“Yes, Deputy Commissioner?” A female voice asked.
“I need you to find one Christi Sellinger immediately. She’s a reporter for the Gazette.” Dinkins had a smile on his face as he spoke. “I need her in my office as soon as humanly possible. Tell her it’s a very urgent matter and that she would have access to a very large scoop.”
“Right away, sir.”
“If she needs a ride, have a black and white go pick her up but I need you to make this your top priority starting now.”
“Yes, sir,” the voice responded obediently.
Dinkins ended the call with another push of a button. Just as quickly, he picked up the phone and got his secretary back on the line.
“And tell Commissioner Gerland that I need to speak with him as well.”
Dinkins hung up the phone without waiting for a reply. He rubbed his hands together and smiled broadly. After the disappointment he’d felt when the man had been reinstated, this was like a gift come neatly wrapped with a bow atop it. He looked down at the file marked Harris.
“Gotcha,” he spoke aloud.
Good Cop Bad Cop
50
Harris unlocked his lower desk drawer and grabbed a black holster. He clipped it to his belt and let his jacket fall to cover it. That done, he raced out of the precinct to where he’d double parked his car.
Now, heading towards Long Island, Harris contemplated his next move. He knew that he was going to cross a point of no return and if this went badly, he was not only finished as a cop, but would most likely end up behind bars with a lot of people who would be very happy to meet up with him again.
Motoring east on the Cross Bronx Expressway, Harris approached the Throg’s Neck Bridge. It was a chilly day but the sun shone brightly and fat, billowy clouds dotted the horizon. He thought of Bonnie. She had been at her mother’s now for a couple days and it hurt him to go home to an empty house. More than anything else, the silence was particularly disturbing.
The divorce rate was astronomically high among cops. The life was simply too demanding. Many cops became heavy drinkers and ended up taking out their stress and frustrations on their family members. Some, like himself, were so immersed in their jobs that the family ended up taking a back seat to their careers. Harris didn’t want his marriage to end, but how could he turn it off? And did he even want to? You can’t fight the battles he fought half heartedly. His purpose in life was to protect people against the vermin and soulless scum who constantly preyed upon them. Bonnie knew this. It was a no win situation. He didn’t want his marriage to end but he couldn’t stop being who he was. A classic catch 22.
What he was heading towards now was almost impossible to fathom. The D.A. was brilliant, he thought. Extra motivation was what she had told him in the park when she’d handed him the DVD. She knew damn well what that video would do to a man like him. She knew that he would become a relentless machine and risk anything to save the girl. Even his marriage, he admitted to himself.
Harris was now in Long Island and he sped down 25A towards Oyster Bay. He was confident that Christi knew her role in this. She would be waiting for him outside the gated entrance but when they went in he would do what he had to do, without her present in the room. It had to be that way. But, if things went as Harris suspected, she would be necessary. Harris made the many turns through the affluent Oyster Bay neighborhoods and pulled up to the gated, waterfront estate. Sure enough, Christi was parked on the side of the road in a 7 Series BMW. Harris pulled up beside her and lowered his window.
“Nice car,” he said.
“It’s my boss’s.”
“Nice boss.”
“Well,” she replied. “He’s expecting big things.”
“Follow me in.”
“Okay,” she said.
Harris pulled into the drive and up to a camera equipped with an intercom.
“May I help you?” A female voice sounded.
“Lieutenant Harris and Christi Sellinger to see the D.A.”
“May I see some identification, sir?”
He held up his ID and almost immediately the large, iron gate began to swing slowly open.
Harris pulled forward and drove down the long driveway. Christi followed. He pulled under the ivy covered archway which protected the entry way from weather and killed his engine. Christi parked behind him and quickly exited her vehicle. She walked towards him as he climbed out of his Camaro.
“Hey, Jimmy,” she spoke with reassuring familiarity. “You ok?”
“I’ll let you know in about thirty minutes.” he answered, a grim look of determination on his face.
She returned the look with equal resolve. “Are you ready for this?”
“I have to be. Let’s go.”
They walked together towards the front door. It opened before they were able to knock. A female aide greeted them and led them to a study where Sylvia waited.
Harris approached the D.A. who stood to greet him. He extended a hand but instead she put her arms around him and pulled him close.
“Thank you so much for all you’ve done,” she said with honest sincerity as she embraced him warmly.
“Ma’am, I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’ve been shot for God’s sake,” she rebuffed.
“That was nothing, it doesn’t even sting anymore.”
Sylvia turned to greet Christi.
“Hello,” the D.A. spoke with a forced smile. “James has told me that you are a friend. I want to personally thank you for not printing anything yet.”
“My goal is the same as Jimmy’s,” Christi answered as the two shook hands. “I want your daughter returned to you safely.”
“Thank you for that. There are a lot of people who do not approve of me enlisting the help of Lieutenant Harris.”
“Those people are fools,” Christi blurted out.
Harris shot her a look.
“No,” Sylvia managed a laugh as she spoke to Harris. “She’s right.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Christi offered weakly. “It wasn’t my place.”
“Please, dear. I admire a little moxy. People who speak their minds tend to be more honest. It’s a luxury I’m rarely afforded.”
Christi smiled at the woman. She liked her instantly.
“Where is your husband, ma’am?” Harris asked.
“As you requested, he is in another part of the house. Why did you want to speak with me alone first?”
Harris gestured to a couch. “Would you like to sit?”
Sylvia eyed him cautiously. She walked across the room and took a seat. Harris followed. He sat next to her and took her hands in his.
“Do you trust me?”
“What is all this about?” Sylvia asked looking from Harris to Christi and back again. Her face bore a look of troubled concern. “What have you learned?”
“Sylvia. Do you trust me?”
“Why…yes,” she answered. “Yes I do.”
“And you know that anything I do is for no other purpose than to get Emily back to you?”
“Of course,” she exclaimed with exasperation. “What is going on?”
“Ma’am,” Harris spoke slowly. “Remember the first time we met? Do you remember what I said to you when I agreed to find Emily?”
“Well,” she began, trying to recollect. “You said many things.”
“I said that if I were to do this, I do it my way. No half measures.”
“Yes. Yes, I remember.”
“And you agreed with that. Do you remember?”
“Yes!” She snapped “Now what is this about?”
Harris hesitated. He locked eyes with the D.A.
“I need you to dismiss the staff for an hour. All the staff. Cooks, maids, chauffeurs, aides, everybody. No questions. Just do it.”
Sylvia simply stared at him, a puzzled expression on her face.
“And then I need you to get your husband to join us.”
Sylvia searched for words as she sat in place, unable to
move. “I-I don’t understand.”
“Do it now.”
Looking into his eyes, Sylvia saw his commitment and his strength. She saw the hard look of steely determination. This was the man she had enlisted for this terrible job. She had to trust him.
“Okay,” she said weakly.
Harris rose from his crouch. He turned to face Christi.
“I’ll need you to wait in the foyer now, Christi.”
The young reporter nodded and exited the room.
Sylvia called for her staff and repeated Harris’ orders. Not a woman to be questioned, they all proceeded to the front door. Although her aide raised an eyebrow, she also fell in line. As the staff filed out and the house emptied, Harris turned to face her again.
“Go get Sheldon.”
Good Cop Bad Cop
51
Emily stared up at the man as she sat on the cold, cement floor, her back against the plywood wall of her makeshift cell. She was naked and cold but no longer made any attempt to cover herself. Her head sagged down and to the left with exhaustion and her mouth hung open but her eyes were raised and she fixed the man’s face with a blank stare. After almost than a week of isolation, torture and rape, she had little left.
Her captor sat in a folding chair on the other side of the door. With one leg draped over the other, he smiled pleasantly at Emily and appeared amicable. He studied her body, a body that he’d had, a body that he’d broken. She was still a very good looking young woman although her spirit was hanging by a thread. The man stood and walked a few steps to the work bench which sat against the wall to the right of the plywood cell. He grabbed a grocery store bought bouquet of flowers which were old and beyond wilting. The flowers had turned brown and the stems brittle. He walked back to the cell and tossed them casually at Emily. The flowers hit her bare chest and burst into a shower of dried leaves. The bouquet fell in disarray around her to the floor, several landed in her lap. Emily never flinched.
The man then leaned to his right and flicked the switch on the video camera which sat atop a tripod and was trained upon the girl. He had already adjusted the aspect and the focus to ensure her entire body would be crisp and clear in the cameras lens. The flowers were the final touch.
The man clapped.
Emily blinked. She lifted her chin and stared out of the cell. She vacillated between the camera and her captor. The man clapped again, this time harder.
“I-I just wanted to let you know that this is my last full day on earth,” Emily began slowly. She spoke in a dull monotone which had a chilling effect. Her eyes betrayed no emotion as she recited the words which she’d been forced to memorize.
“I will be killed before nightfall tomorrow,” she continued.
Emily paused and her head drooped slightly as she lost focus. Her eyes went to the floor, to a distant far off place that only she could see. A loud clap restored her attention.
Emily raised her head again and tried to focus.
“In a few days you will receive a video of my execution.”
Another pause as the severity of the words became real to Emily. Her lower lip quivered and she looked from the camera to the man. A single tear welled up and ran down her face. Rehearsing the lines had been hard enough. Reciting them to the camera brought the finality of her situation home to her.
A loud clap.
“Why-why didn’t you save me, daddy?” Emily spoke with despair as her gaze returned to the camera. “Why didn’t you save me?”
She broke and wailed loudly. Her body shook as she let loose her emotions and felt guttural fear wash over her. She stared at the man and raised both arms as a child who wanted to be held would do. She pushed at the ground with her hands and rolled to her knees. Rising up to a prayer position, Emily now held both arms straight out and her eyes pleaded with the man to come and hold her. She had reverted back to a time when all that was needed to fix the world’s problems was to be held. Her face was twisted and screwed up in a mask of torture and complete anguish and her cheeks were streaked brown with tears that rolled through the accumulation of dirt and filth.
The man smiled at her. This had not been scripted but he couldn’t have asked for a better ending. He allowed the camera to record the final moments of her despair and then he flicked another switch on the camera and the red light blinked off.
He then walked towards her cell to stand before her as Emily reached out, begging for compassion. He stood in the doors opening and allowed her to plead tearfully for clemency, for even the smallest amount of mercy. Finally the man reached for the door and, with a final smirk, slammed it shut.
As Emily screamed in futility, the light bulb in her cell switched itself off. The man padlocked the door and walked away.
Although she understood that it was the noise detector that controlled the small light bulb that dangled overhead, Emily could no longer stop screaming. Even light brought no comfort. The darkness and Emily were one.
Good Cop Bad Cop
52
Sheldon and Sylvia Blumquist walked into the well appointed study, Sylvia a pace behind her husband. Harris stood in the middle of the room waiting for them. As they entered he walked past them and towards the French doors. He closed them and then pushed the bolts at the top of each door into their heavy, metal casings. They were locked in.
“What news do you have of my daughter?” Sheldon asked with the stern authority he had learned from decades of dealing with underlings. He stared grimly as he faced Harris with his hands on his hips in a clear gesture of control. “And just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Harris turned to Sylvia. “You must trust me.”
Sylvia, still looking confused, nodded.
“We are quite secure, Lieutenant,” Sheldon continued with a mocking tone as he gestured towards the locked doors. “Nobody is going to try and break in.”
Harris slowly returned Sylvia’s nod and turned to face Sheldon.
“I’m not trying to prevent anybody from getting in, Sheldon.” He spoke in a low and ominous tone.
Sheldon shivered as he felt any icy prickle run down his spine. He looked nervously to his wife.
“Sylvia, just what in the hell is going on here?” He demanded.
“You’re talking to me now, Sheldon,” Harris said as he closed the distance between them with slow and menacing steps.
“What is this insanity?!” The man barked at his wife.
“I said you are talking to me now, you son of a bitch,” Harris hissed between his teeth.
“How dare you talk to me like that in my own house?!” Sheldon roared. He took a faltering step backwards. His eyes were wide and he glanced about the room nervously. “I’ve had enough of this, get the hell out of my way!”
The shaken man tried to step around Harris and make for the door but the detective simply put a hand in his chest and pushed him backwards. Sheldon, arms flailing wildly, stumbled backwards and tripped over his own feet. He landed with a hard thud onto the oak flooring. Sylvia gasped and threw a hand over her mouth. Harris ignored her.
Remaining on his backside, Sheldon gaped up at the man who now stood glaring down at him.
“What in the hell is this all about?! Have you gone mad!?”
“Who has Emily?” Harris asked, his voice a frozen dagger.
“No!” Sylvia screamed from behind them. She rushed over to Harris side and placed a firm hand on the detective’s shoulder. “It’s not possible!”
Harris faced her with a dour look. He shook his head slowly.
“I’m sorry, Sylvia.”
“No!” She screamed again as she felt what was left of her mind leaving her. “There is no way!”
“Sylvia!” Harris spun to face her. “You have to keep it together now!”
The D.A. shook her head. She stared into Harris’ eyes and then looked down at her husband cowering on the floor.
“You have to trust me,” Harris spoke softly.
“Sylvia! Help me! Do somet
hing!” Sheldon cried from the floor. “This man is absolutely mad!”
“I’m sorry.” Harris repeated softly to the bewildered woman. “This is almost over. Be strong for your daughter.”
Sylvia felt a rush of dizziness and staggered slightly. Harris caught her by the arm and led her to the couch. She sat and stared vacantly, almost trance-like, at the extraordinary scene being played out in front of her.
“Just don’t move. This is almost over,” Harris repeated.
Sheldon sprang to his feet and made a dash for the door. He fumbled wildly for the top bolt as he looked, wide-eyed, over his shoulder to see that Harris was already upon him.
“No!” He screamed as the much stronger and larger man, using just his right arm, threw him back towards the center of the room. This time he maintained his balance and did not fall. He looked frantically for another escape route and bolted for the large bay window. Once again, Harris was upon him.
“This can go two ways,” the detective said menacingly. He grabbed the man’s shoulders and flung him backwards as he stuck out his left leg. Sheldon went down in a heap for the second time.
“You can give me a name now or you can give me a name later,” he continued. “Later will be very unpleasant.”
“Do you honestly think I know who has my daughter!?” Sheldon screamed. “How can you possibly think such a thing?!”
“You may not know for sure who has her, but I know damn well you suspect who does.”
“You go to hell!” Sheldon screamed. “I love my daughter!”
“I’m sure you do,” Harris spoke calmly as he brushed his jacket aside to reveal the object he had retrieved from the station house. Protruding from the holster was a black pistol grip. Harris grabbed it and withdrew the weapon. Although the part which was held in Harris’ hand looked like a pistol, the end was very different. Instead of a barrel, it had a vertical rectangular piece with two metal prongs on either end. Even Sheldon knew a taser when he saw one.
“Jesus Christ,” He stammered meekly, his loud hysterics replaced by a shallow, quieter desperation. “This can’t be happening. Sylvia, stop him. I beg you.”
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