by PT Reade
“I loved Darcey,” he said, as if that explained everything. “But this gulf that has always existed between my father and me is toxic. Any woman involved in my life is always at risk…anyone I get close to. My father has no limits. He’ll go after anyone. So that’s why I pushed Darcey away. That’s why I called the engagement off. Too many people had found out about us. It was too dangerous,” Mickey said.
“Zoe, though…well, she stuck around,” he continued. “But not because of any romantic aspect. She was around because she was my liaison to the DEA. I don’t think she realized what she was getting herself into. From my understanding, they had sought her out to learn more about Darcey, maybe get leverage on me. But when Zoe realized that Darcey might be in trouble, she wouldn’t take no for answer—well, you know how she is—so they put her to work on me. Zoe worked for them, angling in on me.
“She helped me set up a deal with the DEA that was going to help them bring down Dad’s drug supply operations. I didn’t like the idea of working with them at first. I knew it was suicide if my father found out, but eventually I realized that it was the only way. I’d help them bring him down, and the DEA, in the process, would offer protection to me and those I cared about.”
“And Darcey knew nothing about the deal?” I asked.
“Nothing. She must have just thought I had left her for Zoe. I know I hurt her, but I thought I was doing the right thing,” Mickey insisted, “I’d gone to great lengths to keep Darcey safe, but I got lazy when it came to her sister. She seemed so capable, like she could take care of herself. My father must have gotten tipped off by one of his goons. When I heard that she had been attacked by his men, I knew that I had done the right thing in sending Darcey away, but I felt guilty for endangering her sister instead. I guess I failed to protect both of them in the end. If I’d known my choices were going to have this kind of impact, I would have never done it. What a fucking mess.”
I nodded, piecing together the events of the last few days. All along I had assumed that the men at the graveyard were sent to silence me. After hearing Mikhail’s side of the story, it seemed more likely that they had been sent to make Zoe disappear. If Victor knew about Zoe, then he must have known the location of Mikhail’s hideout all along. I wondered if he knew about the deal with the DEA, or if he was simply teaching his son a lesson for trying to legitimize the business.
Either way, he had come close to succeeding.
“I’m sorry it ended up this way,” I spoke quietly, breaking the long pause. “But at least now we know Victor’s intentions. He won’t be pulling any more strings from inside. He’ll be locked down so tight that Houdini couldn’t get him out.”
“Yeah,” Mickey replied. But he didn’t seem comforted by the news.
I got back to my feet, ready to leave.
“You know,” Mickey said, “After we met before, I looked into you, into your story; what happened with your family. You know what it’s like to lose someone you care about.”
“I do,” I said quietly.
“When does it start to sink in?” he asked. “I know Darcey – the woman I knew is gone. But I can’t feel the change yet. You know?”
I stood for a moment and considered his words. The man had just witnessed his world fall apart. Could I really tell him the truth? Could I tell him that the pain of loss still burned me every day?
“Just give it time,” I lied. “It gets easier. You’ll feel the change.”
Things change, people change.
The words kept repeating in my head.
It was certainly true for Darcey. The sweet girl I had once known had really died as the jealousy and resentment turned her into a monster, into a killer. In the end, it was ironic that her sister became the compassionate one, for which she had paid the ultimate price.
But change wasn’t always bad. Rey was making a big difference in his work with the DEA, and even Kinsey, for all her faults, would make a great police captain. I could tell.
Maybe there was a chance for me then? A chance to change. For so long, I had been obsessed with the case of my family, and I had never considered anything else. In self-pity I had pushed away all of my friends and those who cared about me.
Maybe when I got access to Roland Teach I could—
Teach!
THIRTY-TWO
I burst through the station doors at 5:35, narrowly beating the rush of traffic that usually clogged up most of downtown once the businesses closed. I had prepared myself for the bad news—that Kinsey had released Roland Teach and the only lead to my family’s murder was now in the wind.
I understood. She really didn’t have much of a choice. After the way the day had ended, bad news really seemed like the only thing to expect. It felt like my old friend Futility was back, whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
When I entered the building, I caught a few people glancing my way. The looks on their faces were a mix of surprise, concern, and an overwhelming sense of discomfort. It was pretty conclusive that word had already reached most ears here at the precinct. They all knew how my afternoon had gone.
I headed straight for Kinsey’s office, sure that she’d already knocked off for the day. However, I found her behind her desk, typing furiously at her laptop while speaking to someone on the phone. She might be a hard-ass, but she was also a hard worker.
Rey was also there, sitting in the chair opposite her, and he nodded as I came in. Both looked like they had been expecting me. Kinsey stopped long enough to hold up a finger in a wait one second gesture and then rudely ended her call. I felt a little sorry for whoever was on the other end.
She stopped typing and fixed me with all of her attention. The look on her face was similar to those that I had seen in the hallways. She pitied me in a way, but part of her was also impressed that I had managed to get as far as I had.
“I’ve spoken with Detective Sanchez here,” she said. “He filled me in on everything. It seems that I owe you some congratulations. That was a job well done.”
I looked to Rey and knew he had filled Kinsey in on his version of everything, but probably omitted the parts involving the DEA and Walker’s involvement. For now I decided I would help keep his little secret.
“It really doesn’t feel well done,” I finally said, envisioning Darcey’s slumped body, blood seeping from her head wound.
“Yes, it’s a shame it ended in such a way,” Kinsey said. “But still, I’d like for you to know that I appreciate it. I honestly didn’t think you’d be able to pull it off. I suppose I underestimated you.”
“It happens,” I said. “I underestimate myself most of the time.” Then, as if summoned by the self-deprecating comment, my body started to ache. I wanted a drink very badly, even though the memory of my hangover from the night before still lingered.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand. How did Whitehouse’s prints get in Darcey’s apartment?” Kinsey questioned.
“No way to be certain, but I have a theory.”
“Oh?”
“Whitehouse worked for the Russians right? He and Darcey may have crossed paths at Mikhail’s apartment from time to time, and likely bonded over their medical backgrounds. Darcey was nothing if not smart. She probably flashed her doe-eyes the night of Zoe’s death and convinced the kind doctor to help her obtain the sedative she needed. But Whitehouse had a change of heart. I think he went to Darcey’s apartment to stop her from doing whatever she had planned or tell her he wanted no part of it. When she answered the door and told him it was too late, he freaked out, knowing it was only a matter of time before someone traced it back to him. That’s why he panicked when he saw Rey and me.
“That kinda makes sense,” Rey said, nodding.
“It’s just a theory like I said—but all the pieces fit together. The same sedative was found at his house, and Victor confirmed that Whitehouse was always a jittery, nervous wreck—paranoid really.”
“Trusting the word of a mob boss?” Kinsey asked.
&nb
sp; “Only when I don’t have anyone else to trust,” I said.
“You’re probably right,” Kinsey agreed, “You have great instincts Blume, if you’d just learn to follow protocol.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Rey teased.
“So anyway, what time was Teach released?” I asked, resigned.
Kinsey regarded me carefully and a hint of a smile touched her lips for the first time since I‘d met the woman. Rey too was silent with an unmistakable smirk.
“Well, I heard through Sanchez when you were on to something this afternoon, and I wanted to help. See, the benefit of bureaucracy is always knowing where the proper paperwork is… and how to misplace it. The forms for Roland Teach were strangely lost this afternoon, and new ones had to be drawn up. His bail was temporarily delayed. Teach will be in his cell for the next 45 minutes.”
My heart leaped. “And I can talk to him, now?”
“You can,” Kinsey said. “But stop and consider…after what you’ve just been through, don’t you think you should wait a while? Maybe decompress and calm down?”
“I’m calm,” I assured her, although the tremble in my hands and the need for a drink begged to differ.
“I do have one question though, if you don’t mind,” she said.
“Shoot.”
“Could you really not tell the difference between the two…between Darcey and Zoe Holland?”
“Ten years ago, I think I probably could have,” I sighed. “But it’s been over a decade since I really spent any time with Darcey. And the sisters were always so alike. I mean, everything about them was the same, right down to their voices.”
She nodded but seemed dissatisfied with that answer. It made me wonder if Kinsey somehow knew about what had happened at my old apartment after the shoot-out.
Guilt ambushed me once again, and I tried to bury it.
Had I been that drunk? Had I been that out of it not to notice?
Darcey did have a background in pharmaceuticals, I reminded myself. Maybe she slipped something in the liquor when I wasn’t looking.
It was an easy way out, but I didn’t buy it for a second. And even if she had drugged me, it was over now, and she was barely alive, in a coma she might never wake from. The city, once so familiar, was feeling stranger and stranger to me.
I shook off those thoughts and made my way to the door.
“One last thing,” Kinsey said, “and then I’ll let you go.”
I turned back. “What is it?”
“The car…we got it back. It’s in bad shape. I have to do something about the destruction that was caused, and we have three people filing lawsuits against the city for damages caused on that bridge. If you were an officer on the payroll, it would be one thing. But you’re not, and accordingly there should be charges brought against you.”
Blame it on the guy from out of town, I thought. Convenient.
“However…” Kinsey, continued. “We did manage to arrest one of the men on the motorcycles, the one that survived. He confessed to carrying illegal firearms and working for Victor Lem. There were also plenty of witnesses, so I’m pushing for prosecution against the biker and suggesting to the DA that we add the damages to his charges and move Victor to a new location; somewhere he won’t have any influence.”
I smiled, surprised at Kinsey’s change of heart.
Maybe she wasn’t such a hard-ass after all.
“Thank you,” I replied. “For everything.”
Kinsey nodded. “I’m sorry your return to the city ended up like this.”
“I just hope it’s worth it,” I said, finally making my exit.
THIRTY-THREE
I found myself hesitating. The man who had killed my family was one floor below me, sitting in a holding cell with no idea that I was coming to see him. It was almost too much, a weight of expectation crushing me.
How would I react? Would I end up in another cell myself?
I grabbed a cup of coffee from the breakroom and visited my makeshift office one last time to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind.
My heart was racing. I knew I was stalling. I was nervous and my palms were sweating. After everything, it came down to this.
I was going to meet the bastard that had killed my wife and son.
Suck it up, Tom.
I closed the door to my little office and started down the hall. The stairs that would lead me to Roland Teach were straight ahead, right in front of me. I walked toward them, trying to calm myself and—
It came out of nowhere.
First I felt the pressure in my chest, followed almost instantly by a thunderous roar. Then it hit me. A colossal boom, a flash of heat, and the building shuddered.
I stumbled, falling to my knees as something hard crashed into my head. My senses swam with pain and a high-pitched whine filled my ears. A nearby light fixture fell smashing to the ground, and boxes tumbled over. People started shouting, but it sounded far away, muted.
A cloud of dust plumed up from the stairwell, and I hacked a cough, trying to make sense of it all.
What the hell? Earthquake in New York?
But the rumbling was over too soon, and the thunder, I realized about three seconds after it started to fade, had been something else entirely. Something unnatural.
Explosion.
My hearing slowly returned, but I almost wished it hadn’t. All around alarms started blaring. Through them, I could faintly hear car horns out on the street and screaming from elsewhere in the building.
My instincts kicked in, and I staggered to my feet, heading the other way. I dashed to the end of the hallway and up the stairs. I passed by another terrified officer, covered in dust.
“What the hell was that?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, panicked. “Some explosion. Right outside the building. Next door, we think. Hey, you okay?”
I reached to my forehead, and my hand came away bloody.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
Up the stairs, the rest of the place was in chaos. Computers and equipment were strewn across the floor in a broken mess of wires and hardware. I saw one woman on the floor, holding her ankle while a cop looked her over. But my eyes were drawn to the large picture window by the reception area. Cops were gathering around it and looking outside. I heard someone crying and another man simply saying Oh my God, Oh my God over and over again.
Like any New Yorker in that situation, my mind went back to the morning of September 11th, 2001. And when it did, I made a connection that made me feel cold.
I remembered what Kinsey had said about the FBI breathing down her neck.
Potential terror threat.
I joined the others by the window and looked out. The angle made it hard to see much clearly, but I saw enough. There was a large hole in the wall of the building next door, the Post Office, I recalled. Gray and black smoke billowed out into the street. As I watched, rubble from the second and third floors of the three-story building continued to rain down on the street.
I saw three bodies, motionless and sprawled out on the sidewalk. Near them, an elderly man was crawling away, his leg twisted at an impossible angle.
Behind me, I heard the precinct slowly come to their senses, kicking into the cop mentality as they overcame the shock. Voices sounded around me.
“We have to get out there right now and evacuate the street.”
“That was the post office,” someone else said. “Why would anyone attack that?”
“Terrorists don’t give a shit who they kill. One place is as good as the next.”
“It’s a government building. Why wouldn’t terrorists attack it?”
“Get on the phone and get as many ambulances out here as you can.”
“Start calling blood banks.”
“Set up a perimeter of three blocks right now. Catch whoever did this, and if we can’t do that, at least we’ll be keeping the media out for as long as we can.”
I turned around and saw the whirlwi
nd of activity. I dashed back down the hall and saw the person I was looking for. Kinsey was marching down the hallway, a face of thunder, and already giving out orders.
“What can I do?” I asked.
She eyed me uncertainly, I didn’t know how bad the gash on my head was, but it probably didn’t look good. Finally Kinsey realized she didn’t have time to debate. “I don’t know yet. I’ll find something for you. It was next door, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, the post office.”
“We need to check to see how bad we were hit. Whatever happened shook the whole south side of the building. There could be fires or structural damages.”
“I can check th— ,” I said.
But I stopped myself when I realized the importance of what she was saying.
“What is it, Blume?” Kinsey asked.
The word came out of my mouth in almost a whisper: “Teach.”
THIRTY-FOUR
The south side of the police precinct was in ruins as I had feared. The closer I got to the ground floor near the blast, the worse the damage was. Walls caved in, water pipes gushing. Even the floor was buckled in places from the heat of the blast.
I knew I shouldn’t be there. I knew it was dangerous and the risk of more explosions was real. But something was driving me, a fury I had not felt in a long time. My head pounded even though the bleeding had stopped.
One more floor.
I moved down the remains of the stairwell to the ground floor and the holding cells, finally reaching the level I needed. Covering my face with a cloth against the smoke, I rounded the corner and gasped at the carnage around me.
They were dead.
All of them.
Cops, criminals, I couldn’t tell. They were strewn across the floor like ragdolls, bloodied and ruined.
A section of ceiling fell ahead of me and somewhere in the distance a siren sounded.
I staggered through the destruction, trying to tear my eyes away from the death all around me, but as always, it called to me, mocking my choices.