The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel

by Torbert, R. J. ;

  “Sir,” Officer Lynagh replied.

  “Make sure Rachelle Robinson has two officers outside her door at the hospital. No one enters other than her doctor, her nurse, me, Detective Powers, Detective Johnson, and immediate family. The same goes for O’Connor’s room door. Add Agent Sherman to the list on the rooms. Anybody else that requests entry, call me for authorization.” He looked back at Agent Sherman and asked, “Can we get the recording of the call relayed here?”

  The tape was played in Cronin’s office. In a disguised voice, the caller said, “The ransom has been increased to $5 million, and Deborah Lance will only be returned alive if Kyle Winters is returned without questioning. We are watching. Release Kyle Winters from the hospital, or any possibility of her return is eliminated.”

  Cronin looked at everyone in the room and said, “Mr. Lance, I will see you in a couple hours, and Mr. Simpson, stay close by. I still have questions for you.” He pushed his intercom and reminded Gina to send some officers to pick up Patty Saunders and Roger Thompson. He looked at Paul and said, “Meet back here in a few hours. Go to the hospital and check on everyone and keep Bud in ‘low mode’ ’til we get a clear on this from Internal Affairs. I don’t expect a big problem.”

  Paul left the precinct and got into his car and drove over to Z Pita to speak with Joey Z about Rachelle and then drove to Mather Hospital. He met Allan with his car keys, thanked him, and told him to get home to his family. As he approached Rachelle’s room, the two officers were already at her door and nodded to Paul as he showed his badge and they checked his name on the list. He walked in, and Madison was there at her bedside.

  She looked up and smiled at Paul, saying, “She’s going to be OK. The bullet grazed her head, and the glass from the windshield created the other cuts, but she’s going to be fine,” as they hugged.

  Paul looked back at Rachelle and said, “I’m going to sit with her for a bit before I go back to the precinct. Why don’t you take a break for a couple hours? I’ll be here ’til you get back. Give yourself a chance to get out of that dancing suit and clean up. Shit,” he added, “I sent Allan home; he could have given you a ride.”

  Just then one of the officers opened the door and said that a gentleman named Allan wanted to know if Madison needed a ride. They looked at each other and laughed as Madison said goodbye.

  Paul looked at Rachelle laying there, taking a nap. He sat down where Madison had been and started looking at all the papers that Madison had spread out. They were articles all written by Rachelle. He had only half-read most of her work because of time constraints, but now he wanted to read them. The article that captured his attention was the piece he had heard about on and off for a year: the history of Port Jefferson Village.

  Rachelle was such a history buff that it was why she had first applied at Z Pita years before. She knew it was Port Jefferson’s first firehouse building and fell in love with the historical pictures that hung on its wall, such as the original bank of Port Jefferson that had a view of Z Pita as the firehouse with the bell tower as well as the New York Bakery and many others. It planted the seed for her to write about Port Jefferson, originally called “Drowned Meadow,” because the present business district had been a marshland that flooded with every high tide. Her article contained information about the first resident of Port Jefferson, John Roe, who built his home in 1682, which was still standing today. John Roe’s descendants lived in the area into the 19th century, and although there were only five houses in 1797, Port Jefferson was a prominent commercial center by the 1850s. Her article was so well written that Paul couldn’t stop reading.

  As he sat there, he came to appreciate Port Jefferson even more because of the simple facts and details she had written. Things such as a quote from Captain James McAllister in 1912 saying that “Port Jefferson harbor was the most beautiful he had ever sailed into.” The town was renamed Port Jefferson in honor of the third president, Thomas Jefferson, in March 1836, and became a bustling port.

  Rachelle’s choice of living on Prospect Street was because of al the historical homes, such as the Capt. C.E. Tooker home, the R.H. Wilson home, and the John Mather home. Her article went into detail about the Mather home and Mather, who had left money for the hospital that she was in at this moment. She studied the history of the village so much that she grew to love it with a passion.

  Paul looked at her and held her hand. As he held her hand, Rachelle awoke but was too tired to speak. She laid quietly as Paul began to speak to her aloud, not knowing she could hear him. “Rachelle, there are many things I don’t understand right now, but I want you to know how much you mean to me. We have been friends for years, but when I’m not with you, I miss you, and when I’m with you, I feel whole. I need to be whole and be me, and I can’t do that without you. I have been stubborn and shy in wanting to talk to you about my feelings, but my insecurity has stopped me from telling you these things. When all of this is over, I will speak to you and tell you all of this, but it’s important for you to get well.” He kissed her hand and continued as Rachelle listened. “I will not take you for granted anymore, as I sit here and think about our past, our talks, our laughs, and your incredible work and success at the restaurant and the paper. I wonder if this is my fault, but I want you to know I will do everything to protect you—not because it’s my job but because I need you in my life. If that sounds selfish, I’m sorry. I guess it’s good you are not hearing this because I’m probably screwing this up!”

  Paul leaned in and bent down closer to Rachelle’s face as he moved strands of her hair. “I would kiss you now, but I don’t want the first time I touch your lips to be like this. I need you to want it too.” He moved up her face and kissed her forehead. He went to the door of her room to look for Bud and to check out a television to see if Detective Lieutenant Cronin was having the press conference. He went to the lobby of the hospital as Rachelle opened her eyes with a half smile on her face and a tear in her eye.

  The lobby had Fox News on, and there was Detective Lieutenant Cronin in a recorded conference that had been shown live 30 minutes prior. It was short and to the point, and he took no questions. He said, “This has been the longest day of my career as a police officer. Today we lost one of our own, Officer Victoria Davis. An outstanding officer, a better person, and a friend to all of those who worked with her. We have been investigating the kidnapping of Deborah Lance and the murder of Timothy Mann, which are proving to be connected. And now we have the death of Officer Davis and injuries to FBI agent Jack O’Connor, Now reporter Rachelle Robinson, and the suspect himself, who was shot by one of our detectives. There is a list of demands by the kidnappers/murderers, which we are evaluating now. We will act accordingly to bring this to a close in the best possible way to resolve this case without any more injuries and death. Thank you.”

  As he started to walk away, a reporter shouted, “That’s it! Just walk away. No questions, no answers!”

  Cronin stepped back to the microphone and said, “I had to go inform the parents of Victoria Davis that their daughter died today in the line of duty while trying to save the life of Rachelle Robinson. We are not going to jeopardize any more lives at this juncture of the investigation. I don’t want to visit any more parents. Please respect that for now, and be patient with us.”

  The silence from the reporters was a perfect time for Detective Lieutenant Cronin to walk away.

  Paul went back to check on Bud, and a PBA delegate had just left the room when he got there.

  “Paul,” Bud said, “I really don’t want this. We have work to do.”

  “Listen,” Paul said, “it’s for your own good. This will be over soon, but we have to be certain Internal Affairs is not looking for a badge to take in all this, especially yours.”

  Bud sat back, shaking his head, and said, “OK, OK, I can’t wait to get home.

  “You’ll be out of here in another hour. Go home, and we will talk tomorrow. Better yet
, come over to Z Pita for breakfast, and we can talk. I’m going back to Rachelle’s room until Madison gets back, then going down to the station to interview Patty Saunders and Roger Thompson.”

  Paul gave Bud a big bear hug, left the room, and visited Agent O’Connor for a few minutes before going back to Rachelle’s room. It was past 8:00 pm when he got a text from Cronin that Thompson and Saunders were being brought in for the morning. Paul was happy about it and squeezed Rachelle’s hand. She opened her eyes and smiled. He looked at her and put his hand on top of hers. She turned her hand to intertwine her fingers with his.

  “When you are out of here, we can have our own chat,” he said. “OK,” she said.

  Within minutes Madison was back to relieve Paul, and she wouldn’t let go of Rachelle.

  “I’m fine,” Rachelle said, giggling. Paul said good night to both of them and checked in again with Agent O’Connor’s room and Kyle Winters’ room.

  “Sorry, sir,” an officer said to Paul, “no admittance to Kyle Winters’ room without Detective Lieutenant Cronin’s authorization. Do you want me to call him?”

  “No, no,” Paul replied. “It can wait.”

  As Paul walked down the hall, the officer called Cronin anyway to tell him Detective Powers had come to the room. As Paul went outside the hospital, he had déj à vu. Again, no car to get home. He decided to take a walk to his apartment from the hospital. He needed the fresh air and time to think. The walk took him about 20 minutes. He was looking forward to the next day. Although it would be Sunday, he knew there would be no days off until this was resolved. The national spotlight on the case gave no options. This was going to be the rule until this was over.

  He arrived at his apartment and turned on his answering machine to hear messages from Allan, his father, Joey Z, and Bud. He turned on the television to Fox News and what they were calling the Port Jefferson murders—“The Face of Fear”—under the “breaking news” bar. Apparently the media was linking the murder of Timothy Mann and Officer Davis with the kidnapping. Paul shut off the television and started returning phone calls. The first one was to his father. He listened to the concern and worry of his father for almost an hour before hanging up. He decided to take a shower before making the other calls.

  John Winters picked up his knife and held it in his hand as he watched the news about his brother. Sitting next to him were Phil and his younger brother, Mason.

  He looked at Phil and said, “You bastard. If you had gotten Kyle out of there instead of driving off, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  Phil shook his head and replied, “John, he fired six to eight times, and at least 20 to 25 shots were fired back. It was a war zone.”

  John grabbed his neck and shouted, “And now they will be all over us if Kyle talks! I know he hasn’t yet or they would be raiding next door. If we go down, I want people to suffer. I want the reporter dead, I want the cop who shot Kyle dead, and I want Wayne to torture and kill the pretty little thing before it’s over.”

  He picked up his cell phone and called Wayne to check on how their hostage was doing. He was yelling at Wayne because he seemed as if he had a few drinks in him. He hung up and threw his glass of Jack Daniel’s at the television screen. His patience was wearing thin. “I will have to move to Wayne’s house in the early morning. I expect the cops to be at my brother’s house by morning and figure out I’m next door. Kyle doesn’t know your real names except for Mason, so you and Wayne don’t have anything to worry about.”

  He picked up his cell phone again and called another number. At the other end was a female voice. John spoke very slowly to her. “Listen to me, you bitch. Keep your mouth shut, or I will cut you up into little pieces and feed you to the sharks in the Riverhead Aquarium.”

  The voice on the other end bellowed back, “There was a deal that no one would be killed. What are you doing, you crazy fuck?”

  John answered calmly, “Just drop out of sight. We don’t need you around for a while.”

  “And what about my cut of the ransom?” the female said.

  “We have bigger problems to think about, you dumb bitch. If we get out of this, I will contact you.”

  John Winters hung up the phone and looked at Phil. “You are going to have to eliminate her before she speaks a word to anyone.”

  Phil got up and started heading for the door. He said, “John, as much as I don’t want to, I’m afraid your own brother is going to have to be eliminated as well.”

  Mason stood up at this statement to argue, but John cut him off, saying, “We have no choice, Mason. If we don’t, he will give all of us up. He got himself shot after killing a police officer. No way will they let him go. Trial or no trial, they want me, and he is their only ticket.”

  Mason sat down as Phil went out the door. Phil got in his black SRX and drove away from the Thompson Street house wondering if it would be the last time he would be there. He stopped at the end of the driveway and looked back at the house next door on Thompson Street, the home of Kyle Winters. Phil knew if the cops got to Kyle, he may give them up, plus once they got his home address and realized John Winters was next door, all hell would break loose. He slammed the steering wheel hard with his open hand as he realized it was over for all of them unless the three Winters brothers were wasted. There would be no connection to Phil or to Wayne or even to the girl who they had met online if the brothers were gone. Phil made the left on Thompson Street to drive the five minutes to Mather Hospital. He knew what he had to do.

  The two officers were getting tired, for they had not been relieved since they started guarding the door at 3:00 pm. It was now midnight, and a relief team was more than an hour late. Officers Barry Smith and Alex Walker now had chairs in the hallway. Walker decided to get some coffee and stretch his legs. “Bring me back some, black,” Smith called out to him.

  Smith was alone for two minutes when a hard crack against his head knocked him to the floor. The intruder walked into the room where Kyle Winters was and walked up to his bedside as Kyle opened his eyes to see the famous white mask with peanut-shaped eyes. The person behind the mask whispered to Kyle, who answered her and begged for his life.

  Before he could let out a cry for help, his mouth was covered and the face whispered in his ear, “No more killing for you” and, with a sudden thrust, put a knife through his heart. The blood started gushing out almost immediately. The intruder left the room and ran down the hallway, leaving Officer Smith on the floor.

  As Walker came around the corner, he dropped the coffees on the floor as he radioed for backup and checked on the condition of Smith. Bud, who was still in the hospital on the advice of his attorney, heard the call and came running to the room, only to find Kyle Winters dead. He took Officer Walker’s club from his belt to check the floor of the hospital, including the rooms. Even though it was past midnight, two doctors and three nurses were on the scene rather quickly.

  As Bud checked the rooms, he went over to the nurses’ station to shaken nurses who had just witnessed the attack on the monitors. “Play it back!” Bud started yelling, almost making one nurse jump out of her seat. She was nervous and crying but managed to move the recording back 10 minutes. As Bud watched, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Moving quickly, the intruder—wearing tight black pants, black sneakers, tight black shirt, black gloves, and the famous white Ghost Face mask—knocked out Officer Smith, went into the room, and within 35 seconds was out the door and running down the hallway. The detective couldn’t help but notice the blood splatter under the eye and along the right side of the eye of the mask.

  “Where’s the rest of the video?” Bud screamed.

  The nurse replied the videos were for rooms and small portions of hallway to watch patients. Bud thought it had to be one of the kidnappers to keep Winters from talking. Suddenly he thought of Rachelle and started running to her room. The two officers were missing from the door as Bud rushed in to see Rachelle sleeping and
Madison’s head on her.

  “What’s going on?” Madison asked, annoyed at being awoken. “Where are the officers that are supposed to be at this door,” Bud replied in a statement, instead of in the form of a question.

  “Bud, I’ve been here sleeping with Rachelle. I haven’t been checking the doors.” By then there were three police cars on the grounds. Bud went back to the nurses’ station and called Paul on his cell phone. Paul told Bud he would be right there. Detective Lieutenant Cronin was notified as well and said he would be there within minutes. As Bud hung up the phone he looked at the nurse and said, “And I wanted to be a cop in a quiet town. Play the video from room 209.”

  She played it back over and over, and there were two officers on film until 11:30 pm, then they were gone.

  “What the fuck?” Bud kept saying. “They left? No relief, nothing?”

  Bud returned to room 209 to see two new officers there. “Don’t leave this area until you are relieved in person by two other officers,” he said.

  Detective Lieutenant Cronin arrived at the hospital as calls were being made to the officers who had left the room. It turned out they never left the hospital. They were hospitalized themselves with food poisoning, and no one had the smarts to call it in for replacements for room 209.

  It was apparent to everyone as Paul arrived back at the hospital that the people involved in the kidnapping and murder were cleaning up house to avoid getting caught. It was going to be a very long weekend.

  Cronin grabbed a radio from one of the uniformed officers and said, “Send officers to Patty Saunders’ and Roger Thompson’s homes now. I want to know what they have been up to tonight.”

  Detective Lieutenant Cronin and Bud walked to Agent O’Connor’s room, flashed identification, and walked in to a sleeping O’Connor. “Don’t wake him,” Cronin said, “as long as things here haven’t been disrupted.”