The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel

by Torbert, R. J. ;

  John looked out the window and said, “Well, well, well, my little honey. My brother may have failed, but we will not.” He turned around to Mason and asked, “Have you heard from Phil?”

  “No,” Mason replied.

  John slammed the wall he was standing next to and said, “He’s not answering his phone. He was successful killing Kyle in the hospital, and I’m sure he now wants us out of the way. He feels this is his only way of getting out of this. So we are going to have to get rid of him after the girl. We can’t have anymore stories being circulated. Get some rest, Mason. This is going to be a busy week.”

  Mason went upstairs to bed early as John turned on the television. He knew they were in a mess and wasn’t sure how they were going to get out of it. He was determined to bring as many people down with him as he could. The saying was true—misery loves company.

  As he sat in his chair and lowered the television sound, he picked up his cell phone and dialed. Wayne’s phone rang in the basement room where Debbie was being held. On the other end, Debbie knew it was Wayne’s boss because she heard the famous Elvis quote, “Thank you, thank you very much.”

  Wayne got off the phone and walked over to Debbie as she curled up on the bed. He moved in up to her face and started licking the side of it.

  “I bet you are quite a ride in the sack, aren’t you?” he asked. “Please don’t hurt me,” she spoke back, with her hands tied to the bedpost.

  “Well, my sweet one,” Wayne said, “I believe we are coming to the end of our relationship. The boss says you gotta go soon. Looks like no ransom, because it’s just too crazy.”

  She looked back at Wayne with her eyes closed and said, “Forget him, my father is rich. I will take care of you. Let me go, and I will give you money to live on the rest of your life.”

  Wayne looked intrigued. “Tell me more, my chickadee.”

  “Listen,” the young woman went on in a desperate plea, “they won’t need you once I’m gone. You are a witness to everything. In fact, you are the only one that has spent time with me. If you are out of the way as well, then there is no connection to my kidnapping. Think about it. Have you made demands? I’ve been here over a week. What is going on?”

  It was interesting to Wayne how Debbie Lance was getting more brazen as the days went by. Either that, or she thought it was her only chance of survival. He moved in closer to her as she kept her eyes shut. “How about a fuck here and there, and maybe you will live longer because of the enjoyment you bring me?” he asked.

  Debbie wanted to regurgitate at his words, but she managed to keep it together and said, “Well, let me think about it. It would be easier for me knowing what is going on. I would consider it if you could get a message to my father.”

  “What kind of message?” Wayne said.

  “Just a message so he knows I’m alive and well.

  “What do you want me to do?” Wayne said.

  “Tell him I love him and please pay anything to get me home.”

  “You know, I just thought of something,” Wayne said. “I could do whatever I wanted to you now, and no one would know a thing, no?” Deborah yelled, and Wayne grabbed and ripped her shirt almost entirely off in one quick rip.

  “No! No!” she screamed.

  “Shut up!” he yelled back. “You’ve been needing this.”

  He grabbed her pants and started pulling them off as she fought, moving her legs. “No!” she cried. She fought hard, but he got her pants off and went right to her panties, which came right off with the strength of his hand. “No!” she cried louder.

  He slapped her hard across the face and held her head tight as he got close to her ear and said, “You need this, you bitch! Play nice, or I will tear you apart.” He slapped her again as Deborah resigned herself that she was going to be raped and killed. She no longer had the energy to fight him off.

  When Wayne’s pants were halfway down, he heard a smash in the next room. He opened the door, and as soon as he did, there was a large deer-hunting knife that went through his navel. He looked down at his wound in disbelief and looked back up again to stare at the white mask with blood splatter and those eyes at a tilted angle. As Wayne started to reach toward the mask with his hand, the knife was twisted in his stomach. Wayne went down to the floor and died with a look of puzzlement on his face. The masked intruder looked at Deborah curled up with her hands tied to the bedpost doing her best to hide her naked body.

  “Please, no!” Deborah cried softly in a voice of resignation. She looked at him—black tight pants, black shirt, black gloves, the mask with a big hood. As he walked to the bed, Deborah began saying, “No! Please, no!” The figure raised his knife to Deborah. “God! No!” she screamed, as the knife came down on the ropes holding her, cutting her loose. She sat there not knowing what to say as she stared at the masked stranger, who had most likely saved her life. He reached for Wayne’s cell phone and threw it on the bed at Deborah. She glanced at it, and when she looked up, he was gone.

  She called her father, who in turn called 911. Within 10 minutes there was a circus of emergency vehicles at the house on Pine Hill Road. Bud was the third officer on the scene, and all were waiting until female officers and the FBI and Agent Sherman arrived. Bud called Paul a few times but could not reach him. When he walked into the room where Debbie was, he could see why they were waiting for female officers to get to the house. However, he couldn’t help himself. He walked over to Deborah, who had a blanket over her and was shaking. Bud was aching to put his arm around her but knew the rules on sexual assault victims.

  “It’s going to be all right now,” he kept saying. “We are not going to stop until all of this is resolved. It’s OK now.” He had never met her before this moment, but his heart was breaking knowing what she must have gone through. “Listen,” he said, “let’s go to the other room and get away from this bad guy here laying on the floor. He is a bad guy, right?” Bud said with a half-assuring smile but in the form of a question.

  Deborah smiled at the way Bud asked her and confirmed, “Yes, he is a bad guy.”

  “Tell me what happened,” Bud replied. He turned on his tape recorder, and Deborah told Bud about what was going down when the masked intruder met her kidnapper at the door then cut her loose and suddenly disappeared. Bud’s face got a little more serious when she told him what mask he was wearing. Bud had been carrying photos of the wrinkled version, scarecrow, zombie, and the white version, which is what the killer was wearing.

  Bud asked, “Was there a blood splatter on the mask?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “When he leaned over to cut my ropes, I could smell a vanilla scent.”

  Bud made a note of it and questioned her more about the agility of the masked intruder and if she knew more about whom else was involved in her kidnapping. His interrogation stopped once the FBI entered the house as well as the medical examiner and the medical team from Mather Hospital. Bud thanked Deborah and touched her hand before saying goodbye. He managed to ask her before he left if she was raped, and she told him she had managed to avoid it. The medical team put her in the ambulance, where they informed her that both her father and boyfriend, Robert Simpson, would see her at the hospital.

  Bud picked up his call from Paul and informed both him and Detective Lieutenant Cronin on his speakerphone as to the information he got from Debbie before taking her away under the protection of the FBI.

  “Bud,” Cronin said, “go to the body, get his cell phone, and check the calls that came in. Do it quick, and get back to us.”

  Bud went inside the house and found Wayne Starfield’s phone had slipped halfway under the bed. He wrote down all the numbers received on the phone before leaving. Agent Sherman caught Bud on the way out.

  “Detective Johnson, what are you doing out here by yourself without your partner? And you haven’t even got your gun back from Internal Affairs yet, have you?”

  “Agent Sherman,
” Bud replied, turning around to see eye to eye, “normally those would be good questions that should be answered, but I’m asking for understanding here. We have a joint investigation with you guys because of two people being murdered. One of them a police officer who we are burying tomorrow.”

  Agent Sherman nodded in silence and replied, “We are getting phone records from John Winters’ phone tomorrow. We will bring them over after the funeral. We will see you there.”

  Bud thanked him and got into his cruiser and drove down to the precinct. He walked in to see Paul at his desk looking over newspaper articles from the past week.

  “Where have you been?” Bud asked. “I called you four to five times during all of this.”

  “Sorry,” Paul replied, “I was here but had to take care of some personal business for a bit.” Bud got up to take a look at the numbers written down.

  “When are we getting answers?”

  “Soon, my friend,” was Paul’s answer.

  Detective Lieutenant Cronin was at his desk when an officer from the crime-scene unit came and gave him the list of names and numbers that had been received on Wayne Starfield’s cell-phone number. One name was not a surprise. John Winters had called at least twice a day for the past week. The second name was a surprise. He got up and walked out to Bud and Paul.

  “Bring in Patty Saunders now! I want her here before the FBI gets ahold of her. She called Starfield’s cell phone four times since this mess started.

  Bud and Paul got up to leave as Cronin bellowed, “Dress blues tomorrow for the funeral, but get this woman in here now!”

  Bud and Paul arrived at Patty Saunders’ apartment complex at Knolls Apartments on Belle Terre Road. There was no answer at the door, but they heard a cell phone ring inside.

  Bud finally yelled, “Open the door, or I will huff and puff and blow this motherfucking door down.” Paul looked at him like he had lost his mind.

  “What the fuck,” Bud said, “I don’t have my main piece.”

  The door slowly opened, and Patty was already dressed to go down to the station. “You’re in a bit of trouble, missy,” Bud said.

  “Ma’am,” Paul said, “I’m going to read you your rights, but we have questions for you at the precinct, and I’m sure the FBI will also.”

  They brought her in to the precinct, where they questioned her for more than two hours. It was at this interrogation where pieces of the puzzle started coming together. She admitted to being involved in the kidnapping of Debbie Lance. Debbie had everything most people wanted in life—a big mansion, a rich daddy, money, a good job—and Patty couldn’t have any of it, so she went after Robert Simpson. Patty felt empowered when she seduced him a few times when Debbie was out of town. He stopped it out of emotional guilt after a few months, so she had gone after Daddy, the ultimate conquest, but he would have nothing of it. He was such a good dad he never told his daughter, for fear it would hurt her too much.

  Patty had been promised Debbie would never be physically hurt during the ordeal, but $5 million was too tempting. Patty got the ball rolling from meeting the Winters brothers online through Facebook. They met a few times in Port Jefferson at Pasta Pasta over dinner to discuss their plans. During the interview, Patty broke down in tears that Bud felt were of the crocodile nature.

  Paul moved in on Patty to remind her that because of her actions, two innocent people, one of them a cop, was killed and three others were seriously injured. “You’re going away for a long time, because of jealousy.” Patty nodded in agreement, with tears in her eyes. She continued her story and the involvement of Kyle and Phil Smith, who she believed was behind the killing of Kyle, and now Wayne.

  “I guess he wants me dead now,” Patty cried.

  Bud looked at her from the wall he was leaning against and said, “Honey, I think more than a few people are going to want you dead when this all comes out.”

  Detective Lieutenant Cronin, who was looking through the one-way mirror with the assistant district attorney said, “We should bring in William Lance and Robert Simpson to be sure they’re not involved. The butler at the very least had an affair with Patty, so he may have had cause to be involved with this.” ADA Ashley agreed.

  “Send two officers to pick them up,” Cronin replied quickly.

  “I think I’m going to let Paul and Bud do it,” Cronin said. “When this thing goes to court, I would like to have them involved in most of this since they are knee-deep already.”

  ADA Ashley replied, “OK, but the way this is going, there won’t be anybody on trial the way the body count is going.”

  John Ashley was a slim man of 38 who had been with the Suffolk Police Department since graduating from Columbia University in New York City 12 years prior. His dark hair and brown eyes were a hit with the ladies, but his job and passion kept him a bachelor. He walked out the door as Cronin pushed the intercom button and told Paul and Bud to leave the interrogation room.

  “What’s up, boss?” Bud remarked as they came through the door to the viewing room.

  “Have one of the officers book Saunders, you two go pick up William Lance and Simpson, now. The FBI may have already beat us to it.”

  “Boss, my gun?” Bud replied.

  “Not yet,” Cronin replied. “If you don’t want to go with Paul, then sit this out.”

  “I’m going,” Bud replied.

  Bud and Paul arrived back at the end of Cliff Street in Belle Terre to learn that the FBI had already picked up William Lance while he was visiting Deborah at the hospital. Robert Simpson did not go to the hospital, so Paul and Bud turned their attention to the guesthouse. As they knocked on the door, they heard a crash. Paul kicked in the door as Bud ran around the back and collided with Robert.

  “What are you, some kind of dumbass?” Bud said, as he held on to Robert. Bud put Simpson to the ground and started talking into his ear. “Where you going? What are you running from? Why are you banging Patty at the same time as pretty Debbie? You must be a dumbass.”

  Simpson started to talk. “Shut up!” Bud interrupted. “You have the right to remain silent. If not, I may put a bullet up your ass.” He stopped as Paul came around the corner and told him his accurate rights.

  As they put Simpson in the car and closed the door, Paul turned to Bud and said, “The next time you want to put a bullet up someone’s ass, make sure no one can hear you, but more important, you better have a bigger gun to do it with.”

  “Sorry about that, my partner,” Bud replied.

  As they drove to the precinct, Bud picked up the paper lying on the seat. It was the Tuesday edition of the Port Jefferson Now. He read the article written by Rachelle that included insightful detail yet cryptic messages as to what had been going on and what was yet to come.

  “She’s very talented,” Bud said as he looked at Paul driving.

  “Yes,” Paul replied.

  “She’s very smart,” Bud said.

  “Yes.”

  “She’s very pretty.”

  “Yes,” Paul replied.

  Bud paused for a moment and said, “Is she good in bed?”

  Paul looked at Bud and said, “Read the article.”

  “I can’t read anymore,” he replied. “It gives me a headache. I know you don’t know if she’s good in bed because you barely have kissed her. I was just checking to see if you were listening to me. Life is going to end, my friend. One day you are going to look back and say, ‘I blew it.’ At the very least know what it was like to be alone with her. You almost lost her forever a couple days ago. If you have feelings and care about her, stop the being shy shit and make a move when this thing is over, or you will regret it the rest of your life... however long that may be. No one has been murdered here for 20 years, and now we have four people in the last week. Yes, sir, we are the hot spot among killings, and we even got a Ghost Face running around.”

  Paul turned on to Route 83 South to
Coram as he glanced at Bud and said, “Are you going to talk the whole way to the station, or can I listen to music?”

  In the backseat, Simpson started to talk and Bud cut him off. “Shut up, dickhead,” Bud said. “Just keep yourself in the back with your mouth shut, and I might not make good on my promise.” He was, of course, referring to his bullet-up-the-ass remark back at the guesthouse, but he did not want to say it again in front of Paul.

  Bud put the radio on and started surfing the channels. As he did, there was a quick bite of Twist of Fate from Olivia Newton-John. “Stay on that,” Paul yelled.

  “Stop, will you,” Bud replied as he switched the channel. “That shit’s old. How old are you? Twenty-nine? Thirty? What’s with this Olivia thing?”

  Paul replied back quickly, “Come on, no one was better than her in the ’80s, and she’s still selling concert tickets in her sixties.”

  “I know, you already told me that. It’s the 21st century, man. What the fuck?” Bud replied.

  Paul smiled and said, “I was seven years old and my parents took me to one of her concerts. My dad loved her music, looks, and personality, and I loved her in Grease. I was trying to enjoy watching her from the good seats that we had, but it was difficult until my dad put me on his shoulders so I could see her better. Watching her on stage was so incredible, especially when she did songs from Grease. Finally, during the show she started to sing ‘Magic.’ There was a musical interlude at the beginning of the song, and at the first lyrics—‘Come take my hand’—she reached out her hand to me and kept it there ’til my dad got me to the stage so I could touch her. She held it tight while she sang a few more lyrics and kissed me when she had a pause from singing the lyrics. It was something that always stayed with me. I guess you could say I was a fan for life because of the attention she gave to a little boy. I grew up buying her CDs as well as others, but there has always been a place in my heart for her. The cancer ordeal she went through, her boyfriend disappearing...but it was the music, her voice, and her sincere appreciation and kindness to her fans that kept me in her corner. Don’t forget, the results are there: seven number one songs in a row. The ‘Physical’ video was so far ahead of its time.”