Black and Blue

by David Rosenfelt

  I nod. “He did everything but put up a neon sign with an arrow pointing to the body. But I may have been wrong when I said, ‘and then there was one.’ I meant Phelan, but there’s no way to know if it’s just him that is left. There could still be others.”

  “It seems like being one of Phelan’s partners is not a healthy occupation. But why would Phelan have killed him? And more importantly, why would he have wanted us to know Scanlon was dead?”

  They’re good questions, and while I take a shot at answering them, I could be way off. “Phelan could have killed Scanlon because he went off the reservation, because he was trying to change the rules by which they were playing. And that could have been brought about by the fact that his name went public. I don’t think Scanlon expected that; he couldn’t have. Because we only picked up on him when Gero died, and Gero’s death was not part of their plan.”

  “Or maybe Phelan didn’t want to share whatever the hell the pot of gold is at the end of this rainbow,” Nate says.

  “Very possible. Also, Scanlon’s name becoming public meant he was a potential weak link. Phelan would be afraid that we’d get Scanlon and that he might talk to us. Phelan couldn’t have that.”

  “And getting back to my second question, why would he make it so obvious to us that Scanlon was dead?”

  “So we’d stop looking for him, because in looking for him we might come up with something to tie to Phelan.”

  Nate nods. “Like a cell phone detonator.”

  “Exactly. And that’s the part that worries me the most.”

  “What is?”

  “If Scanlon was building the bomb and probably planting it, then Phelan wouldn’t have killed him unless he had already done his job.”

  “So the bomb is in place.”

  I nod. “The bomb is in place. It’s just sitting there, waiting for the phone call.”

  There’s a new urgency … we can all feel it.

  It was bad and tense and desperate enough when we were trying to prevent still another citizen from being shot in the heart. Now we are facing the possibility, almost the certainty, of multiple deaths.

  Daniel Phelan is going to pick up his phone and dial a number. When it rings on the other end, it will trigger an electric charge that will in turn trigger a device that has been built by Rod Scanlon. That device will then explode, and if it does what its builder intended, it will kill a lot of people.

  This morning we’re in the FBI building in Newark, in the office of Special Agent Winston Sampson. It’s the last place I want to be, and I know that Nate feels the same way. Captain Bradley is here also; he hasn’t shared his feelings about it one way or the other.

  The meeting, as I fully expected, having been through this on a number of occasions, is the definition of a one-way street. Sampson and his colleagues want us to tell them everything that we know, and have no intention of doing the same.

  It’s business as usual.

  Much to Bradley’s surprise when he told us about the meeting, Nate and I are fine with it. For a long while we have been at the point where we want Phelan off the street no matter who makes the arrest, or who takes the credit.

  The goddamn KGB can come in and eliminate Phelan, and I’d be fine with it.

  So we share everything we have, and Sampson throws us a few crumbs, and it’s an hour and twenty minutes that we’ve wasted. We could have been back at the station or out on the street getting nowhere.

  But one thing comes across very clearly: Sampson, and by extension the FBI, is worried. As they should be.

  When we get back to the station, we go into Bradley’s office, and he calls Jessie in as well. We’ve become the Gang of Four on this case, most familiar with all aspects of it, and the only people in our department who have been tasked with looking at the big picture rather than just individual parts. In talking about it, maybe we can see something we haven’t seen before.

  But when Jessie comes in, she isn’t empty-handed. She has some additional information from the search of Scanlon’s hotel room. “We cracked his computer,” she says. “Unfortunately, he was not a prolific emailer.”

  “Nothing to work with?” I ask.

  “Just one. It was to an email address dph@gmail.com. Doesn’t take a genius to know that’s likely to be Danny Phelan. There’s a subject, but no content. The subject is, ‘Mission accomplished … I’m on the way.’”

  “Was there any reply?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing else?” Bradley asks.

  She shakes her head. “We’re going through everything, but we’ve gone back six months already, and there’s nothing that could relate to this case. We already have a subpoena out to Google to get all the records from Phelan’s email address.”

  Bradley says, “Demand it immediately, or put the FBI on the case.”

  She nods. “We’ll get it; we explained the life-or-death circumstances.”

  “Any more from the search?” Nate asks.

  “That phone was discarded because the wire had a nick in it. I assume that rather than repair it and take a chance on it not working, he just had a substitute ready. We got the number off the discarded phone, which shows where it was purchased. It wasn’t bought with a credit card, so the store has no record of who made the purchase.”

  “We know who made the purchase,” Nate says. “Scanlon.”

  “Where was it bought?” I ask. “Maybe he bought the two phones at the same time.”

  “A convenience store in Lodi.”

  “That makes sense; that’s where he was living. Give me the address; maybe they’ll remember.”

  Jessie gets the address and gives it to me, and Nate and I are off to the store. At the very least it gives us something to do.

  “Where the hell were you last week?” the convenience store clerk asks.

  “What does that mean?” Nate asks.

  “I got robbed last week, at gunpoint. By the time the cops got here, the bastards had time to fly to the Bahamas.”

  “How much did they get?”

  “Two hundred bucks.”

  Nate frowns. “That won’t get you very far in the Bahamas. Is the manager around?”

  “Terry Barbaro, at your service.”

  “You’re the manager?”

  “And the clerk, and the stock boy, and the bookkeeper. We maintain a fairly low payroll.”

  I tell him why we’re there, and he says, “I’ll tell you what I told the cop who called: I looked it up, and the burner phone with that number was paid for in cash.”

  “And you don’t remember the person who bought it?”

  “No, sorry. And I don’t know how far we’re going back here, but I had kids working the register during the summer. One of them could have sold it.”

  “Could another phone have been bought at the same time? By the same person?”

  “It’s possible, especially if I wasn’t the one who sold it. I think I might remember that.”

  “Where are the phones you have for sale?” I ask.

  “I’ll show you,” he says, and walks us toward the back. There are at least eight phones of the same make as the one we found in Scanlon’s room. The phone numbers are not shown on the packaging.

  “We’ll take them all,” I say. Then, to Nate, “Pay the man.”

  I grab all the phones from off the rack, and we head back toward the cashier desk. “Why don’t you pay for them?” Nate asks.

  “All my cash is tied up in equities. Don’t worry, if you don’t get reimbursed, you’ll never have to buy another phone for the rest of your life.”

  Once we’ve left and are in the car, Nate asks, “Okay, what the hell was that about?”

  “I want to find out whether the phone numbers are in sequence. That way we might be able to narrow down what the number on the second phone might be, the one that’s presumably on the device. That is, if Scanlon bought them at the same time.”

  “How will having the number help us? We can’t call it; we’d
blow the damn thing ourselves.”

  “If there’s a GPS on it, we can find out where it is.”

  “Good idea, but we’re relying on a lot of ‘ifs.’”

  I nod. “I’m aware of that.”

  We get back to the station and start literally tearing the phone packages open. This is not the easiest thing in the world to do; they are made of the same material as DVD cases, which is to say, they are designed never to be opened.

  Once we do, we are able to examine the phone numbers and discover that there is some sequence, at least among four of them. The other four numbers are isolated, but that could be because their “mates” had already been sold.

  We call Jessie in and tell her what we’ve discovered, which we’re pleased about until she examines one of the phones and breaks the bad news. “No GPS,” she says. “Even if we know what number they are going to call, there’s no way we can find the phone, or stop it.”

  “Shit,” Nate says. Then, “What are we going to do with these phones?”

  “What are you asking me for? They’re your phones.”

  The door opens and a patrolwoman whose name I don’t know says, “Sorry to barge in, but we got a hit you’re going to be interested in.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “The tap on James McKinney’s phone. Julie Phelan just called him. The call lasted about eighteen seconds.”

  “Is it on tape?”

  She nods. “Of course. You want me to patch it in here? Just take a couple of minutes.”

  “No. We’ll come to you.”

  “James…,” is how she starts the call. He responds, “Julie? Julie where are—”

  “James, please listen, I have no time. He took me to Cedar Brook. I need help.…”

  There’s a pause, and McKinney says, “Julie?”

  “I have to go … he’s crazy … hurry.”

  Click.

  The voices of Julie Phelan and James McKinney are unmistakable, as is the fear in her voice. Bradley asks to hear it one more time, which of course does not change the content any. If at any point we thought that Julie might be aiding and abetting her father, this effectively removes that possibility. She is a prisoner.

  “What is Cedar Brook?” I ask. “Anyone know?”

  “It’s an all-girls camp near Kinnelon,” Jessie says. “My niece Callie went there the last two summers.”

  “Let’s find out everything we can about the layout of the place.”

  Jessie picks up the phone and tells one of her people what we need, including a Google aerial map.

  When she gets off the phone, I ask, “Is there a boys’ camp nearby?”

  Jessie nods. “I’m sure there is. My niece told me about a dance they had with the brother camp.”

  “McKinney told me about it when I went to interview Julie Phelan,” I say. “That’s where they met.”

  “Let’s get a team out there,” Bradley says.

  I’m about to stand to do just that, when I’m told that McKinney is on the phone for me. “Hello?”

  “Lieutenant, Julie just called me. She sounded desperate.” I can hear the stress in his voice.

  “What did she say?” I want to see if he’ll tell me accurately, though I’m not sure why. It’s just some instinct that I have and am giving in to. It turns out that he describes it very accurately.

  “That her father is crazy, and that she needs my help. They’re at the camp, the camp she went to when…”

  “What camp is it?”

  “Cedar Brook,” he says.

  “OK. Thank you, we’ll take it from here.”

  “Should I go there?” he asks. “Maybe meet you? I could be there in less than an hour.”

  “No. We will deal with this. Stay where you are.”

  “Will you call me and let me know what happens?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please hurry.”

  I hang up the phone, and Nate says, “Let’s go.”

  “Just a minute,” Bradley says, in a tone which indicates he is about to say something important. “I’m bringing in the FBI.”

  It sounds like challenging him will get nowhere, but Nate does so anyway. “Why would you do that? We can handle this.”

  “Because they have ten times more assets they can bring to bear than we do. And it is the proper thing to do, procedurally. This is not the time to have a turf war.”

  “Captain…,” Nate starts.

  “The decision has been made, Lieutenant.”

  “Captain,” I say, “tell them to have the cell towers shut down in that area. We can’t have him making the call and triggering the device.”

  “Good idea.”

  Bradley walks out. What he hasn’t said is that if this operation goes south, and there is every chance that it will, he doesn’t want the blame to fall on his doorstep.

  I can’t say I blame him, but that’s not what I’m focused on right now. I’m too busy replaying in my mind the phone call, and McKinney’s description of it.

  Bradley goes off to call Special Agent Sampson, and Nate and I prepare to go to summer camp. “I want to go with you,” Jessie says.

  “No, I need you to check on something for me back here.”

  “What is it?” she asks, so I tell her.

  “Why?” she asks, so I tell her that also.

  And then she doesn’t argue the point anymore.

  Cedar Brook, like every camp in the history of camps, is situated on a lake.

  It occupies at least thirty acres and includes six fairly large buildings. According to the maps we are looking at, the buildings are interspersed among outdoor sports facilities including basketball and tennis courts, a pool, and a baseball/soccer field.

  It looks like a good place for kids to play in the summer, and a very good place for a crazed murderer to hide once those kids are gone.

  There is one main road in the area; it’s one lane in each direction. There’s a turnoff onto what is called “Camp Road,” and as far as I can tell, its existence is merely to provide access from the main road to the camp itself. About three quarters of the way down that mile-long road is a fork, with the road to the right leading to Cedar Brook, and the one on the left leading to Cedar Hills, the brother camp.

  We stop just far enough into Camp Road that we cannot be seen from the main road, and certainly can’t be seen from the camp. Sampson and a bunch of agents arrive about ten minutes later. They have maps of the area so detailed, it’s as if they had been planning for an invasion of Camp Cedar Brook for years.

  Between the FBI agents and our state cops, we have a total of twenty-eight people, all armed and ready to go wherever Sampson tells us. From the moment he arrived he assumed command, and if Bradley is put off by this, he’s hiding it very well.

  Sampson gathers us around a map. “Theoretically, they could be in any one of the six buildings,” Sampson says, “although this first one, here, is the least likely. It’s the gymnasium, and there would be no logical reason for them to be there. They need to sleep and eat, and the gym is not the place to do either.”

  He points again. “These two buildings are the dorms, and this one, the closest to the lake, is the kitchen and eating hall. They would most likely be in one of those three, though we can’t take that for granted.”

  There are trees in plentiful supply throughout the grounds, which will provide some cover, but the immediate areas around the buildings are open space. “If he’s watching at all, we’ll be seen,” I say.

  Sampson nods. “There’s no way around it, which is why we’re going in fast and in force. Our main danger is if he makes the phone call.”

  “Did you cut off cell service?” Bradley asked.

  “There was none to cut off; this is the middle of nowhere. There are no towers in this area. The call would have to be from a landline.”

  “He’s not going to make the call,” I say.

  Sampson turns to me, obviously surprised. “How do you know that?”

/>   “Because this has been about money all along. And once we’re on to him, his chance at the money disappears. Our only real worry is about the hostage, if there is one.”

  Nate looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I don’t go into it any further, but I don’t think there is any danger to anyone right now. That boat has sailed.

  Of course, I could be wrong about all of it. I won’t know for sure until I hear from Jessie. For now, I’m going to follow orders and do what Sampson says.

  The plan is for us to approach all six buildings, with more agents assigned to the three likely ones than the other three. It will be done at once and will be a combination of stealth and urgent force. By that I mean we will stay under concealment as long as possible, but once we move, there will be no hesitation.

  We will have helicopter support, but it won’t appear until the mission is underway, so as not to alert our adversaries.

  We will be charging these buildings, leaving ourselves open to fire that I know will not come.

  We move on foot down the road toward the camp. Everyone realizes that Phelan could have set up cameras along the route that could easily have been hidden. We disregard the possibility, because there is nothing we could do about it either way.

  Sampson sums it up. “If he knows we’re coming, he knows we’re coming. But we’re still coming.”

  Nate and I are part of the contingent assigned to the mess hall building. If we are to find anyone in any of the buildings, this would seem the most likely one.

  We take up our positions in the trees surrounding the building, with all of us able to see the leader of the group, an FBI agent whose name I was told but forgot. He is in communication with the leaders of the other five groups; I’m not sure how, but I have no doubt it’s electronically.

  When the order is given to move, we will do so simultaneously. We have been told to use all necessary force, though I remain sure that none will be necessary. Of course, I’ve been wrong before, and this time I hope I am.

  We’re in place a good ten minutes without an order to move. Everybody is tense, staying silent and unmoving to avoid detection.

  And then the order comes, and we move.