Good Cop Bad Cop (A James Harris Series Book 1)

by Richard Nesbitt

  Sheldon broke into a fast, unbalanced walk and, still panic stricken, looked back over his shoulder at Harris. He reached the front door, twisted the knob and pulled the door open. With a final glance behind him, he made his exit.

  “And if we don’t get Emily back alive,” Harris hissed as he rushed to follow the man. “I’m going to hunt you down and finish the job.”

  As the door slammed shut behind Sheldon, Harris stopped and stood in the middle of the foyer. His chest heaved with anger and he took a few deep breaths to steady himself. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to tear that bastard limb from limb, but there was a work to be done and very little time to do it. He heard a loud squeal of tires in the driveway as he turned to go back to the study. A moment later, the front door opened again and Harris turned to see Sylvia’s aide dash through the entrance.

  “Good,” Harris spoke as he saw her. “We need you.”

  “What in the world is going on?” She asked, out of breath. “Mr. Blumquist just took off in his Jaguar. He peeled out of here like his hair was on fire!”

  “Don’t worry about him. I need you to stay with the D.A.,” Harris ordered. “And don’t leave her side. Do you understand?”

  “Of course!” The young woman declared. “Where is she? What happened?”

  Instead of answering, Harris simply led the way into the study. Seeing Sylvia and Christi together on the sofa, the woman ran to her boss and knelt in front of her. She took both of her hands and looked into her face.

  “Mrs. Blumquist,” she asked, deep concern in her voice. “What is going on?!”

  “No,” Christi interjected softly. She shook her head slowly as Sylvia’s aide stared up at her. “Don’t ask. Just be here. And call her doctor.”

  The girl looked puzzled but did not push it any further. She nodded her head and sat beside her boss.

  Christi looked up to see Harris gesturing to her. She rose and walked towards him.

  “Salvador Castillo. I need you to go back to your office and use all of the Gazette’s resources. He is Columbian. Look for any ties to real estate development. See if there’s anything at all that will connect him with Sheldon Blumquist.”

  “Okay,” Christi answered obediently.

  “We have a very small window here, Christi. Dig up any information you can find on Blumquist’s foreign holdings. Obviously start with Columbia. There has to be a connection. Sheldon mentioned a deal that had gone bad.”

  “Are you going back to the precinct? We’ll have a better shot if both of us search.”

  “I can’t. If this guy is as connected as I think he is, I can’t go through normal channels. If the federal guys start digging and Castillo has a mole, then it’s game over. Christi, I know this is a lot to ask, but it’s just you.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Christi responded. “But my boss isn’t just going to allow me to tie up his best people unless I tell him what’s going on.”

  “Then tell him. Do what you have to do,” Harris spoke. “Just don’t let them run anything yet. If it is Castillo and he sees it in the paper tomorrow morning he will know we’re close and…”

  Harris left the sentence unfinished.

  “I understand.”

  “Promise me you won’t let the Gazette run this tomorrow.”

  “I promise, Jimmy.”

  “And call me immediately with any and every detail you find. Go.”

  Christi looked past Harris back into the study. She saw that the aide was now holding Sylvia closely.

  “It’s okay,” Harris said, noting her concern. “We’ll take care of her.”

  Christi shot him a weak smile and turned to run out the door.

  “Christi!” Harris called after her.

  The young reporter stopped at the door and turned back around.

  “Thanks.”

  Christi smiled a second time and then turned and left the house.

  Harris watched the door close behind her. He turned and walked back into the study.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  55

  Carl Emerson, city editor of the Gazette, sat poring through the notes and rough draft of Christi’s emerging story. His eyes grew wider with each page and he was in his own world, hardly noticing the fact that his anxious reporter sat on the edge of her seat facing him, desperately fighting the urge to bite her nails.

  “This is unbelievable,” he muttered in a low hush. “This is really unbelievable.”

  He wasn’t speaking to Christi. In fact he wasn’t even aware that he’d said anything at all. He went back to the first page and then quickly flipped to the middle of the pile of papers he held. He then returned to the first page and traced his finger down the sheet, as if he couldn’t comprehend, or believe, what he’d read only moments before.

  Christi had already described to him exactly what had transpired with Harris including the Carlos bust. However, she did omit the unorthodox interrogation. Carl had made her repeat certain details over and over again until he understood them precisely. Now he took his time as he went through her notes as if somehow reading it in black and white made it feel more real for the longtime newspaper man. Finally, he let the entire stack drop to the desk and he leaned back in his chair. He looked at Christi and said nothing, simply stared and shook his head slightly. He exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath for an hour.

  “Jesus Christ, Carl,” Christi finally spoke in exasperation. She fidgeted knowing that time was slipping away. “Say something.”

  “Woof.”

  “Seriously, it’s a pretty good story isn’t it?”

  “Pretty good?” Carl repeated, feigning exasperation. “It’s going to win a goddamn Pulitzer.”

  “Oh my God,” Christi slumped back into her own chair. “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. Although, I should be pissed off.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Because I had you writing human fucking interest stories for years. And the entire time I had Mrs. Woodward working for me.”

  “I’d prefer Mrs. Bernstein if you don’t mind,” Christi joked. “He was much cuter.”

  “After this, I’ll call you Her Royal Highness if you’d like,” Carl said with a laugh.

  Christi’s smile beamed and lit up the office. “Can I get that in writing?”

  “Seriously Christi, this is incredible. You actually tailed him into Brooklyn? Into that shithole of a neighborhood?”

  “Yup. And come to think of it, there’s a cabbie out there somewhere that I owe a hundred bucks to. He took off when the shooting started.”

  Carl threw his head back and laughed. He shook his head and smiled proudly.

  “This isn’t over, Carl,” Christi injected as her mood turned serious. “I need our best researchers at my beckon call for the rest of the day. Starting five minutes ago.”

  “You got it. How quickly can you polish this up? We’re not going to push the entire story tomorrow. We’ve got to give them little bits. Tease this.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t just give them the entire enchilada all at once, honey. We have to build this up for Sunday. Tomorrow’s story will bait the hook and Sundays will land the tuna. We will break circulation records with this piece.”

  “Whoa. We can’t run this yet.” Christi said. The smile was gone from her face.

  “What the hell are you talking about? Of course we’re going to run this.”

  “No. We’re not.”

  Carl stared at her as if she’d just told a joke that he couldn’t quite understand.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What are you talking about?”

  “Carl, if we run this story tomorrow and Castillo is the kidnapper, he will kill Emily immediately.”

  “What?” Carl shot her a scornful look. “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes. Yes I do know that.”

  “You’re serious?” Carl asked. He stared across the desk at his new star reporter. “You’re not joking?”

&nbs
p; “Of course not. I’m not going to be responsible for the death of that girl.”

  “What? That’s pure speculation, Christi. Maybe you’re not aware of this but newspapers run news stories. We tell the news. We aren’t fortune tellers. We are running the goddamn story.”

  “Carl, you heard the story, you read the notes. If this guy knows that Harris is closing in on him he will finish her. We have to wait. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry!? Who in the hell do you think you’re talking to?!” Carl shot out of his chair. “You don’t tell me what we will run and what we won’t!”

  Christi remained seated and held her ground. After what she’d been through the past few days, she wasn’t going to be intimidated by an angry editor.

  “Carl,” she began softly. “In no way am I trying to tell you what to do. But I was only allowed access to this information because I gave my word.”

  “Bullshit! He’s using you to dig up dirt on this Columbian asshole! He’s playing you!”

  “He’s not playing me, Carl. I am helping him and in exchange he has given me this exclusive.”

  “Which won’t be an exclusive for very long if we don’t act now!”

  “Nobody knows what we know.”

  “Not yet they don’t. And yes, maybe we’ll have a better angle with the personal interaction between you and Harris, but that won’t matter once the story breaks and the Times blasts it all over their front page. We may sell a few more papers but we will miss the landslide.”

  Christi sat, close mouthed, and looked at Carl who was doing his best to stare her down. She refused to blink, to let him have the upper hand.

  “Would you really risk getting Emily Blumquist killed in order to sell more papers?”

  “You can go straight to hell with that!” Carl exclaimed loudly. “You don’t know what this guy’s going to do anymore than I do! Hell, it’s probably not even him! Harris just wants the bust for himself and he’s afraid that if this gets out the Feds will move in before he can!”

  Against her will, Christi laughed. She quickly stifled it and smiled at her boss.

  “What’s so goddamn funny?” Carl demanded.

  “Wow,” she spoke, shaking her head. “You really have no idea what kind of man he is.”

  Carl’s features shifted and a trace of a smile formed on his lips. He folded his arms across his chest.

  “Well there it is,” he spoke.

  It took only half a second for Christi to understand the man’s deeper meaning. She stood.

  “Get stuffed, Carl.”

  “Ahhh yes,” he continued. “The one fatal drawback of the female reporter.”

  “Kiss my ass,” Christi spoke with more intensity.

  “It would appear as if you’ve already got somebody for that job.”

  “That’s it,” Christi said. “I’m out of here.” She leaned forward to grab her notes from the man’s desk. Carl slammed his hand down on the papers.

  “I’m running the story with or without you.” He glared at her with white hot intensity. “And let me just add that I am extremely disappointed that you’ve allowed your personal feelings to get in the way of your professionalism. But I forgive you.”

  Christi froze. She returned his glare and grit her teeth. Taking a long, deep breath through her nose, she slowly released it through her mouth.

  “Carl, I’m not even going to dignify this bullshit with any further response. Please give me my notes.”

  “I am running this story if I have to write it myself. Don’t worry though, I will give you full credit of course.”

  “You had better not,” Christi spoke, a cold edge to her voice.

  “Why? What are you going to do?”

  “I will go public. Hell, I won’t even have to go public. Every reporter with a pen or a microphone is going to come running to me. And I will tell them that it’s all a lie, that I made the entire thing up. The Gazette will be a laughingstock.”

  “Bullshit. You’d be ruined.”

  “Maybe. But at least I won’t be responsible for killing Emily.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “No Carl, I’m not.”

  The two stood rooted in place, neither moved as they both stared daggers into each other. Finally Christi broke the silence.

  “Think about how it will look after all is said and done when everybody knows that you didn’t run the biggest story in decades because you wouldn’t risk this young ladies life. If Harris is able to save her, you will be a rock star.”

  Carl said nothing, simply studied the woman’s face.

  “Not to mention the debt that Sylvia Blumquist will owe you. Holy shit, Carl, you’ll be able to write your own ticket.”

  Christi could see the wheels turning as she stared into her bosses eyes. She was right, in every way. She knew it, and hopefully, he was beginning to see it too.

  “Carl, the story will be ready to go. The second Harris makes his move we can start the presses. The Gazette will be a monster. We will own this thing. Think, Carl. We just need to wait one more day.”

  Moments ticked by as the final chess piece was pushed into place. Carl and Christi both held their ground. The first to move would lose.

  Slowly and deliberately, Carl raised his hand from her notes. He took a small step back and stared at her. The anger was gone, replaced by a new resolve. She could see that he understood all the implications.

  “All right,” he finally spoke. “We’ll wait. But you may be costing yourself more than you think.”

  “I don’t think so.” she answered. “But more importantly, I don’t care. I gave my word.”

  She leaned forward and scooped up her papers.

  “The last ethical reporter, huh? Okay. But I want to be kept in the loop the rest of the way. If Harris sneezes I want to know about it.”

  “Absolutely. I promise, Carl. You won’t regret this.”

  “I already regret it.”

  Christi laughed. She did it more to break the tension than for the humor value. Her boss did not smile.

  “Well, that’s the fatal flaw with you male reporters,” she playfully mocked as she turned to leave. “Always rushing in for the kill.”

  “Clever,” Carl said. “Plagiarist.”

  Christi exited the office and, before the door closed, yelled back to her boss. “I need those people now! And stop worrying! You’re a hero!”

  Carl sat back in his chair. He bit his cheek and shook his head in disbelief. Then he picked up the phone. “Get me research.”

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  56

  Christi sat in the main conference room with Anne and Paul, the top two researchers at the Gazette. They had sequestered themselves in the large room so that they could work side by side and share any new piece of information immediately. They’d already uncovered quite a bit on Salvador Castillo as it was not difficult to find news stories on a man who was once reported to be among Columbia’s leading drug kingpins. The three sat and reviewed their findings.

  Salvador Castillo was born and raised in the very worst section of Bogotá. He was a tough kid who had begun his life of crime as a gang member and small scale drug pusher. By the time he was a teenager he already had a lengthy rap sheet which eventually led to a two year stint in La Tramacúa, the infamous Columbian prison when he was just eighteen. It was in this meat grinder that he’d not only met the connections in the drug cartel he would eventually run, but it was also where he earned his reputation as a sadistic killer. Although never convicted, Castillo was considered the lead suspect in no less than seven hits while inside the prison. Unlike other killers who attacked swiftly and finished the job as quickly as possible, Castillo became known as the slow assassin. He took his time and made his victims suffer as much as possible.

  After getting out of La Tramacúa, Castillo joined the cartel as both a plant manager and an enforcer. Working in the mountain camps that manufactured large amounts of cocaine, he learned the business from the grou
nd up. Not only did he receive an invaluable education in mass production, but also in distribution and politics. He learned who in public office could be bought and those who could not. Those who could not simply disappeared. It became more a case of self preservation for politicians and law enforcement officials to take bribes and look the other way than it was to garner wealth.

  As he rose in the organization, there was an internal power struggle taking place which finally culminated in a coup. The fight for control of the cartel resulted in nine months of war and an incredible body count in the streets of Columbia. When the dust settled, it was none other than Salvador Castillo who had emerged as the new chief. His well earned reputation for cold blooded and ruthless murders ensured rivals kept a safe distance.

  “This guy’s unbelievable,” Christi exclaimed. “So here he is as the most notorious drug lord in Columbia and then he decides to go legit?”

  “Yeah, look here,” Anne spoke. “He made several large acquisitions including a fast food chain.”

  “I wonder how many people knew their burritos were being made by the coke king of South America?” Paul asked with a grin.

  The three laughed.

  “He’s pretty handsome for a killer,” Anne said.

  She pointed to the picture of Castillo she had just pulled up on her laptop. The man was tall and deeply tanned with black hair and equally dark eyes. The picture was taken in front of his stables and Castillo posed beside a large, brown stallion. He was in excellent physical condition and stood dressed in a custom fitted suit, flashing a perfect, white toothed smile. He looked every bit the picture of success.

  “Ugh,” Christi responded.

  The intercom on the conference room phone sounded.

  “Christi, are you in there?” A voice asked.

  “I am. What’s up?”

  “There are two police officers here to see you.”

  “Me?” Christi asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Are you available?”

  Christi paused. One of them might be Harris, she thought.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Excusing herself, Christi stood and walked out of the room. As she walked the long corridor and approached the lobby, she could see two men, both in dress uniform. She immediately recognized one as the Commissioner, the other she did not know. This has got to be connected to Sylvia, she thought, although Harris had made it clear that going through the proper channels was dangerous.