Brooklyn Bounce (Alex Taylor Book 3)

by Andrew G. Nelson

  Things were bad now, but maybe they could recover. If Tatiana would agree to get rid of that bitch, once and for all, perhaps they could find a way to heal their relationship; to learn from this and grow stronger.

  She reached over, opening the glove box, and remove a napkin to dry her eyes. As she did, her left hand turned ever so slightly to the right, causing the car to veer off toward the shoulder. As Susan looked up she saw a large maple tree looming in her immediate path.

  “Shit!”

  A seasoned driver might have responded differently, gently correcting the car’s steering, but Susan was young and inexperienced. She jerked the wheel in the opposite direction, taking her away from the tree but putting herself into the path of an oncoming SUV. She slammed on the brakes; fighting to slow the vehicle down and it was almost successful.

  The Volvo crossed the double yellow line and clipped the left rear quarter panel of the Explorer ever so slightly, but it was just enough to send the smaller vehicle spinning around, out of control. It completed two full rotations, as it slid through the oncoming lane, before careening down an embankment where it struck a tree.

  Miraculously, it somehow managed not to flip over, but the force of the collision had ripped Susan’s hands from the steering wheel and she was violently tossed around the car’s interior like a rag doll. At some point the side of her head struck the driver’s side passenger window.

  The last thing she saw, before she passed out, was the image of the SUV’s driver running toward her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “How are things going?” Melody asked.

  “Quietly busy,” Maguire replied.

  “I don’t think I have ever heard that term before.”

  “That’s what happens when you have a bunch of cops hanging around, chomping at the bit, with nothing to do.”

  “So no new news I take it?” Melody asked.

  “No, unfortunately.”

  “Are you going to stay up there?”

  “Yeah,” Maguire replied. “I called Tony Ameche and filled him in on what’s going on. He’s going to take the helm for a few days.”

  “I know this isn’t a good time, but maybe now you’ll start to think about appointing a new first dep to take your place.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Maguire replied sarcastically. “It’s on my to-do list.”

  “It’s on your procrastination list,” Melody shot back. “And you know I’m right.”

  Maguire said nothing, which only validated her point.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but it was something he had just continued to struggle with. His taking over as police commissioner had left a void in the Department hierarchy, but filling the spot had proved to be a lot more difficult for him.

  The positon of first deputy commissioner was akin to a second in command. Maguire had accepted the role, when it was offered, because his friend had asked him to. At the time, some in the media had questioned that move, since Maguire’s career within the NYPD had ended at detective, but he had brought those questions to a screeching halt as he skillfully guided the Department through some very difficult events. Becoming police commissioner, under the circumstances he been given, had granted him a brief respite, but he also knew that the current media honeymoon he was enjoying would soon end.

  Back in his office at 1 Police Plaza he had a stack of folders sitting on his desk for very well qualified candidates. They included numerous members of the NYPD, as well as a host of others from outside the Department, but he still struggled with it all. He reasoned with himself that finding the right person was too important to rush into a choice, but perhaps he was haunted by the fact that, by selecting his own replacement, he was acknowledging the fact that Rich was really gone.

  Maguire leaned back in the chair, as he casually surveyed the small office. It was simple, almost quaint, and he couldn’t help wonder if this environment appealed to Alex. Compared to the hustle and bustle he dealt with on a daily basis, this seemed so much more appealing.

  “Hello?”

  Maguire blinked and quickly sat upright.

  “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his face. “I was just thinking.”

  “Uh huh,” Melody replied. “Maybe you should pick a woman. You could benefit from someone used to making timely decisions.”

  “Are you available?”

  “No,” Melody replied smartly, “and you couldn’t afford me if I was.”

  “Hey, don’t I get a family discount?”

  “You only get that after this engagement ring turns into a wedding ring, cowboy.”

  “Are you going to tell Eliza Cooke that she can’t afford you?”

  “I’m not crossing that bridge until I come to it,” Melody said. “For now it’s all just wild speculation.”

  “Maybe,” Maguire replied, “maybe not, but you’d better break out the road map just in case.”

  “I will,” she replied. “Right after you choose your first dep.”

  “Touché,” he replied.

  Just then there was a knock at on the door.

  “Yes?” Maguire asked, as he looked up to see Tom Blackshear standing in the doorway.

  “Hutch is on the phone with VSP,” Blackshear said. “They just finished reviewing the traffic video out of Colton.”

  “I’ll be right there, Tom,” Maguire replied, and then returned to the call. “Sorry, angel, just getting an update.”

  “I heard,” Melody said. “Get back to work slacker. Call me if you learn anything new.”

  “I will,” he replied. “I love ya.”

  “Love ya too.”

  Maguire heard the line go silent. He put the phone in his pocket and got up from the desk. Hutch was just hanging up the phone when he walked outside.

  “What did they say?” Maguire asked hopefully.

  It had been a Hail Mary play, but it was all they had at this point. The city of Colton sat on the Vermont / New Hampshire border. It was the convergence of three major roadways and was the last big city before the Canadian border. As a result, the U.S. Department of Transportation had issued a grant for the installation of traffic cameras. The official reason given for the grant was just another new federal traffic safety initiative, designed to cut down on road fatalities nationwide, which had been secured through the hard work of the areas congressional representative. The actual reason was to discretely monitor border crossing activity.

  The money had been quietly allocated to the Department of Transportation through the Drug Enforcement Administration. The cities selected had all been chosen in advance by the DEA and all the state reps had to do was take credit without doing any work. As far as politics went, it was a perfect win / win scenario.

  While America’s attention, and by extension its media coverage, had been focused on its neighbor to the south, its northern neighbor had emerged as a key player in international drug shipments. After a period of violence, which saw numerous members of the Canadian drug trade killed in Mexico, relations had normalized. Canada had now become a major transshipment point for drugs being shipped into Europe and Australia; so much so that Canada had been ranked second only to Chile in supplying cocaine to Australia. Now, all eyes, including the electronic ones, were focused to the north.

  “They went back over the traffic cam videos for the last several days,” Hutch replied, “but there were no hits.”

  “Which means they still might be in the area,” Blackshear replied.

  “Or they came and went from a completely different direction,” Maguire responded.

  “So what do we do now?” Blackshear asked. “Put up a map and throw darts?”

  “We already have state and local units monitoring a majority of the roads in and out of the area,” Hutch said, “but realistically we can’t keep that up forever.”

  “Whatever they might be, these two have certainly proven to be extremely resourceful,” Maguire replied, as he walked over toward the coffee pot and poured himself a fresh cup.


  “Do you have any other suggestions?” Hutch asked.

  “Pray,” Maguire said thoughtfully.

  Quietness fell over the room of investigators, as each contemplated the remark. Collectively there was over two centuries of law enforcement experience currently assembled in the office of the Penobscot Police Department and yet there only remaining hope was being pinned on a prayer.

  The big clock ticking on the wall kept its vigil; it was a constant reminder to them that time was running out.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Tatiana sat on the couch, a vacant stare on her face, as she peered out the window to where the car had previously been parked. The pain she had felt in her heart, as she had watched the Volvo pull away, was gone now; replaced by a numbness that gripped her body, as she struggled with the realization that Susan was not coming back.

  Just beyond the window pane the world outside was alive, but here inside the small room it was as if she was in mourning. The tears that had fallen on her cheeks had long ago dried up. Now all that remained were the streaks left behind to mark their passing.

  A part of her wanted to ask what had happened, but she had to admit that she already knew the answer. The hardest part of introspection was being brutally honest with ones self. The truth was that she had wanted to have her cake and eat it to.

  It seemed so readily apparent to her now that it had been a losing proposition from the start; yet her aroused emotional state had clouded her judgment and prevented her from seeing that.

  This time, last week, the two of them were sitting on the small dock together, their feet splashing playfully in the waters below, as they shared a bottle of wine and discussed the future. They had been making plans to head out west for the summer. Susan talked about hitting Vegas and Hollywood, maybe even heading north and settling down in Oregon for a bit. The idea of being able to be seen openly as a couple, instead of pretending to be mother and daughter, appealed to both of them.

  One week was all that separated the highest of highs from the lowest of lows.

  What I wouldn’t give now to go back in time one week, she thought, as she reached down and grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the coffee table.

  But would you really make a different choice?

  Tatiana took a long drink, feeling the burn, as the whiskey went down her throat. She glanced over at the closed door and felt a wave of anger wash over her.

  It bothered her deeply that she knew the answer to that question was an emphatic no. The woman on the other side of that door had done something to her; touched her in a place that she couldn’t simply move past emotionally. She truly loved Susan, but she physically lusted after Alex in a way that thrilled her and caused her to make completely irrational choices.

  Even now, as she cursed herself for forcing Susan’s hand, driving her out of her life, she couldn’t shake the desire she felt inside.

  The numbness she had previously felt began to slowly dissipate and was replaced by something else, something more primal, which was being fed by a mix of anger and alcohol.

  Tatiana’s eyes narrowed menacingly, as she took another drink and accepted what she already knew that she needed to do.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  New Hampshire State Trooper, Scott Mendes, pulled his marked Dodge Charger into the authorized vehicles only crossing and placed the car into park.

  Traffic was particularly slow on this stretch of roadway and it would afford him some time to catch up on some of his electronic paperwork. It had been an unusually busy day thus far and he was happy that the radio had gone quiet for a bit. It was quickly approaching the end of his shift and, with any luck, he would be able to make it home in plenty of time to get ready for his daughter’s 11th birthday party.

  He reached over, removing the Styrofoam cup of coffee from the cup holder and carefully pried back the plastic lid; a rush of steam rising up from the opening.

  “Troop F to 631,” his radio chirped, as he raised the cup to his lips.

  “Oh for the love of God,” he exclaimed, as he sat the cup back down in the holder and picked up the radio mic.

  “631, 10-3,” he replied.

  “631 are you available to respond to a 10-25 with personal injury, eastbound on 26, approximately a quarter mile west of Robichaud?”

  “Anyone closer?”

  “Negative, sheriff’s office is out on a 10-37 and has no units available at this time.”

  Mendes glanced down at his watch and frowned at the realization that he was probably going to miss yet another family event.

  “10-5,” he replied, as he put the car in drive and pulled back onto the roadway.

  Even running lights and sirens it took nearly twenty minutes to arrive at the scene. A fire engine from the local department had blocked off a portion of the roadway, and an ambulance was already on scene, by the time he arrived. A black SUV was parked on the shoulder and he could see several firemen standing in the ditch were another car had come to a rest.

  “Lovely,” he said, as he pulled past the accident scene and then looped back around.

  Mendes blocked off a portion of the roadway with his vehicle and left his emergency lights on. Then he grabbed his hat and exited the vehicle.

  “What do we have?” he asked the fire lieutenant who was walking toward him.

  “According to the driver of the Explorer the Volvo in the ditch was heading westbound and veered over into the eastbound lane and struck them.”

  Mendes glanced over at the ambulance, seeing the EMT’s working on a young girl in the back.

  “That the driver of the Volvo?”

  “Yeah, we had to extricate her from the car, but she doesn’t seem to be in that bad of shape,” the lieutenant said. “Just a little banged up more than anything else.”

  “She’s lucky to be alive,” Mendes replied, as he glanced down at the mangled remains of the car resting against the tree.

  “Don’t you remember when you were young and invincible?” the lieutenant asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t discuss it because the statute of limitations hasn’t expired on some stuff,” Mendes said with a laugh.

  “You and me both,” the other man said. “Oh, here’s the Volvo driver’s license. We needed the information for the callout.”

  Mendes took the license and glanced down at the smiling face of the young driver and then at her date of birth.

  God they keep getting younger and younger, he thought.

  No, you just keep getting older and older, he corrected.

  “Well, we’re done here,” the lieutenant interrupted, “so if you don’t mind we are going to clear out.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Mendes replied, as he continued to scan the driver’s license. “Thanks for the response.”

  “Anytime,” the man replied, as he walked away.

  He never saw the color drain from Mendes’ face when the trooper finally looked at the driver’s name.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  “Thank you very much, Bob,” Maguire said into the cell phone. “We’re happy that the Bureau is taking an interest in the case and I will let you know personally if there is anything we need.”

  He swayed lazily in the office chair and gave Hutch, who was sitting across from him, a look of disgust.

  “Yes, I’d love to get together over lunch. Have your secretary contact mine the next time you’re in town and we’ll make it happen.”

  Maguire closed his eyes and rested his head against the fingers of his left hand.

  “Yes, good speaking to you too, Bob. We’ll talk soon.”

  Maguire looked down at the phone, pushing the end call button and ensuring that it had disconnected, before he spoke.

  “Fucking douche,” he exclaimed, tossing the phone onto the desk and taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee.

  “What was that all about?” Hutch asked.

  “Box ticking,” Maguire replied.

  “Box ticking?” Hutch asked, taking a sip of his ow
n coffee. “What the hell is that?”

  “That’s when you have zero intention of doing anything, but you need to look like you are.”

  “So the FBI isn’t going to do anything?”

  “Oh no, they are going to monitor the situation,” Maguire explained.

  “Monitor?”

  “Yes, they are serial monitors.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Hutch replied dismissively.

  “Honestly, in a way it’s better,” Maguire replied. “The rank and file investigators are aces, some of the best in the business, but for the most part the higher-ups quickly turn into political animals. They can be more of a hindrance then a help at times.”

  “Even the FBI Director?”

  Maguire motioned toward the door and Hutch leaned over to close it.

  “He’s the absolute worst,” Maguire replied.

  “Really?”

  “I worked with him on several cases when I was a detective and he was a supervisory special agent back in the New York Field Office. Back then he ran a task force and was generally dismissed as being wholly incompetent.”

  “Then how did he become the FBI Director?” Hutch asked.

  “Politics,” Maguire replied. “He’s third generation Bureau. His grandfather was one of Hoover’s right-hand men. His father served in many of the Bureau’s high profile spots and made it all the way up to Assistant Director. Junior rode their coattails. Any time he screwed up badly they simply promoted him and moved him; the whole out-of-sight, out-of-mind philosophy.”

  “So that really does happen?” Hutch asked, taking a bite of his donut.

  “More times than you’d believe,” Maguire said. “Anyway, rumor has it that a certain someone made something, that was extremely politically incriminating, conveniently disappear and was thusly rewarded.”

  “And they have the nerve to break our balls?”

  “It’s a cruel, cruel world, my friend,” Maguire replied. “Like Orwell said, ‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.’”