The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel

by Torbert, R. J. ;

  Although Cronin was in his late forties and had a decent-sized muffin top over his belt buckle, he was very intimidating at 6’4”, with white hair, blue eyes, and the map of Ireland all over his face. He had been through so many close calls during his career that nothing really shook him up anymore. He still had a piece of a bullet in his face from a past assignment. Many famous killers over the past 20 years had been caught by him and his homicide squad, including the Long Island Sniper.

  O’Connor took Cronin’s remark as a cue to get some more coffee and wait for Powers and Johnson. At 11:00 Bud and Paul arrived in Cronin’s office. O’Connor walked in without losing a beat.

  “Well, congratulations! You had an article published and managed to get an innocent person killed,” O’Connor sniped.

  Bud replied, “Screw you, asswipe.”

  O’Connor looked at Johnson then at Cronin. “Very professional crew you have.”

  Then he turned his attention back to Bud and Paul. “Cut the shit, Detective. I don’t want to hear it,” he said. “You two clowns may have cost a life while we are getting ready to pay a ransom in four days to try to end this.” He began to talk again when he saw Johnson silently mouthing the words “Fuck you, fuck.”

  “Excuse me?” O’Connor yelled at Cronin. “Your detective is still unprofessional here, saying ‘fuck you’ to me.”

  “Sorry,” Cronin said, “I didn’t hear a thing. Continue, please.”

  O’Connor continued on with the plan for Sunday. “The drop is at the Cross Island Ferry, after a key is delivered to the Pink House in Belle Terre by FedEx from an office in Connecticut.”

  Paul sat silently as O’Connor continued to talk. “We will not have more than two agents on board. We cannot afford to be spotted, or we will lose Lance’s daughter, if we haven’t already. We will have agents in Connecticut on the other side watching to see where the car is driven to. I’m only telling you this out of courtesy and because it seems you can’t stay out of this.” He looked at Paul. “Nothing to say Detective?”

  “You do what you have to do. We’ll do what we have to do,” Paul replied.

  “And what is that?” O’Connor said, raising his voice. Paul stood up and looked at Cronin then at Agent O’Connor.

  “We have a murder now. It’s my case. You do what you have to do, and we’ll try and stay out of your way. But please stay out of our way .” Paul walked out as O’Connor looked at Cronin.

  “That’s it. You guys have no idea what you’re doing.” Bud walked by O’Connor with a quick “Bite me” remark and walked out behind Paul. O’Connor stayed behind in Cronin’s office.

  “We’re done here,” Cronin said. “For now. You find the kidnappers, we’ll find the killers. Hopefully they’ll be the same people, and we can save some tax dollars for the public.”

  Paul got into the unmarked cruiser while Bud got in behind the wheel. “Where to, my partner?”

  “Let’s go to Fun World, Carle Place, Long Island,” Paul said. On the way, he called Rachelle to see how she was holding up. She was home and thanked him for calling.

  “Can I check on you later?” Paul asked.

  “I hope you do,” Rachelle replied.

  Bud and Paul got on the Long Island Expressway, then took exit 42 and arrived at Fun World within 45 minutes. They walked into the vestibule, where they saw framed posters of the movies that had featured Ghost Face as well as television shows the mask appeared in.

  “Ah!” Bud said. “The famous gold Ghost Face bust.” He wanted to rub it to make a wish, but it was under glass. The receptionist called Albert and Steven Goldberg to tell them that Suffolk detectives were waiting for them. In five minutes both Goldbergs came down and invited the detectives to the conference room, where they could have some privacy. Paul explained they had a new murder on their hands and that the victim kept repeating “Ghost Face, wrinkled, zombie.” Paul added that he was aware of a new zombie version from shopping in stores, that was released a couple years before, but would they know what he meant by “wrinkled”?

  Albert and Steven looked at each other and called Roger Thompson, the licensing director, and told him to bring all the versions of the Ghost Face masks down to the conference room. Thompson came down and was introduced to the detectives; then he presented the versions of the mask to them. Zombie, Scarecrow, the original famous version, and a silver wrinkled version that was called Mummy Ghost Face.

  Paul picked up the wrinkled one. “Tell me about this one,” he said. Roger told him it was the newest version, currently only available at Spirit stores.

  Paul said, “We have reason to believe that this version of the mask was involved in a murder last night as well as the Zombie and Scarecrow versions. It will be in the papers tomorrow. We asked them to hold off for 24 hours so we could get a head start on what’s going on.”

  The Goldbergs were concerned over the information. Steven, the president, was an 86-year-old legend in the business. His son, Albert, was considered the future senior of the company and responsible for all of Halloween. Roger, as the licensing director, had been involved with the Goldbergs for the past 16 years in regard to the licensing and all the negotiations between the company and the studio responsible for the movies.

  “Can we take these masks with us?” Paul asked.

  “Certainly,” the elder Goldberg replied.

  The detectives got back in the car, this time with Paul behind the wheel. He threw the masks on Bud’s lap as he turned the car on.

  “Get the fuck away,” Bud said as he threw the masks to the back-seat. “I can’t stand this shit. No one is wearing them, and they still make me drop a load in my pants.”

  “Why Timothy?” Paul spoke out loud. “Let’s go to Timothy’s Bar and Grill.”

  They got back on the expressway and were back in Port Jefferson in 45 minutes. They walked into Timothy’s Bar and Grill, where it was very quiet out of respect for the loss. His silent partner, Ben Cooper, was behind the bar, and there were only four customers in the bar.

  Paul flashed his badge at Ben and said, “Tell me what you know.”

  “I can’t believe it. He’s gone just like that.”

  “What was going on last night? Were you here?”

  As Paul was talking to Cooper, Bud was looking around at 4 others in the bar. He wanted to see if anyone was interested in the conversation going on between Cooper and Paul.

  Cooper was wiping down the bar in the same circle until Paul stopped him. Cooper said, “Tim was here last night working the bar. I stopped by to check in, and there was a crowd around him buying drinks like crazy. He was telling the story of the article and how he was one of the people Rachelle was writing about. He was telling people how well he knew her and that they would be dating.”

  Paul was taken aback by the remark. “Did he mention any other names?” Paul asked.

  “Yes, he mentioned some other guy named Allan.” Paul turned around quickly and started running for the door. Bud followed and got in the car as Paul drove up to Belle Terre while Bud tried to reach Allan on the phone. They drove up East Main Street to Belle Terre Road. They reached the security building, and Paul ran in to the building. There was Allan, eating a sandwich, startled by the entrance Paul and Bud made.

  “What the hell?” Allan asked.

  “Are you OK?” Paul replied.

  “Just eating a sandwich, minding my own business, and you two cowboys come right in.”

  “Allan,” Paul answered, “Timothy was killed late last night in the parking lot behind his bar.” Allan dropped his sandwich. “He identified himself as the unknown local who went on the ferry trip to prove the theory as to what happened. He also mentioned your name. No last name, but he did say Allan. You have to be careful. Tim had no idea the level they would go to. Now we know.” Allan was still stunned, shaking his head.

  “Rachelle,” Allan said. “Is she all right?”r />
  “She’s pretty upset,” Bud replied. “We’ll have to watch her.”

  “What about Saturday? Are we still on?”

  “Yes,” Paul replied, “but not you and Rachelle. The FBI will help us with this. The murder has convinced me they are here locally.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bud asked.

  “It’s all adding up,” Paul said. “I’ll show you Saturday. Let’s go see Rachelle.” They said their goodbyes and were over at Rachelle’s in two minutes.

  Rachelle answered the door in an oversized T-shirt, and she looked stunning to Paul. No makeup, no pants, no shoes, and to him she was the sexiest, most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  “How are you doing?” he asked as she walked away from the door, leaving it open to invite them in.

  “I’m OK,” she replied. She turned around with her arms folded. “What can I do for you?” she asked. Bud looked at Paul, surprised by the distance in her tone.

  Paul paused to gather his thoughts and then said, “Listen, Rachelle, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come Saturday. It’s apparent that whoever killed Tim believes you may know who they are, and I think it would be safer.”

  “Excuse me,” Rachelle interrupted Paul before he could finish. “You listen. I’m not going to let this interfere with my responsibilities. This is a story. I feel terrible about Timothy, but I did not name him in my story.”

  Bud replied, “Tim spoke at the bar. He wanted his patrons to know it was him and Allan.”

  “See,” Rachelle said.

  Paul interjected, “The point is, whoever killed Tim knows you’re the writer, Rachelle.”

  “Yes,” Rachelle said, “and they know you and Bud are the cops, and if they followed you around now, they know where I live.” Rachelle gave Paul an icy stare that even surprised him. It was clear that

  Rachelle was confused over her feelings about Paul, the loss of Timothy and how this case would affect their relationship.

  “I’m sorry,” Paul said. “I came here because I’m concerned about you.”

  “Don’t be,” she replied. “Please leave me alone.” They started to leave, and as Paul and Bud got to the door, she spoke again, saying, “I’ll be there Saturday. You got me into this, and now I’m not quitting. I have a story to write for next week’s paper, and I need to be better than Newsday. I’m writing this, not them.”

  “Rachelle,” Paul said, but the door had already closed behind them. Paul looked back at Bud, who was shaking his head.

  “Just thank your lucky stars you’re not sleeping with her, my friend, because if you were, you would be hurting more than you already are.”

  “I am hurting,” Paul replied. ”and I wonder if I should order her as a cop not to show up” He sat down in the passenger seat instead of getting behind the wheel.

  Bud put his hand through the window on Paul’s shoulder and said, “That’s the price you pay for having a good heart my friend,” Bud looked back at the house before turning to Paul again. “remember, you are the one who wanted this, if you think you are going to tell a woman what to do then you still have much to learn when it comes to things like this. Besides, I think she wants to share this with you”

  Paul nodded in appreciation to Bud as he walked around the car. Both of them were oblivious to Rachelle looking out the side of her window, behind the blinds. No one would ever know that she witnessed the hurt on Paul’s face or see the tears streaming down her face.

  Thursday, June 16

  Three Days Until Ransom Due

  The Newsday headline for Thursday read: GHOST FACE VISITS PORT JEFFERSON VILLAGE WITH A KILLING. The story detailed the killing of Timothy, Rachelle’s article, and the flaws exposing the lack of security on the Cross Island Ferry. It even had the story of Paul and Bud getting involved and the relationship between the murder and the kidnapping of Deborah Lance and the fact that Rachelle’s article was the “seed” of stirring things up. The article also went on to expose that there was a relationship between Robert Simpson, the butler, and Deborah Lance. “What the fuck?” Bud said as he read it over breakfast. He called Paul to come downstairs to Z Pita and, as if on cue, Paul sat down by the time his message machine had picked up. Bud placed the paper down in front of Paul with his finger and said, “Read this shit.”

  Paul read it and said, “I think it’s time we pay Mr. Simpson a visit.”

  “Agreed,” Bud replied. “Let me get something first. I could eat a fucking horse!” Tina came by and took their order as they discussed the article. Even photos of the mummy, zombie and scarecrow masks were shown. Rachelle was also in the restaurant for the morning shift, but she did not come by the table. It was awkward for Paul and Bud, but they wanted to give her space. As they left, Paul said goodbye to Rachelle, and she gave a quick wave to them as if she was just too busy.

  Paul was halfway out the door when he came back in and said, “See you tomorrow.”

  Rachelle returned a half-smile and replied, “OK.”

  “What’s wrong?” Paul asked. “Why are you being like this?”

  “I can’t discuss it right now,” she said.

  “Are you going to speak to me?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Things are getting complicated for me.”

  Paul nodded in puzzlement and left. As he sat in the car, he said, “I don’t understand women anymore. Maybe I don’t need them.” Bud looked at him and said, “You into guys?”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Sounds like a no to me. Then stop complaining and figure out how the fuck to handle this.”

  The car pulled out of the spot in front of Starbucks on East Main Street, took a right onto East Broadway as they headed to Belle Terre to the “Pink” mansion. As they passed Danford’s on the way to the Pink Mansion, Paul received a call from the morgue that Tim’s parents wanted to take his body to Florida, where they lived, so they could visit his grave at their convenience. There would be no funeral in New York or Long Island. His share of the business was also financed from his parents, and it was expected it would be sold to his partner.

  They reached the gate to the Pink Mansion, identified themselves, and drove up to the front of the house.

  “She-Devil,” Bud said as they walked up to the front.

  “OK,” Paul said, “tell me.”

  Bud started showing his pride in his movie-trivia IQ. “This is the house that was in the 1989 movie She-Devil. Remember that, my partner. You’ll win a million-dollar trivia question one day.”

  “OK,” Paul said, “I’ll try to remember.”

  The door swung open, and true to his job, it was Robert Simpson who opened it.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “Yes, Mr. Simpson, we need to speak with you.”

  Paul showed his badge, and as the detectives were about to walk in, the butler stopped them. “I’ll be happy to speak to you outside for a few minutes, but not inside the home. I need to be respectful of the family.”

  “Oh,” Bud said. “Respectful, which is why you were banging your boss’s daughter.”

  “That’s enough!” Simpson yelled. “There will be no discussion. Get a warrant or allow me to go to my attorney, but that’s it.”

  “What do you need an attorney for?” Paul replied. Simpson stopped for a moment before continuing to the door.

  Bud grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear, “Listen, fuckface, if I find out you’re involved in this up to your ass, you won’t be able to shit the regular way for a long time. You understand me?” Simpson pulled away and shut the door.

  “What did you say to him?” Paul asked.

  “I told him he smelled terrible.”

  “Yeah, right,” Paul said as they walked away. Paul got on the phone and called Cronin to get Agent O’Connor’s number.

  “Boss, we need to get together with him again.
”

  “You’re seeing him tomorrow,” Cronin replied. “Cover it all then.”

  Paul hung up the phone, and it rang again. This time it was his father asking what was going on and if Paul needed him to visit. He convinced him to stay away until the case was cleaned up, although he wasn’t sure for how long.

  “Where to Detective Powers?” Bud asked.

  “Let’s go back to Timothy’s Bar and Grill and ask CSU if we got anything on Tim’s Mustang. Maybe we got lucky since it happened next to the car. I also want to listen to the tape on the ransom call to the father.” CSU was an acronoym for Crime Scene Unit and it was common for the cops to use it.

  It was what Bud liked a lot about Paul: he wanted to check everything out and rarely forgot anything. They balanced each other out well. Bud had a tendency to take the short cut, while Paul wanted to be certain everything was in order.

  They spoke to everyone at the bar and recorded the names of the people there. Paul knew that Tim’s murder was not about Rachelle’s article. It was about Tim talking too much in reference to the article. He was more concerned about his possible 15 minutes of fame in the local Port Jefferson area than anything else. Paul also felt that the people involved in his murder were at the bar, and the only way they would want him quiet was if they were also involved in the Deborah Lance kidnapping. They left the bar with eight names.

  Paul said, “Let’s get these names run in the system. Call O’Connor. Let’s listen to the tape and let’s go back to the mansion to speak to the father. Tell O’Connor he can meet us there if he wants.” They were halfway back to the mansion when they remembered Cronin hadn’t given them O’Connor’s number.

  “OK, tomorrow then,” Paul said.

  As he drove up to the mansion, his thoughts were struggling with Rachelle’s behavior and the amount of time that had gone by for the kidnapping. He was conflicted and didn’t know what to do about it.

  Friday, June 17