The mother, Sharyn Wilkerson, spoke up, saying, “Listen, I’m really scared and I have to say that I don’t want my child involved.”
Bud asked her to walk with him away from Lindsey. When they were out of earshot, he said, “Ma’am, I’m afraid to tell you that she is already involved. Somehow the people involved have found out they have messed with a genius of a girl, and they will not want a kid with what appears to be a photographic memory around for them to worry about. Our best chance of stopping this may involve your daughter. I understand your concern, but we will not let her out of our sight unless she is in the house with you and one of our officers is outside. During school, I will have Officer Healey, who she trusts, with her at all times. Ma’am, please, more important than solving the case, whoever is behind this may not want her alive. It is my belief that we have not asked her the right question yet, but when we do, it would be extremely helpful.”
The mother agreed, and Bud radioed for Healey to bring his unmarked cruiser back up to the Wilkersons. As soon as Justin Healey got the message, he informed the bus driver to take him to the security building in Belle Terre. When he finally arrived, Bud told him he would be Lindsey’s bodyguard during the day and rotating shifts at night. He would clear all of this through Cronin. Bud took his car back as Healey stayed with Lindsey for protection until the night shift.
As Bud got in his car, he yelled to Lindsey, “When was the first time I showed you my identification?”
“It was 11:07, Detective Johnson.”
“Did you notice the number on the identification?”
“Number 1669, Detective Johnson,” the girl answered.
Bud nodded and said, “That’s right, Lindsey.”
As he got in his car, Bud said aloud to himself, “I feel sorry for the poor bastard who marries her; he’s got no chance.”
Bud reached the security building as the medical examiner was loading up the body. He asked for a moment and pulled the sheet down from Allan’s head.
“I’m sorry, friend. I promise you, it won’t be in vain.” He put his hand on the side of Allan’s head for a moment and closed his eyes as if he was saying a silent prayer. He pulled his hand away and gently pulled up the sheet over Allan’s head. He walked toward Cronin and asked where Paul was.
“He is with the family and will accompany them to St. Charles Hospital.” Cronin showed the note to Bud that was found on Allan’s body. Bud read it and slapped his leg with it.
“There was no press about Lindsey. How and why does the killer know?”
Cronin looked at Bud and said, “It means there are no rules to this game. You don’t give any information other than to Paul and myself about this case. Understood?”
“What about the FBI? Sherman and O’Connor are still involved on the kidnapping angle.”
“No additional information without my OK to anyone,” the detective lieutenant barked. “Understood?”
“Yes,” Bud answered. “I’ve got Healey on protection duty during the day, and I need two shifts of officers at night on Bell Circle. OK?”
“Just do it,” Cronin answered. “I’m going to the district attorney’s office.”
“Boss, it’s after 6:30 pm,” Bud replied.
“He can have a late dinner,” Cronin answered. “Get yourself to St. Charles to support Paul and the family. Get Lindsey squared away for school in the morning, and you and Paul meet me in the office by 11:00 am tomorrow.”
Bud nodded as Cronin drove away. He got on the phone and had Officer Dugan and Franks for the next few nights outside of Lindsey’s house. He went back inside to where he was just with Allan only a few hours earlier. He touched a few things and saw there were a couple of chocolate chip cookies left. He moved his fingers over them as if they were a magic wand, hoping to reverse time to when the plate was full of cookies and this had not yet happened.
He reached the door as Agents Sherman and O’Connor arrived. They expressed condolences as Bud nodded, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk. He just wanted to get to the hospital, where he was sure they were being counseled by professionals. He also wanted to see Paul. The body count was getting high, and the media coverage was going to be all over this as pressure built on Cronin.
As Detective Lieutenant Cronin was driving south on 83 to Yaphank, he called Ashley and demanded the meeting not wait until the morning. There had been another murder and a threat on a 12-year-old girl, and there was not time to waste.
Ashley made a desperate plea to the district attorney and won him over when told of the murder and the possible threat to the girl. District Attorney Steinberg was already in his car and closer to Cronin’s temporary home in the sixth precinct, so they all agreed to meet there in 20 minutes.
Bud arrived at the hospital and was led to a private room, where he hugged Paul and met Allan’s family and two children. His widow was almost inconsolable at times and other times seemed OK. It appeared to Bud she was in shock, which was understandable. They stayed with the family for more than an hour, and Paul promised he would be in touch with them as to the case and life afterward.
The two of them drove to Z Pita as they had planned earlier in the day and took table three in the back of the restaurant so they could have privacy. They were so deep in conversation that Joey Z, who always walked around and greeted them, left them alone.
Bud grabbed Paul’s hand and held it, saying, “I’m sorry, my friend.” Paul lowered his head but held back the tears. “It’s just us, Paul, let loose.”
Paul cleared his throat and said, “Thanks, but as the boss said, I’ve got to hold it together, at least ’til this is over.”
There was a question Bud wanted to ask Paul, but now wasn’t the time. Instead, Bud replied, “Paul, that’s just it. We have to get this thing solved before we have another body. We have to share the information we have with each other and Cronin. He doesn’t even want us to give new information to the FBI.”
“Bud,” Paul answered, “I’m not sure yet about what’s going on, but when we asked Rachelle about her Twitter and her writings, she told us to speak to Cronin. Deborah and her father go to Florida because of him, and now we are told not to give information to the FBI, which means we basically tell them the same thing: go speak to Detective Lieutenant Cronin.” Paul continued, “We have always handled these cases, and I know this is a complex case, but I feel like we have reached a point where we are puppets and he’s holding the strings.”
“Listen, you have always been the voice of reason,” Bud said to him. “But this case, you are different, and you know why? Because of Rachelle and now Allan. You are on this case because Cronin trusts you with our lives, but Paul, you have got to handle this as the terrific cop that you are. There’s no one better than you when questioning or finding a 'badass.’ We need you; I need you.”
Paul shook his head and said, “Well, you are good at feeding egos, my friend.”
“It’s more than that, my friend, when it’s the truth,” Bud said. Then he looked up at Rebecca and said, “Hey, how about some coffee?”
While Bud and Paul were talking at Z Pita, Sherry was surprised by a phone call from Rachelle to see how she was doing. Rachelle reminded Sherry that she had saved her life and she would forever be indebted to her. Sherry was modest but told Rachelle they would be friends regardless and that they should get together when all of this was over.
“You have a deal,” Rachelle answered.
Cronin arrived at the sixth precinct five minutes after District Attorney Steinberg and Assistant District Attorney Ashley. District Attorney Steinberg was sitting in Cronin’s chair when he walked in. He slowly started to get up, but Cronin waved for him to stay put.
“OK,” Steinberg said. “What was so important that both of you need to talk to me?”
“Well,” Assistant District Attorney Ashley spoke. “Since this is Detective Lieutenant Cronin’s idea, I thought you should hea
r it from the horse’s mouth.”
“OK,” Steinberg said, “Let’s hear it.”
Cronin went over everything he had discussed with Assistant District Attorney Ashley about the release of Patty Saunders in a bail setup. He explained for 20 minutes the possible scenarios involving her release and flushing out the killer or killers. District Attorney Steinberg was very respectful of Cronin’s presentation and stayed silent for most of it.
“I think,” the district attorney responded, “It’s a good idea, but a judge has to be convinced it’s for the good of the investigation, and you have to get the girl to agree. She might be afraid to get out of jail.”
“Her sentence is life unless she helps,” Cronin said.
The district attorney nodded his head and said, “My only other concern is I think you have to up the bail to one and a half million. Someone out there who wants her dead may realize it’s a setup, plus how will you explain where the bail money came from?”
Cronin replied, “Well, it will be anonymous, but I have it taken care of to avoid suspicion on where it came from.”
“And?” the district attorney asked. “I assume you have given this great thought.”
“Yes, sir, I have. I’m going to end this game,” Cronin answered. “You mean case, right Detective Lieutenant?”
“Barry,” Cronin said, “this is a game where people will continue to die unless it ends.”
“OK,” the district attorney said. “Set it up.” He looked at Ashley and said, “Get with Saunders and her attorney and let me know which judge is involved. Anything else, Detective Lieutenant?”
“Yes,” Cronin replied. “I’d like steps taken to where the Cross Island Ferry requires identification for all passengers and have metal detectors installed for every passenger. As of now, a truck full of guns or a bomb can be in a car and loaded up on the boat with no one knowing. An asshole can wear an inflatable vest under his coat and have the boat blow up and be in the water. I can and have gone on the boat with my guns with no problem. In fact, as we know, the lack of security is how Ms. Lance was kidnapped in the first place.”
Barry Steinberg stood up and said, “Wow! Anything else?”
“Well, tell me, Barry,” Cronin went on, “what’s the downside of doing it? You go to the airport to get on the plane, and you show identification. You show passports, you go through detectors...”
Steinberg interrupted, “You made your point, Detective. I will check into it and see what we can do. I’m afraid to ask, but is there anything else?”
“Yes,” Cronin said. “On New York driver’s licenses, see if you can get whether the person is left- or right-handed. It’s another way to verify identification, and with technology the way it is, it will help us in investigations.”
District Attorney Steinberg nodded and said, “Let’s look into it,” as he looked at Ashley.
“One more thing,” Cronin said.
With an exasperated face, Steinberg replied, “Here we go. Now what do you need?”
Cronin ignored the remark and continued, “This plan the governor has on having a statewide DNA database is a good one. I’m sure you agree using DNA to its full potential is essential.”
Steinberg smiled as he replied, “We are in agreement on this issue, Detective.” They shook hands and Steinberg left the building within seconds.
Ashley looked at Cronin and said, “I’m surprised you didn’t tell him you needed fingerprints on licenses.”
Cronin laughed and said, “I guess I can take my chair back. The hell with it, I’m going home.” He made calls to a couple of the officers on duty, including at Lindsey’s house in Belle Terre, before calling it a night.
Bud and Paul finished up at Z Pita and made plans to meet at the security building and have Cronin or William Lance give permission to check the Pink Mansion. When Bud got home, he sat down alone at his kitchen table, and his eyes filled with tears. He called Deborah and apologized for calling late, but he needed to talk. She was a good listener.
When Paul got up to his apartment above Z Pita, he pushed the voice-mail button, and it was from his father. “Hey, Paul, it’s Dad. I’m back in Florida, and damn it’s hot. Listen, I forgot to mention to you, don’t go to Morgan’s Bar in the city. Can you believe they charge for a refill on a cup of coffee? Shameful. OK, son, I will speak to you. Love you.” Paul half-smiled, then he got the sweat on the back of his head. He sent Cronin a text that said, “I need protection detail for my father in Florida.”
Cronin pulled over on the side of the road and answered him, “Why?”
Paul replied to the text with, “Who else do you love?”
Cronin called Paul and got his father’s location down in Florida. It was about an hour away from Deborah Lance in Marco but up north toward Tampa. They hung up, and the Detective Lieutenant made calls to get a protection detail on William Powers for a few days. When questioned by his counterpart about the few days, Cronin replied, “This will be over within a few days.” He hung up and said aloud to himself, “I hope.”
He started his car up again with thoughts about whether the day was ever going to end. He turned on his speakerphone and called William Lance’s cell phone to discuss Patty Saunders’ bail money.
Bud hung up the phone with Deborah after about an hour but knew he couldn’t sleep with the chain of events that continued to happen with the case. He wrote himself a list that he needed to do for the morning. For the first time in years, he felt like he was getting overwhelmed. The list started off with: “meet Paul 8:00 am, verify Healey pickup of Lindsey to school, get photographs together for Lindsey, talk to Cronin about Long Island Pulse interview, call Sherry at the hospital, get permission to search the grounds of Lance’s Pink Mansion.” He put his pen down and thought he had covered everything for the morning. Little did he know his plans would be disrupted by Cronin’s request to have Saunders released on bail. It was a secret as to why she would be released, but the release itself would make national news.
Bud sat down, grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote. He made some rhymes, scratched out a few lines, and started again. The man who hid behind a clown’s face was thinking about the state of affairs, not only with the case but what was happening everywhere, and then he thought about his mother. She died too young, he thought. He started writing again. He wrote a tribute to her and then put the words in lyric form. “For you, Mom,” he said to himself when he finished it. He made a copy of it and put it in an envelope and addressed it to Deborah Lance in Marco Island, Florida. He attached a note to it that read, “To Deborah, it’s for my mother, but it’s you that inspired me to write it. With Best Wishes, Bud. P.S. Thank you.”
He went outside on his front porch and took in the stars. He decided to talk to the sky. “You know I’ve never paid much attention as to a superior being, but there has to be someone in charge of all this. Please, please give me the strength to solve this. I will do whatever I have to do to keep more lives from being lost. They say that church can be anywhere as long as you pray. If this is considered a prayer then so be it. I am asking for help and I’m asking for protection, which will allow me to keep those involved safe. We are losing good people as well as the bad. It’s not fair; don’t tell me life is not fair. I’ve never been good at this, and I may not be making that much sense, but if you are there and you are who they say you are, then you do understand what I’m saying. There has been too much hurt and too many lives changed in the past 10 days. Please allow me and the team to save lives and give peace back to these good people. I promise, sure as I’m standing here, that we will have a regular conversation if no other good person loses their life on this case. I’m sorry if I sound like I don’t care about the masked killer or Phil Smith. Right now, I will take what I can get and that’s to keep the good guys alive. If I never solve another case, I will be OK with it. If this is the end of the road for me, then so be it. I want—no, I need—to put an end to
this, and I can’t do it without your guidance. Give me the strength to continue to be determined to resolve it. No matter how long this takes, please help me keep the good souls alive. I’m here to make a promise to you and that is for you to please be here now, listening to me. Thank you. Amen. Good night. I’m embarrassed to even show you I’m not even sure how to end a prayer. But know this, I will be listening as well, and I will be closer to you but understand that while I realize that every prayer cannot be answered, I think my request deserves due attention.”
Bud waved at the stars as he went into his house.
Tuesday, June 28
The alarm buzzer went off as Bud put his hand on the button to quiet the noise. He studied the time on the clock: 7:02 am. He thought Lindsey was getting to him by his new habit of checking the exact details on the time.
As he lay in bed with the television on, he thought about his speech to the stars the previous night. He remembered that while he was talking aloud that he separated Phil Smith from the masked killer. Phil Smith was responsible for the kidnapping of Deborah, the killing of Timothy and Allan, all good people. Yet, the masked killer knocked off those who were involved with Phil Smith. His thoughts continued as he shut the television off to focus more. The masked killer knocked off Steven Anderson, which had to mean Anderson had a connection with all of this. He blinked his eyes a few times to see if would clear his head of a case that had become so complex that it was cause for concern over when and how it would come to a close.
He tuned the television back to News 12, the local Long Island news station, just in time to have them announce the latest tweet from BF_TJ_GW, which had become a regular segment. Doug Geed read it, indicating it had been posted at 6:22 am. “I know you killed AGAIN, and I know you have a FRIEND, soon...it will be the END.”
Bud stared at the television with his mouth open. He sent Paul a text that maybe they needed to visit her again. He continued to watch the segment where it also read some of “Detective Johnson’s tweets,” and as of 7:00 am, he had not posted a tweet. This is getting out of hand, he thought. Or is it?
The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel Page 33