94, Gabe. So close, I think that was the closest I’ll ever get to him.”
Joshua was referring to the most wanted bank robber in the US. Joshua was also from the 122nd precinct. Twenty-five years ago, he was a detective with the highest clearance rate in the NYPD’s homicide squad. That was until he was assigned a bank robbery case in Staten Island, which left two dead.
While his life took a turn for the worst, the perpetrator of the robbery would go on to become one of the most infamous and murderous bank robbers in the history of the US, and earn himself a cozy place on the FBI’s Top Ten Most Wanted. He was nicknamed Lolly because he would suck on a lollipop as he shot people dead. The moniker became something that authorities feared and other bank robbers worshipped.
Since Lolly robbed in almost every state, the Feds worked the case. But Joshua was unable to let go of Lolly. He had spent more time investigating it than paying attention to fresh assignments. His performance dropped, and many cases that might have been solved had gone cold.
Seeing the damage his obsession wreaked, Joshua quit the force. He had gone after Lolly alone, but Lolly disappeared ten years ago. Gabriel assumed that his dad and Peter Lamb—Joshua’s partner, Bill’s father, and one of Gabriel’s mentors in the precinct—had killed Lolly. But Lolly resurfaced from what had only been a hiatus around the same time Mr. Bunny showed up. In his letter to Gabriel, Noah mentioned that Lolly had played a significant role in his path to criminality.
At the end of the Mr. Bunny investigation, Gabriel lashed out at his dad in frustration. He berated him, saying that for all his effort, Joshua hadn’t been able to apprehend Lolly. He put his head down and walked out of Gabriel’s office. That was the last time Gabriel had seen Joshua. Though Gabriel called later and apologized, and every wrong had been forgiven, and hopefully forgotten, he still felt guilty.
“You’ll get him, Dad.”
“I don’t think so, Gabe. This goes a long way back. It’s way deeper than I imagined. I think if I go any deeper, I may drown.”
“Then don’t, Dad. You’ve done enough already.”
“No, Gabe. I didn’t spend half my life chasing this evil motherfucker to let go that easily. I’d rather drown than to give up.”
“Listen, Dad—”
“I called to give you a heads-up. That’s all. I’m gonna hang up now.”
“Dad, wait!”
“What?”
“What heads-up?”
“Oh, yeah, almost forgot about that.” Joshua chuckled.
What’s happening there? Gabriel’s stomach knotted. “Dad?”
“I’ve mailed you some important stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“A condensed version of all my reports, interviews, notes, and everything I’ve collected about Lolly over two decades. Give it to the Feds. They take cops more seriously than us civies.”
“Yeah, right.” Gabriel thought about his meeting with Conor.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, Dad, never mind. By the way, I didn’t receive any email from you.”
“You kids and computers. I said, mailed, not emailed. It’s a notebook.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t trust computers. I think the gang I’m after has hacked my email. That’s why I sent it by post. They won’t expect it. I even think they’re listening in to my calls.”
Now that really troubled Gabriel. It wasn’t the least bit like his dad to be paranoid. What had he gotten himself into?
“Dad, just come home.”
“No.”
“Put Mr. Lamb on.”
“He’s… uh… sleeping.”
“You can’t bullshit me, Dad. I hear him ranting in the background. He’s drunk, too?”
“Yes. Yes, he is. You know what, I shouldn’t have called. I’m all right. I’m being a worrywart.”
“It’s okay, Dad. I was just… Dad? Are you there?” Gabriel looked at the phone.
The line had been disconnected. He tried calling back, but it went straight to voicemail. Unable to do anything else, Gabriel texted him and resumed his work on Han’s list.
It was twenty past midnight when he finally turned off the MacBook. He checked his phone. No reply and no delivery report. Gabriel forced the agitation out of his brain and tried to sleep again. He needed to rest that night, reset his sleep cycle, and stay active during the day.
His dad was a kick-ass cop and he could take care of himself. Gabriel repeated this in his mind until his brain believed it and fell asleep.
Chapter 21
April 9, 2019. 10:14 A.M.
Gabriel slept well and woke up rested. He rang Joshua first thing, but the call didn’t get through. He elected to believe the good voice in his head that whispered that his dad was all right.
He freshened up, made breakfast with omelets, and resumed to work on Han’s list. As he eliminated the second name on the spreadsheet, he received a call from an unknown number.
“Good morning,” a breezy voice greeted. “Madeline here. You remember?”
The FBI girl. “I do, Madeline. What’s up?” he said, in a calm tone, but was thrilled underneath.
There wouldn’t be any reason for her to call him unless she had something to bolster the case.
“You wanted to know if the FBI were contacted by our branches overseas, the local PDs looking for American suspects in relation to homicides in their countries?”
“Yes? You found anything?”
“I didn’t, but I can take you to someone.”
“Who?”
“My trainer when I joined the FBI. He retired three months ago and is already bored out of his mind. So he’s agreed to hear you out. Let’s meet now.”
* * *
Although it was almost lunchtime, Madeline had scheduled the meeting at Starbucks on Page Avenue, Staten Island. When he entered the coffee shop, she was waiting for him in a corner booth with two cups, one steaming and the other empty.
Gabriel used his inhaler as he slid onto the padded chair opposite her.
“Congestion?” Madeline said.
“Yes,” Gabriel said.
It was better to lie than to explain his weird fixation with menthol.
“It’s getting better. So, who are we meeting?”
“Not so fast, tiger. My help doesn’t come free. It’s gonna cost you.”
“Huh?” Gabriel sipped his cup of overpriced coffee.
“I saw you park a green motorcycle. I want to ride it, if you want my help.”
“Um… okay?”
“What?”
“What are you? A high schooler?”
Madeline shrugged, and Gabriel skittered the keys across the shiny table. She tied her glossy pink hair into a neat ponytail with a band she’d been wearing on her wrist, and took the keys.
“All right, Detective. Drink up.” She popped up.
The chirpy girl with wide, hopeful eyes hadn’t been beaten down by the job. Not yet. It made Gabriel feel old and jealous.
* * *
To say that Madeline wasn’t a smooth rider would be an understatement. Gabriel knew she’d broken the speed limit. Broke it hard. He would be lying if he said he didn’t flinch and brace for impact on a few corners.
They reached Long Branch, New Jersey, thirty minutes later. Madeline parked in the driveway of a single-story building—a nondescript brick structure. Gabriel let go of her bony shoulders, got down and removed the helmet she’d refused to wear. She kicked the stand out, engaged the fork lock, and got off.
After spotting his red brimmed eyes, Madeline said, “I d
idn’t go very fast.”
“I guess I’m a little too sensitive.”
Madeline eyed him for a moment. “Okay,” she finally said, and walked to the door.
Gabriel followed her.
The guy who welcomed them was old but healthy, and he introduced himself as Ethan. He led them past the living room and to the kitchen. Madeline got a Coke from the refrigerator while Ethan pulled a whiskey bottle from above a cupboard and placed it between two glasses on a dining table. He poured a healthy measure in one glass. As he was about to fill the other, Gabriel stopped him.
“None for me, please.”
“You don’t drink?”
“Not anymore.”
“A cop who doesn’t imbibe. That’s a rare species.” Ethan sat on a dining chair.
Madeline and Gabriel sat across from him.
“How did you catch Mr. Bunny?” Ethan said, after he’d guzzled down the whole glass.
Gabriel knew that question would come, but didn’t expect it to be the first.
“Like the papers said, a guy walked into our precinct and confessed.”
“But that’s not the truth,” Ethan said.
Not by a long shot. Mr. Bunny had been caught by Gabriel and the toil of a few exceptional detectives. A few who’d sacrificed fame to punish Mr. Bunny like he deserved.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gabriel said, with a poker face.
He was great in bullshitting—every detective worth his salt was—but the old FBI agent’s eyes inferred that he saw through Gabriel’s lie.
“Come on, Ethan,” Madeline said. “You promised you wouldn’t be a douche.”
“Fine, fine. I’m just curious, is all.” Ethan lifted his hands. “What can I help you with, Detective? Maddy here didn’t tell me what this is about. Said you would explain it better.”
“I’m not sure how best to broach the subject, sir—”
“Please, call me Ethan.”
“Okay, Ethan. You worked the desk for the last few years before your retirement.”
“I did. I was shot when we busted a meth lab down in Alabama. Thank god it didn’t sever a nerve.” Ethan rubbed his right shoulder and smiled as if he cherished the memory rather than cursed it.
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