Jessie Black Box Set 2

by Larry A Winters

  Jessie nodded. “I understand.”

  “Good,” Warren said. “Get out. All of you.”

  They filed out of Warren’s office. In the hallway, Graham said, “What the hell was that, Jessie?”

  “Did I have a choice?” She looked at her friend. “You realize they were about to suspend, or maybe even fire you, right? Promising them evidence was the only way to save us, after you and Leary went and poked the hornet nest by questioning Shaw.”

  “There’s just one problem,” Leary said. “There is no evidence.”

  “Actually, I think there might be.”

  Leary and Graham stared at her. “What are you talking about?” Leary said.

  But Graham had already caught on. “Vicki Briscoe.”

  “Exactly,” Jessie said.

  “Briscoe? As in Ray Briscoe?” Leary said.

  “Vicki is his daughter,” Jessie said. “She’s a doctor—or used to be. Kelly brought a medical malpractice claim against her and she wound up losing her job and her medical license. She wanted revenge. She was following Kelly, stalking her, just before her death.”

  “Doesn’t that make her a suspect?” Leary said.

  “I don’t think she killed Kelly. She wanted to, but I think she would have done it in a more … hands-on way. She told me—”

  “You spoke with her?” Leary looked horrified. “Jessie, these are extremely dangerous people.”

  “The point is, Vicki Briscoe was stalking her. She saw everything Kelly did, everywhere Kelly went, and everyone Kelly talked to, in the days leading to her death. If anyone can lead us to evidence, it’s her.”

  “Why would she help us?” Graham said. “The last time she saw you, she assaulted you.”

  Leary’s eyes bugged out. “She what?”

  “We can talk about that later,” Jessie said to Leary. To Graham, she said, “Lorena Torres said the Dark Hounds have their headquarters on a former Amish farm. I’m going to drive out to Lancaster and see if I can find Vicki there. Convince her to help us. Or try to, anyway. So are we going to go on pretending we aren’t all working on this investigation, or are you two going to come with me?”

  23

  They took Leary’s car to make the drive to Lancaster, with Leary driving, Jessie in the passenger seat beside him, and Graham in the back. For most of the ride, they were silent, each of them staring out the windows.

  Only an hour outside Philadelphia, and it was like a different world. Pennsylvania Dutch Country was an historic area of Pennsylvania in which thousands of Amish people still maintained their unique, centuries-old way of life. Touristy beds and breakfasts, restaurants selling shoofly pies, and shops offering homemade furniture eventually gave way to windmills, horse stables, and acres and acres of farmland. Even with the windows closed, the odor of horse manure penetrated the car. It was a smell Jessie had always disliked. Soon enough, they approached a horse and buggy riding on the road.

  “It’s weird,” Graham said from the back seat. “They don’t use electricity, but their buggies have headlights.”

  “They also have brakes and a suspension system,” Leary said. He carefully maneuvered around the buggy and horse. A man and woman wearing traditional Amish attire—plain and black—sat at the reins. Neither looked over as Leary’s car passed them.

  “I don’t get it,” Graham said.

  “They don’t use public power,” Leary said, “but they use batteries. It’s not about electricity. Well, not exactly.”

  “Thanks,” Graham said. “That clears it up.”

  Leary shrugged. “Sorry I don’t have a PhD in Amish religious doctrine.”

  Jessie admired the ability of Leary and Graham to crack jokes en route to the headquarters of a dangerous organized crime family. It must be a cop thing. Her own stomach churned with nausea. She glanced at the GPS app on her phone. Almost there.

  “Do they have cup holders?” Graham said.

  Leary tilted his head up to look at the rearview mirror. “What?”

  “In the buggies.”

  “Good question,” Leary said. “When we get back, I’ll look that up in my comprehensive treatise on Amish vehicle accessories.”

  “I think this is the turn,” Jessie said.

  She was staring at her GPS, but when she looked up, she realized she probably didn’t need it. The farm was immediately different from its neighbors. Whereas the Amish farms all appeared neat and well-maintained, the one the motorcycle club used as its base of operations was overgrown and weedy. No cows or horses, or any other animals, in sight. No crops, either. A collection of dark, ominous buildings squatted far back on the land, at the end of a winding gravel road.

  She noticed the bantering stopped abruptly. Leary’s back seemed to straighten, and she heard the sounds of Graham checking her gun.

  Leary’s car bumped from pavement onto gravel and their speed slowed. He pulled up in front of the largest building, shifted the car into park, and turned off the engine. Jessie reached for her door. Her hand trembled. She took a deep breath. Tried to steady herself.

  Nothing bad is going to happen. Biker gangs know better than to mess with law enforcement for no reason.

  She popped her door open and slid out. The sound of three car doors closing seemed ear-shatteringly loud in the otherwise silent day. She exchanged a look with Leary, then with Graham. They headed for the building together, but stopped short when four men materialized from the shadows at the edges of the structure. They came quickly. The instinct to turn and run almost took over, but Jessie managed to stand her ground. From the corner of her eye, she saw Graham’s hand move to her hip and hover there.

  “My name is Jessica Black.” She spoke quickly, before the encounter could escalate to violence. “I’m with the District Attorney’s Office of Philadelphia. We’re looking for Vicki Briscoe—”

  One of the men gripped her arm. He was bald and had a tattoo of a spiderweb on the pale dome of his head—not exactly Amish style. A second man, short, squat, and wearing a Harley-Davidson baseball cap, approached her with his hands out, then started to pat down her sides. The other two men frisked Leary and Graham, taking their weapons.

  “We’ll hold onto these, chief,” one of them said as he stuck Leary’s 9mm into his pocket. “Give it back to you when you leave.”

  Leary’s lips pulled back, showing his teeth, but he didn’t object.

  Baseball cap was taking his time running his hands along Jessie’s torso. “I’m not armed.” She jerked away from him.

  “You better come with us,” Spiderweb said. All four of the men wore jeans, sleeveless T-shirts, and heavy-looking boots. They marched her, Leary, and Graham into the building.

  The light inside the building was low. There was a table, some chairs—wooden furniture that looked finely crafted but misused. Empty beer bottles were scattered on the table’s surface. A man sat in one of the chairs. He had a shock of white hair and a matching beard. He stared at the visitors with intense eyes as Spiderweb, Baseball Cap, and the other two bikers marched them into the room.

  A wet snoring sound drew Jessie’s attention to the corner of the room, where a dog sprawled on the floor. It was a huge Rottweiler, with a thick padding of muscles beneath its black fur. Its eyes were closed and it breathed heavily in its sleep. Even asleep, it brought out a primitive survival response in Jessie. She felt her heart rate jack up and found it difficult to take her eyes off the animal.

  “Who are our unexpected visitors?” the white-haired man said.

  “This one says she’s with the Philly DA,” Spiderweb said. “The other two were carrying, Ray.”

  “That right?” The white-haired man rose fluidly from his chair. Like his underlings, he wore jeans and boots, but where they wore sleeveless T-shirts, he wore a neat button-down shirt with a collar, tucked in. He pulled a pair of glasses from the chest pocket of his shirt and pushed them onto his nose. Peering at her through the lenses, he looked more like a college professor than the ruthless cr
iminal she knew he was.

  “You’re Ray Briscoe,” Jessie said.

  “This is a private club. What do you want?”

  Leary let out a forced-sounding laugh. “Looks more like a barn than a club.”

  Ray Briscoe’s mouth stretched in a tight line, but he didn’t respond to Leary, or even acknowledge him. He kept his gaze on Jessie.

  “We were hoping to speak with your daughter,” she said.

  “Vicki’s not here.”

  Jessie could not discern if he was telling her the truth. She’d known when she decided to make the trip that it might be for nothing, that Vicki Briscoe might be somewhere else. But she had decided to take a chance, mostly because she didn’t have any better ideas about where to find the woman. “Can you tell me how to get in touch with her? Do you have her phone number?”

  “I have her phone number. I’m not giving it to you. As I said, this is a private club. We’re also a private family.”

  The four men surrounding them closed in, and Jessie braced herself to be forcibly ejected from the premises. “Wait a second,” she said. “We’re not here as your enemies. We need Vicki Briscoe’s help.”

  Ray Briscoe turned his back on her and walked away. Spiderweb and Baseball Cap began to guide her toward the door. The other men ushered Leary and Graham in the same direction. In the corner, the dog stirred but did not wake.

  “We’re not ready to leave,” Graham said.

  Baseball Cap glared at her. “Boss says you are.”

  Graham rounded on him. “He’s not my boss.”

  “We just want to contact Vicki Briscoe,” Leary said.

  Jessie heard a low moan. Her gaze flew to the Rottweiler, but the dog had not moved. The sound came a second time. A human moan. Coming through the wall.

  “Who is that?” Jessie said.

  Spiderweb jerked her toward the door. “Like the boss said, private club.”

  The sound came a third time—between a groan and a whimper. Jessie heard pain. She broke free of the men, hurried past Ray Briscoe and the sleeping dog.

  Ray Briscoe reached for her. She felt his fingers brush her shoulder as she passed him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  There was a door on the far side of the room. She opened it and found a hallway, narrow and dimly lit. Another groan reached her, closer now. She stepped into the hallway.

  “Jessie, wait!” It was Leary’s voice, cut short. She glanced back, glimpsed the bikers closing around Leary and Graham, saw Ray Briscoe coming after her. She hurried down the hallway.

  “Get back here!” Ray Briscoe’s voice. Close behind her.

  Jessie stopped in front of another door. The moans were coming from here. She opened it.

  Bright light stung her eyes. She blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness.

  What she saw in the glaring clarity of the ceiling lamps made her legs weaken—monitors and stands, a plastic tarp stretched across the floor, and a bloody man on a wheeled hospital bed.

  A figure dressed in scrubs and a mask, long red hair tied back and partially covered by a surgical cap, a scalpel gripped in one gloved hand. Blood dripped from the blade. On the bed, the man groaned again. There was a deep incision in his left leg. In a dish beside the bed, metal fragments lay on a blood-soaked paper towel. Jessie felt nausea rush up her throat.

  “This is a sterile room!” Vicki Briscoe said through the mask. Her eyes were livid.

  From behind Jessie, strong arms pulled her away.

  Ray Briscoe threw her into the hallway and kicked the door shut behind them. Jessie looked up into his rage-filled eyes, so similar to his daughter’s.

  “I told you to leave,” he said. “Now you can’t.”

  24

  Jessie’s heart slammed in her chest. Everything seemed to be moving too quickly. What had she just seen in that room before Ray Briscoe had yanked her out? Blood. Monitors. Scalpel. A makeshift operating room. Vicki Briscoe had been removing something metal—shrapnel or bullet fragments—from a man’s leg. She was performing surgery. In a run-down building in the middle of Amish country. Without a medical license.

  “Let go of me,” Jessie said. She fought to free herself, but Ray Briscoe’s grip was unyielding. The narrow hallway—dark after the brightness of the operating room—seemed to close in around her.

  “Shut up.” His voice came from just behind her right ear. She felt the bristles of his beard touch her neck. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he propelled her roughly forward. She dug in her heels and tried to resist, but he was too strong. She had to walk—her legs unsteady with fear—to avoid falling.

  He was forcing her in the wrong direction, away from the building’s front door. Where were Leary and Graham?

  Ray Briscoe pushed her into a small room at the end of the hall. Inside, Leary and Graham sat in chairs, while the bikers she thought of as Spiderweb and Baseball Cap loomed over them. The other two thugs hovered near the door. Ray Briscoe indicated an empty chair beside Leary and Graham. When Jessie didn’t move, he shoved her into the seat.

  Fear thrummed through her. “What are we doing in here?” She tried to sound fearless, but there was a waver in her voice that she could not suppress. “I am an assistant district attorney. Think about what you’re doing.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that.” Ray Briscoe turned to the two men at the door. “Any of them move, shoot them.” Then he left.

  Even though they were far from safe, Jessie felt a rush of relief with Ray Briscoe out of the room. A shuddering breath escaped from her lungs. She looked at Leary and Graham. “Are you guys okay?”

  “What’s going on?” Leary said. “It sounded like someone was moaning.”

  Jessie glanced at the four bikers who were watching over them. “Maybe it’s better for you if you don’t know.”

  Graham’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever you saw—”

  The door opened and Ray Briscoe returned. His eyes seemed to simmer with pent-up violence. He breathed, air whistling through his nostrils. “Vicki says she’ll talk to you.”

  “Great,” Leary said.

  He started to rise. Ray Briscoe lunged forward and thrust him back into his chair. Leary flashed his teeth and looked like he might strike the man, but Spiderweb stepped between them and aimed a nasty-looking revolver at Leary’s face. “Careful, boy.”

  “Not you,” Ray Briscoe said. He glared at Jessie. “Miss Assistant DA. She’ll talk to you only. Alone.”

  “No fucking way,” Leary said.

  Spiderweb smacked the side of his gun against Leary’s head.

  “No!” Jessie reached toward Leary, but Baseball Cap grabbed her and held her back. Leary had been knocked halfway out of his chair, almost into Graham’s lap. The blow didn’t look hard enough to cause major damage, but it did break the skin. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. He righted himself and his gaze found Jessie’s.

  “We should stay together,” Leary said through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, you can,” Ray Briscoe said. “I won’t break up the band. But if you insist on staying together, you’ll be leaving together without seeing my daughter.”

  Jessie ignored the man and kept her focus on Leary. “It’s okay, Mark. I can do this.”

  “Jessie, think about this,” Graham said. “The last time—”

  “I’ll be fine,” she snapped.

  She didn’t want to think about the last time she’d encountered Vicki Briscoe. Her arm ached at the memory, and she felt a cold feeling in her stomach. She had hoped to come here as a peaceful visitor seeking advice and assistance, but Ray Briscoe and his thugs had turned the scenario upside down, making her an intruder and a witness to criminal activity. How would Vicki Briscoe react to that? Only one way to find out.

  She turned to Ray Briscoe. “Take me to see her.”

  Ray Briscoe gestured for her to get up, then they exited the room and entered the dark hallway again. He led her to another door and opened it, revealing what looked lik
e a storeroom, with boxes piled against the walls and a card table with two folding chairs in the middle of the room. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling. Ray Briscoe yanked its chain with a hard jerk, and a wan light washed over the table.

  “Vicki’s very quick in the OR. Sit.” Jessie watched the man’s face soften. For a second, his expression reminded her of her own father on the day she graduated from law school. Then the moment passed and the hardness in his gaze returned. There was a knock on the door. “Here she is.”

  Vicki Briscoe still wore blood-streaked scrubs, but she had removed her gloves, mask, and cap, and her red hair was in disarray. Her gaze fell on Jessie as she entered the room. “Give us some privacy, Dad.”

  He gave his daughter a meaningful look. “She’s an assistant DA.”

  “I know that.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “I won’t.”

  The father and daughter stared at each other for a second. Then Ray Briscoe nodded and left the room. As soon as he was gone, Vicki Briscoe locked the door after him and turned her attention to Jessie. Jessie rose from her chair, not wanting to be sitting while Vicki loomed over her. That would be too much like their encounter in her apartment.

  “Vicki—”

  “I thought I warned you to stay away from me.”

  “You did.”

  “But here you are. In my home.”

  Jessie almost pointed out the irony, but thought better of it. Besides, she’d just learned an interesting piece of information. “You live here? With your father and his gang?”

  Briscoe looked away, almost with shame. “It’s temporary. Tough to pay rent when you don’t have a job.”

  “It looked like you were working a few minutes ago.”

  Vicki’s eyes flashed. “You didn’t see anything.”

  “Alright,” Jessie said evenly. “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “It’s about Kelly Lee.”

  “You still think I had something to do with her car accident?”

  “No. You said you didn’t and I’m taking your word for that.”