“Sir, that’s really unfair,” Mullins began. “We have literally done everything in our power to –“
“To what?!” Gerland yelled, turning to lock eyes with the man. “What have you done?!”
“Sir, even the FBI is drawing a blank. Whoever kidnapped Emily Blumquist has covered his tracks very well.”
“Give me something!”
“The packages the DVD’s were mailed in were pre-paid and could have been purchased anywhere in the country.”
“Do we have people checking post office surveillance tapes?”
“We do, sir. Of course. But it’s a literal needle in a haystack. The man could have simply placed them in any drop box.”
“This is just great. I’ve got to look Sylvia Blumquist in the eye in an hour and tell her the same, inexcusable bullshit that I had to tell her yesterday!”
Danforth and Mullin stood with their heads hung. They resembled a pair of school boys standing in the principal’s office after being caught cheating. They knew further discussion was futile. The Commissioner had to blame somebody, had to point his finger somewhere.
“And what has Harris been doing while you two have been jerking each other off?” Gerland demanded.
Neither of the men responded.
“Well? What has he been up to?”
“We-we don’t know, chief,” Mullin finally answered. “The guy drives like a maniac. We both lost him.”
“Fucking beautiful,” Gerland stood in place now, hands on hip, and shook his head. “How in the hell do you two call yourselves detectives?”
The men remained silent.
“Okay,” their boss began slowly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to come back in tomorrow morning and you’re going to have something for me. Anything. I don’t care if you have to make it up!”
Both men looked at the Commissioner and nodded their heads in unison.
“Otherwise, you’ll be back on foot patrol in the projects. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir,” they both spoke.
“Now get the hell out of here!”
The two men hastily turned to leave.
“And find out what that asshole Harris is up to. Go to his house and ask him if you have to for Christ’s sake.”
The door closed and the two men walked towards the exit.
“Told you we were screwed.” Danforth said, keeping his voice low.
Mullin did not reply.
Good Cop Bad Cop
42
Multiple patrol cars and a single ambulance crowded the street. Their sirens were silent but their lights continue to spin, bathing the area in flashes of red, blue and orange as the sun set and dusk fell. The ambulance containing Carlos and an accompanying officer had already pulled away. Two patrolmen ran yellow crime scene tape along the fence in front of the home. Neighbors, keeping their distance, stood down the street talking amongst each other casually. They were no strangers to police activity in their neighborhood.
After backup and the paramedics arrived on the scene, Harris had left the house to sit on the back bumper of an ambulance. His arm had already been bandaged and he sat still as the paramedic removed his shoe and dug two small pellets out of his foot.
“You’re lucky that the soles of your shoes slowed the buckshot,” the paramedic had told him. “Otherwise these two babies might have gone right through your foot.” The man held up one of the small pellets that he had extricated from Harris’ foot. “They only went in half an inch, just a flesh wound.”
Harris took it from the man and examined it. 12 shot by the look of it, he thought. Lucky for me, Carlos wasn’t packing the heavy stuff. The more balls or pellets that a shotgun shell held, the smaller they were. The scatter was better but they were far less lethal. 12 shot was better for hunting birds than men.
Harris refused a trip to the hospital. “Just put some antibiotic on it and wrap it up for me,” he said to the EMT.
As Carlos had been wheeled out of the house on a gurney, he’d screamed to anyone within ear shot as to how he had been abused and tortured by Harris while Christi did nothing. The paramedics and uniformed officers ignored him.
An internal affairs lieutenant had shown up not long after the first black and whites. After the call went out and Harris was identified in the shooting, Captain Dinkins had been personally notified as was the standing order for any Harris related incident. He sent a man down immediately to try and get whatever he could.
Now, Harris stood speaking with another uniformed lieutenant from a nearby Brooklyn precinct and Christi sat waiting for him to finish. The internal affairs officer had already grilled Harris. Of course, he never brought up the fact that Christi had been in the house. He had been following a lead, saw the drugs, attempted to make an arrest and had been fired upon as well as attacked by the perp’s dog. End of story. Harris was cold and brief with the IA detective and offered no embellishment. He knew that the man was only there to assist in his hanging.
The IA cop had then moved on to Christi. Harris had watched them out of the corner of his eye as he talked with one of the responding officers. He noticed that she looked over at him several times. She had already been debriefed by the Brooklyn lieutenant and had told him exactly what Harris was confirming, that she had stumbled on the scene after the action had taken place.
Animal Control had been called and they pulled up just as Harris was finishing up with the Brooklyn cop. The two shook hands and Harris made his way over to where Christi sat. He walked with a slight limp.
“Holt shit, he was asking me-“
“Stop,” Harris said quietly but firmly. “Not here.”
Christi fell silent, understanding the look he gave her. He stood in front of her and sized her up. What the hell had she been thinking even coming into that house, much less following him to begin with? She returned his stare with a casual smile.
“Do you have a ride home or back to your office or wherever?” He asked at last.
“No,” she answered with a soft laugh. “The cabbie took off without even collecting the other half of the hundred dollar bill I gave him.”
“Yeah, gunfire tends to put things in a different perspective for most people.” Harris offered without smiling.
“Tell me about it,” she said.
“So where do you want me to take you?”
Christi noticed that he hadn’t asked her if she would ride with him, that he had simply assumed it.
“How about to dinner?” She asked.
“What?”
“I’m starving,” she answered.
“Really? You have an appetite?”
“Hell yes. Don’t you?”
“I could eat. But I have to get to the station and fill out about a week’s worth of paperwork because of this shit.”
“Yeah, so do it tomorrow.”
Harris ground his teeth in the way he did while pondering a serious issue. He looked the woman in her eyes and saw how she looked back. His radar was up and he suspected that there was more to this than a reporter chasing a story. But he also knew that having an ally with press credentials could be a very good thing.
“You owe me, buddy.” Christi broke the silence.
“I owe you?” Harris raised his eyebrows. “Are you serious?”
“Uhhh, duh. Considering I just covered for you and probably committed a felony, I would say yes.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Harris said.
Christi merely smiled and nodded.
“Let’s go,” he relented.
He turned and walked gingerly towards his Camaro. Christi followed obediently. When they got to the car, Harris went to the passenger door and opened it for the reporter. She eased into the passenger seat and tried to suppress a smile as he closed the door with a soft push. Chivalry may be on life support, she thought, but it’s not dead yet.
Harris climbed into the driver’s seat and put his key into the ignition.
“How come they didn’t make you go to the hospital?�
�� Christi asked. “I know that’s standard operating procedure when an officer is wounded on the job.”
“Because I didn’t want to go,” he answered coolly.
“But can’t they make you?”
“How exactly would they do that?” Harris turned to look directly at her. He was not in the mood to play and it showed.
“I’m sorry,” Christi spoke. “I was just curious. Does it hurt badly?”
“It’s just a scratch. And she doesn’t have time for me to worry about a scratch.”
“What do you mean? Who doesn’t have time?”
Harris pulled away from the curb. He eased slowly between two of the patrol cars and then hit the gas as he sped out of the neighborhood. He turned left and headed towards the 278 and the Brooklyn Bridge which would bring them into downtown Manhattan. Traffic would be light heading into the city at this hour. Everybody else was either trying to leave Manhattan or was already home.
“Who doesn’t have time?” Christi asked again. “Your wife?”
Harris shot her a quizzical look much like a parent would a teenage child if they asked a foolish question.
“No. Emily.”
Christi’s face flushed and she felt immature and selfish. She lowered her head in shame. She’d forgotten in the rush of excitement that there was a much bigger and darker picture. The gunfire, watching Harris work, the thrill of finally doing what she’d longed to do had clouded her vision. She sat silently, ashamed of having asked the question. Of course, she thought to herself. Emily.
She finally looked at Harris again. As the man drove, weaving quickly through traffic, horns blaring at him in anger, the streetlights illuminated his face for brief moment after brief moment and she saw the resolve in the man’s eyes. This was not just a job to him. This was a mission. Good against evil. She had been right about him from the beginning. And now here she was, sitting next to a man who had just shot his way out of a life and death situation, a man who had been accused of police brutality and even murder. A man who lived on the edge and put himself between the bad guys and the civilian population.
Christi smiled as they crested the bridge. She looked at the city differently at this moment. The millions of lights, the millions of people and the millions of stories. The good, the bad and the ugly of it all seemed at arm’s length as she rode with him. Christi was used to being a bit nervous in the city, it was just something she gotten used to over the years.
As they headed into the concrete jungle tonight, she never felt safer.
Good Cop Bad Cop
43
Sylvia sat in her favorite recliner wrapped in a warm, woolen blanket. She had her laptop in front of her and pored through e-mails which had stacked up while she was out of action, all the while trying desperately to shut out the horrible images which kept flashing through her mind. There was still work to do and she wanted badly to escape into it. Escape, she thought? Emily was being raped and tortured, how dare she sit there and even contemplate escape?
She stopped herself. This was the type of self loathing that she had been experiencing the last week. She knew that the frustration of feeling helpless and the terrible anger that accompanied it, was not being vented properly. She was turning it upon herself and upon those around her. It was why she had snapped at Mary and had torn into Sheldon. Sylvia felt a desperation that permeated every inch of her being. She felt physically ill and shaky all the time. She could barely sleep, and when she did she was tormented by nightmares of Emily tied to a table, enduring that horror.
Sylvia knew she should take a leave of absence, a hiatus. She could let the assistant D.A. Robert Hunley, handle things until this was over. He was a capable man and a damn fine attorney. It had been gingerly suggested a few times, always with Sylvia’s well being in mind. But with the upcoming budget increases and the demands of the press, she knew that it would look like she was hiding. This was one more reason she had to go public. She knew that if the people understood what her family was going through, that they would allow her the time to simply be a mother.
She looked across the room to where Sheldon sat in his overstuffed, leather easy chair reading the Wall Street Journal. He had returned to their Oyster Bay home when she was hospitalized, leaving the sanctuary of their Manhattan apartment to be with her. She studied his face and saw the deep creases that had developed seemingly overnight. Sheldon had always been a strange man when it came to following usual conventions of society. She knew that he was in a great deal of pain, he had no problem showing his weakness, but he didn’t deserve what she had said to him. He was honestly doing what he thought was best and even if it seemed callous worrying about her career during this personal tragedy, everybody had different ways of coping.
Sylvia felt a hollow ache in her heart. Her world was crumbling and if something happened to Emily, if they didn’t get her back, she knew that it would be the end of their marriage as well. Few couples can withstand the loss of a child and she knew that if the worst happened, both she and Sheldon would immerse themselves in their work, hide in it. Emily was the glue that held the family together. Without her, it would disintegrate. She knew this.
Sylvia continued to stare at her husband until he felt her gaze and turned to lock eyes with her. They said nothing, only exchanging sorrowful looks. Sheldon pursed his lips together to try and control his emotions. His lower lip began to tremble and he looked back down to his paper.
Sylvia felt a single tear roll down her cheek. She too looked away.
Good Cop Bad Cop
44
Harris made a left off of FDR Drive onto East 63rd Street. He headed west until they were just a block away from Central Park and miraculously found an empty parking spot just two blocks from the restaurant that Christi had suggested. The two had walked quickly through the brisk night air and ducked into the little bistro.
The restaurant was a little too dark for his liking, and Harris noticed that each table was candlelit and occupied by couples who looked adoringly into each other’s eyes. He glanced at Christi, eyeing the woman and trying to gauge her expectations. Harris requested a spot near the back of the establishment. He’d then chosen a seat with his back to the wall. This had not gone unnoticed by the pretty reporter. Now Harris sat, surveying the place, checking out the patrons.
“Are we safe?” Christi leaned forward, chiding him. Her eyes danced in the candlelight and she wore a hint of a smile.
Harris ignored the remark and lifted his menu. He suddenly felt famished as the excitement of the day wore off and he realized he hadn’t eaten since having a small breakfast of fruit and coffee.
“What’s good here?” He asked.
“God, everything,” she said. “The sausage ravioli is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Harris replied, glancing up from the menu.
“Yeah, ridiculous. Delicious. Really good.” Christi mocked. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Sorry, I guess I’ll go check my Face Book page and brush up on the current lingo.”
Christi laughed. It was a soft, genuine giggle and it made the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. Harris noticed and despite himself, studied her mouth briefly. Christi’s saw his eyes drop. Her smile faded and she felt her heart beat quicken.
Shit, Harris muttered to himself as he quickly looked back to the menu.
“Hello, my name is Michael. May I take your drink order,” a friendly distraction suddenly gave him the assist he was hoping for. He looked up to see a man in his mid twenties. The man held a notepad and a pen.
“I will have a double Hennessy on the rocks and the lady will have…” He looked at Christi.
“House Chardonnay is fine.”
“Very good,” the waiter spoke. “I’ll be right back to take your order. The house special today is the chef’s signature sausage ravioli.”
“Shut up,” Christi blurted. “It is not!”
“Uhhh….” the waiter looked uneasily to Harris and then back to Christi. “Y
es, ma’am. It is.”
Harris couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched the waiter’s reaction.
“She was just telling me how ridiculous it was,” he offered trying to help.
“Ahhhh, yes,” the young waiter suddenly understood. “That it is.”
“Well then why don’t we just place our order now?” Harris spoke. He looked to Christi for approval. “I think two sausage ravioli’s are an absolute necessity at this point. Agreed?”
“Ridiculously so,” she answered with an air of triumph.
“Very good,” the waiter replied with a smile. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
He walked away and Harris looked across the small table.
“You’re awfully chipper for a lady who just witnessed what you witnessed,” he spoke with a somber tone.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, you don’t seem fazed at all after what just went down.”
“Well,” Christi explained. “I compartmentalize things like that. I always have.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“It means that I already dealt with it and put it away.”
“That easily?” Harris queried.
“Yup.” Christi answered. “If you only knew what I was working on just a few days ago you would understand how big this is for me.”
“How big what is?”
“Do you know the shit I’ve been subjected to for the past several years?” She asked. Gone was the smile, replaced by an almost childlike annoyance. “I’ve been writing human interest stories. Old ladies who leave their fortunes to their cats and stuff like that.”
“Was it so bad?”
“Hmmm,” Christi searched for an explanation that would be fitting. “It would be kind of like you being forced into service as a meter maid. No bad guys for you to catch except those who double park and don’t feed the meter.”
“Ha,” Harris laughed. “Okay. I guess I can understand that. So what happened a few days ago?”
“My editor gave me permission to…” she paused, searching for the word. “Pursue you? I guess that’s the right word.”
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