Justice (The Galilee Falls Trilogy)

by Jennifer Harlow

  “No, because he didn’t do anything.”

  “There’s nothing? Not a single moment when you thought, ‘There’s something wrong,’ or just a feeling?”

  “No, and I am done with this.” She bolts up.

  Ah, love. You always make my job such a pain in the ass. “Mrs. Moore, you should know we have a search warrant for your home.”

  “What? You can’t—”

  I stand up too, closing the file. “I’m sorry. I’ll have a patrol car take you home.” I leave as she calls me nasty names and return to the control room. Mirabelle and Kowalski smirk and cluck their tongues. “Shut up.”

  “You two going to have a sleepover and braid each other’s hair?” Kowalski asks.

  “Like you could have done any better,” I say. “She doesn’t know a damn thing.”

  “You don’t think she’s lying?” Mirabelle asks.

  “No way.”

  “I agree,” Kowalski says.

  “Then let’s hope we have more luck with the warrant,” I say.

  “We’re going there right now. You have a date with the press,” Kowalski says.

  “Sure you wouldn’t rather do it? Lotte would love to see your handsome face on the screen.”

  “No, thanks,” Kowalski says. “Besides, I don’t think that woman will want you anywhere near her house.” He glances at his partner. “You either. I’ll take Cam.”

  “We’re sure he’s our guy?” I ask.

  “Seems like it,” Mirabelle says.

  “Then I might actually have something to feed to the jackals.”

  On my way out I peek into Harry’s office, but he’s not there. I need to know whether or not to release this information. We should probably wait for final confirmation. There’s always tomorrow. I’ll play it by ear. After a quick hair and make-up fix in the ladies room, I grab the prepared statement and walk out.

  About two thirds of the usual lot are not there. V is front and center, but I only recognize a few others. Guess the big guns are onto better things. I read off the bland account of our progress, and few even bother to take notes. Going through the motions, I open it to questions.

  “Can you comment on—” V begins.

  Out of nowhere Mrs. Moore, with Cam and Kowalski close behind, saddle up to me. Her rage is palpable enough for the reporters to perk up. I’m too shocked in that moment I can’t think of a thing to say. Kelly Moore doesn’t have this problem.

  “My name is Kelly Moore. My husband was Corrections Officer Stuart Moore, who was brutally murdered four days ago by the man who calls himself Alkaline.” She looks down at her sneakers. “My husband worked at Xavier for over five years. He was a good man. He was active in AA, sponsoring three people. He coached our youngest son’s Little League. He provided for me, for our children, and kept this city safe by watching over criminals like Alkaline. He’s dead because of it.” She gazes at me, hate brimming through the tears. “And the Galilee police department, instead of searching this city for my husband’s killer like they have promised numerous times, is instead wasting their time and the taxpayer’s money slandering my husband’s good name.” Her gaze returns to the salivating journalists. “My husband died protecting all of you. He’s a hero. He did nothing wrong.”

  She walks away, the reporters shouting questions which she ignores. Cam and Kowalski both give me a pitying look before they follow her. A few reporters chase after her, but the rest stay, unleashing their questions on me.

  “Is Stuart Moore a suspect?”

  “How long has he been a suspect?”

  “What evidence have you found to link him to the escape?”

  “Are any of the other C.O.’s involved?”

  A cacophony of the same question phrased differently assaults me. V’s mouth moves, but I can’t hear her over the others. I hesitate, the wheels in my head turning. I have no idea what to say, what they would want me to say. Probably nothing, but I’m trapped.

  “One at a time,” I shout. I point to the WHEN reporter, an intern judging by her age. “You.”

  “Is Stuart Moore a suspect?”

  “At this time, he is a person of interest. Veronica?”

  “Why is he a person of interest?”

  “Through the course of our investigation, we discovered a large sum of money in one of Mr. Moore’s accounts. How it came to be in there has yet to be determined.”

  “Do you think he was murdered to silence him?” another reporter asks.

  “We will have to ask James Ryder that when we arrest him.”

  “And you’re still confident you will find him?”

  “I stand by my promise to this city. We are doing everything in our power to find him.”

  “What about reports that Alkaline had a shrine to Justice? Can you substantiate those claims?”

  I glance at V who takes notes. “I would not use the word ‘shrine,’ but yes he did have multiple news clippings on Justice. What that means, once again, we will ask Ryder when we apprehend him. And we will.”

  “It’s been four days. Only one arrest has been made. Are you sure he is still even in the city?”

  “No, but no matter where he is, we will find him. If it takes years, if he’s on the moon, we will find him and drag his butt back here to face justice for the heinous crimes he has committed, including the death of Stuart Moore,” I say passionately. “Whether he was complicit in the escape or not, he is still a victim. He and his family deserve justice. We will get it for them, of that I have no doubt. James Ryder will not win. He cannot win. You have my personal guarantee that he will not.”

  “Have you found any evidence as to what he might have planned?” V asks. “Potential victims, if any? If he is in the city, could it have something to do with Justice and his obsession?”

  “We have uncovered no evidence that Ryder’s plans extended beyond his escape. But once again, if he does, we will stop him. We did once, we will do it again. That’s all for today. Thank you.”

  I spin around as the reporters shout more questions that I won’t answer. Harry waits outside his office, arms folded, none too thrilled with me. He doesn’t have to say a word. I walk straight into his office, sitting myself in the naughty chair. He shuts the door.

  “What the hell was that?” he asks.

  “I couldn’t stop her. I was just as surprised as you were.”

  He sits at his desk. “You should have shut it down the moment you saw her.”

  “How? Tackle the widow of a murder victim?”

  “We’re going to be back in the spotlight now, you know that right? They’ll be hounding Moore, rooting around in his background.”

  “I know! But Harry, what the hell could I have done? Tell me! Because, under the circumstances, I think I did a pretty damn good job turning things around.”

  He shakes his head. “The mayor’s pissed.”

  “So what else is new?” I mutter.

  “You’re off press duty.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “You’re also in tip duty today, and you’re not allowed to even look at a reporter, let alone talk to one. That includes your cousin.”

  “Tip duty?” I whine. “We haven’t had one in hours. I’ll have nothing to do all day.”

  “Exactly.” His phone rings. “Dismissed.”

  I leave the office feeling like a chastised child as he starts talking to the Chief of Detectives, probably feeling the same way. Me and my big mouth, getting us all in trouble. I should be used to it by now, but I do hate disappointing people and dragging them down with me. Justin’s lost more than a few acquaintances because of me. I sit at my desk with a sigh. I’ve been grounded by my boyfriend.

  As I begin typing my millionth report this week, a familiar swish of air pulls me away from the monotony. Normally, Justice works at night, as he most likely has a day job to keep up appearances, so having him here in full regalia is a surprise. As I am trying to be more accepting—and he gave me an awesome coat—I will call this a
pleasant surprise, though the office stops working and starts gawking.

  His masked face scans the bullpen, stopping when he sees me. I muster a smile as he approaches. I will be nice. I will be nice. “Good morning, Det. Fallon.”

  “Justice.”

  “I see you received my gift. Does it fit well?”

  “Yes. Thank you. Is it really bulletproof?”

  “Bullet resistant, yes. It’s made of the same material as my uniform. Wear it in good health, though do please wear it.”

  This rankles me, but I keep my smile on. “I will. So what can we help you with today?”

  “I saw your press conference regarding Stuart Moore. Are you confident regarding your findings?”

  “Yes. It was a Swiss bank account in his son’s name.”

  Justice opens a packet on his belt and pulls out a small zip drive. “Here is all the data I’ve complied on Stuart Moore. Telephone records, known associates, his entire life. I have reviewed it, but found nothing useful. Perhaps you will have more luck.”

  I take the drive with a nod. “Thank you. I’ll have a look.”

  “Have you made any other progress?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “No,” he says, emotionless, “and I am getting worried. I know this man. He will never be content living life without causing others misery.”

  “So you don’t think he’s on a beach drinking tequila and laughing at us?”

  “Laughing at us, definitely. Left the city? Not a chance in hell.”

  I do a double take. I’ve never heard him swear, not even in the heat of battle. “Do you think he’s sticking around for you?”

  “It’s entirely possible. I’ve been trying to be more visible, giving him ample chance to confront me, but he has not taken the bait. He’ll strike when I least expect it, I’m sure. I’m almost looking forward to it.”

  “Yeah, you haven’t had a real nemesis since you put him away. How boring it must be being you, what with all the epic battles with all the other supers.”

  “Point taken, Det. Fallon. All I meant was I will enjoy the moment when I finally apprehend that monster once again.”

  “I may beat you to it, you know. I’d enjoy slapping the cuffs on him just as much as you would.”

  He steps toward my desk, almost looming a foot away with his hand on his hip. I know this pose, I used to practice it in the mirror with my Justice shirt on. It’s his, “I’m ready to kick your ass in five seconds” stance. He is intimidating, no question, but damned if I’ll let him know it’s working on me. I fold my arms across my chest and tilt back in my chair. “Det. Fallon I have never doubted your ability or dedication with regards to this job.”

  “O-kay,” I say, not sure where this is going.

  “You are one of the finest officers on this force.”

  “Thank you.” Okay, now I really have no idea what is going on. Is he going to ask me out or something? That’d be rich.

  “James Ryder is a monster. An actual monster, one who has no remorse, compassion, or possibly even a soul. He is more dangerous than you can fathom.”

  “I know his history. I’ve seen firsthand what he’s capable of. I’ve smelled it, okay?”

  “And he will do that to you without a second thought. Possibly worse.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I know you don’t like me.” My cheeks heat up, but he keeps talking. “Because he wanted you and your partner there the night he escaped. Because I know you’re stubborn and hate asking for help, especially from supers. In this case, you’ll have to. If he is cornered, he will not hesitate. He will harm as many innocent people as he feels is necessary to get what he wants. And better it be me than you. If you or anyone on your force locates him, or think you have, you need to contact me personally.”

  “Why? So you can get all the glory?”

  “So I don’t have to have another innocent person’s death on my conscience.”

  “Maybe you’re not giving me enough credit.”

  “There is no one more I’d trust with the welfare of this city than you,” he says, sounding as if he means it. “But this isn’t your battle to fight. If you or any of your fellow officers try, you will lose. Then where will we all be?”

  I have absolutely no idea what to say right now. He’s genuinely concerned and downright scared for me. Me, who passed around a petition to stop supers from being granted law enforcement status, and never said a pleasant word about him in ten years of interactions. I’d be weirded out if I wasn’t so touched. I can’t help it. My old hero is actually living up to my expectations. And he likes me. He really likes me. Thinks I’m great. More than that, he respects me. Damn.

  “Well, um, thank you,” I say unevenly.

  “I mean every word. I know that when the time comes, you will do the right thing. You always do. Good hunting, Joanna.”

  He speeds out in a blur, the papers on my desk flying around in a swirl. I grab a few, but the rest fall on the ground. Underneath the second one is a dark blue card with a white “J” on it. On the other side is a local telephone number. His phone number. First a coat and now his private number. If I didn’t know better I’d swear he was into me, but I didn’t get that vibe at all. I have no idea what’s going on.

  But I don’t hate it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Shindig

  There was nothing of use in the zip drive or at the Moore house. I get to leave the station twice, one time when Ryder was spotted at a bodega and the other time he was seen at the library. Neither pans out, but it feels great getting away from my desk and all the chitter chatter. Teenage girls got nothing on cops when it comes to gossip. Justice hadn’t even left the building when the tongues started wagging. Pretty sure we’re engaged or we were making out on my desk by now. Everyone who walked by gave me a sideways glance, Harry included. I cornered him in the locker room and planted one on him for reassurance. Tomorrow they’ll really have something to talk about.

  It’s about five and the party begins at seven, so I have to get the hell out of here. I need to shower, shave, eat, straighten my hair, apply make-up, and try to get a cab on a Friday night. Ugh, girly things. Kill me now. I shut off my computer and put on my coat. Tomorrow I get the whole day off and that comes straight from the top. We’ve spent too much money on this investigation already with too few results. Harry’s off too, so we’ll just spend the day in bed or go to the movies. Get some needed rest. Or not, wink wink.

  My boyfriend’s on the phone again when I poke my head in. He waves me in, and I shut the door. “No sir, we’ll take it on a case by case basis.” He listens and tosses files in his satchel. “I’ve already taken care of that.” He pauses. “I’ll do that. You too. Bye.” He hangs up then looks at me with tired eyes. “You ready to go?”

  “Yeah. So, do you want to get ready at my place? How do you want to do this?”

  “I have a few errands to run before,” he says.

  “Well, your place is on the way to the hotel. I’ll swing by and pick you up around seven.”

  “That sounds perfect. I’ll be ready.”

  “Okay.” I blow him a kiss before leaving.

  Cam holds the elevator for me. “You looking forward to your shindig tonight?” he asks.

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  “You going stag, or is Justice picking you up with a corsage?”

  The elevator doors open and we step off. “I have someone much better lined up, thank you very much.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s a surprise. See you Sunday!”

  The streets are clogged so it takes forever to get home and almost as long to find a parking spot three blocks away. I shower first, and then eat a tuna sandwich over the sink in my towel before starting on my mop of hair. Blow-drying forty-five minutes, straightening thirty. Then I realize I don’t have any pantyhose and have to run out to get some. Of course there is a line almost to the door. I get back at seven and call Ha
rry, telling his machine I’ll be a half hour late. It ends up being closer to forty-five when the cab pulls up to his building.

  Bruce, the doorman, whistles as I approach. “Looking sharp.”

  I do look quite spiffy. The dress fits perfectly, my hair is sleek and shiny, and make-up flawless. I clean up real good. “Thank you.”

  “But if you’re here to see Mr. O’Hara he left half an hour ago.”

  I stop walking. “What? Did he say where he was going?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  Huh. I check my cell phone, but there are no new messages. Maybe he’s going to meet me there, but he can’t get in without an invitation which I have. “Thanks, Bruce,” I say as I return to the cab. I call Harry on the way to the hotel, but he doesn’t pick up. “Hey, it’s me. I just went by your apartment. Where the hell are you? I’m on my way to the party. I hope you’re not there already. Just call me, okay?”

  The line of cars to the Galilee Grand Intercontinental is ridiculous. Limos for over half a mile. I wait in the cab, literally watching my money tick away for fifteen minutes. I’d get out and walk, but I’m in three inch heels. I’ll be lucky to make it through the night without twisting my ankle. It’s happened more than once before.

  The Galilee Grand is the premier hotel in the city and looks it. Twenty stories with three pools, one with a wave machine, two night clubs, the It spa, and the biggest ballroom within a thousand miles complete with two story waterfall. As my meager transport pulls up to its grandness, I’m bombarded with flashing lights that would bother the blind. The security guard, who wears sunglasses even though it’s night, opens the door and helps me out.

  I’m not even fully upright when the questions start. I totter down the red carpet with a smile plastered on. Some of the others on the carpet pose and speak to the press, showing off their designer gowns and designer breasts. Every socialite, athlete, politician, and captain of industry is here. I pass Lorcan Betts, running back for the Galilee Angels and his hoochie of the week. We hooked up once four years ago after Justin’s birthday party. He was more interested in my panties than the sex. The reporters shout their questions, but I ignore them and don’t pose. Never have, never will.