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

by Richard Nesbitt

  Harris turned and exited the closet. He left his master bedroom and walked quickly down the hall turning into the kitchen. Walking to the pantry, he flung open the door and eyed his choices. He grabbed a blueberry breakfast bar from the top shelf and closed the door. Turning to the refrigerator, he opened that and grabbed a bottled water from the door. He then closed the refrigerator and left the kitchen.

  As he walked briskly down the hallway, he came to a sudden stop. A picture of Bonnie and Danny hung on the wall. They were playing in the sand on the beach at Coco Cay, Bahamas. The family had taken a cruise two years ago and Harris had captured this photo spontaneously as his wife and son were playing. Both had a look of unbridled joy and love for each other as they enjoyed the hot Caribbean beach. Harris swallowed as he felt emotions rise to the surface. Was he really destroying his family? He wondered if it was possible to get it back. Was it too far gone? He took a slow deep breath and releasing it, continued towards the garage. He walked out to his Camaro and opened the driver door. Gently placing the AR-15 on the floor in the back seat, he slid in to start his car. Harris threw the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway. Then, instead of putting the car in drive, he hit the accelerator. The cars tires squealed loudly as smoke poured from them. He flew in reverse for almost a full block. Hitting the brakes the car screeched to a stop beside a tan Ford Taurus.

  Harris exited his car and stepped towards the tan vehicle. He bent at the waist and looked in through the passenger window. He waved at Mullin who sat looking at him with embarrassment. The window rolled down.

  “Hi, Scott,” Harris said with a cheery smile.

  “Look, Jimmy,” Mullin spoke nervously. “I don’t like this either. I’m just following orders.”

  “No, no. Following orders is good,” Harris spoke as he continued to smile. “Without discipline, the system breaks down.”

  “You know that I think this sucks, right?”

  “I’m sure you do. But I really can’t have you following me today, bud.”

  “So,” Mullin began with sarcasm. “Why don’t you just tell me where you’re heading next and save me the effort?”

  “Well, I could do that,” Harris answered. “But you might want to check your front tire first.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong…” Mullin stopped short as Harris produced the knife from his boot and held it up for inspection.

  “Don’t even think about it, Jimmy,” the startled detective growled as he realized the man’s intent.

  Harris flashed the man a broad smile. He then leaned down and with a quick jab, punctured the passenger side, front tire. The car listed to the right as the tire quickly deflated with a loud hiss.

  “That’s a shame,” Harris said with mock concern. “You must have hit a nail.”

  “You asshole,” Mullin muttered as he scowled at Harris. “What the hell do you think that’s going to accomplish?”

  “Exactly what I want it to accomplish. You stay here.”

  Mullin pushed a button on his dashboard and his trunk popped open. He stepped out of his car and, resigned to his task, began to roll his sleeves up. He glared at Harris.

  “You really are a prima donna jerk-off. Do you know that?”

  “Yeah, I know,” Harris replied. “But I’m working on it. Take it easy, Scott.”

  With a parting smile, he jumped back into his Camaro and peeled away.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  64

  The morning sun shone brightly through the eastern facing sunroom. It created a hazy shimmer in the room where countless, microscopic dust particles floated in the individual beams that cut through the glass panes. It was a beautiful morning and several boats were already on the coves water, despite the chill in the air.

  It was Thanksgiving, and only a week earlier there had been joyous plans, parties and a huge feast to look forward to. Emily had just come home from school and after spending the afternoon with her mother, had gotten in her car to meet her girlfriends at a local restaurant. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Sylvia sat in a chaise lounge with a blanket over her legs. She hadn’t slept well the night before. She hadn’t slept well in a week. Her face was haggard and worn from the stress. Dark bags hung under her eyes and her hair seemed to have gotten a shade grayer. She looked and felt old.

  An aide walked into the sunroom holding a cordless telephone.

  “It’s Christi Sellinger, ma’am,” the aide said.

  “Thank you, Alyssa,” Sylvia spoke as she reached up and took the phone. The assistant quickly exited the room.

  “Hi Christi,” she said weakly.

  “Hello Mrs. Blumquist. How are you?” Christi asked, immediately regretting the question.

  “I’m about the same,” Sylvia answered.

  “I’m-I’m sorry,” Christi stammered. “What a foolish question.”

  “Stop. It’s a normal thing to ask somebody.”

  “Okay,” Christi answered meekly. “Do you mind if I join you? I have some information.”

  Sylvia straightened, her muscles tensing. She felt a pang of dread as her worst fears sprang to the surface. Just as quickly she relaxed as she realized that it would not be Christi who stopped by if the worst had occurred. She leaned back in the lounge chair.

  “Of course, baby? Where are you?”

  Baby, Christi thought? She realized that she was only four or five years older than Emily. She continued.

  “I’m actually right around the corner. I guess it was stupid to call just now. I should have done that before I left the city.”

  “Don’t be silly. Come in. One of the staff will bring you to me.”

  “Okay. See you soon.”

  “Bye, Christi.”

  “Goodbye.”

  Christi pressed a button on her phone and ended the call. As it was yesterday when she’d sat comforting the D.A. , she couldn’t begin to imagine the type of stress and anguish the woman was experiencing. To watch those DVD’s as a parent was enough to destroy anybody, but coupled with the fact that her only child was still in grave danger and might already be dead, was more than Christi could fathom. She knew that what she had to tell Sylvia would give her hope but was that fair to do? It was still uncertain that Castillo was the kidnapper and an even more uncertain that he and Emily would be in that Brooklyn warehouse. The odds were against them, but there was nothing more they could do. It was a best guess and it was a good one. She would deliver the facts stoically, she decided. Temper what is happening today with calm and no heightened expectations.

  Christi had borrowed her bosses BMW 7 series. The navigation system worked perfectly, bringing her by the shortest route possible. Turning onto the Blumquist’s street she saw the throng of vans, trucks and reporters. Every news outlet from local to national was on the scene and crammed onto the lush lawn in front of the ten foot brick wall that protected the property. There was even the occasional helicopter that circled overhead. Reporters sprinted towards her car as she slowly pulled into the driveway and up to the box with the intercom and the camera. They shouted questions through the closed windows on each side of her car. The story had gone national overnight.

  Christi ignored them and reached for the button to roll her window down when the gate began opening. They were obviously expecting her and understood that she would need a quick assist to get in. Two beefy security guards stood inside the gate and as Christi pulled through and made her way down the long driveway, she looked in her rear view mirror to see that they’d positioned themselves in front of the gate as it closed. If anybody was foolish enough to make a dash for the house, they would have to contend with the two large men.

  Christi parked under the porte-cochère and turned her engine off. She stepped out of the car and was immediately greeted by the same woman who had led Harris and herself into the house yesterday morning. Yesterday seemed like a week ago and although Christi was sleep deprived, she was not tired.

  �
�Good morning, Ms. Sellinger,” the woman said politely. “Please follow me.”

  “Good morning. Please call me Christi.”

  The woman smiled and walked into the house as Christi followed. They wound their way through the foyer and past the study where yesterday’s excitement had taken place. They traversed a large, impeccably furnished formal living room and into a kitchen that had more granite and marble than Christi had ever seen in her life. Exiting the kitchen, they passed a cozier family room, which was adorned with three large couches, three leather easy chairs, two large coffee tables and several smaller, side tables. They were all positioned to afford a view of the biggest flat screen TV she’d ever seen which was built into the wall above a fireplace. This room alone is worth more than I earn in a year, she thought.

  Finally, they two women passed under an archway that brought them into the sunroom. Christi saw Sylvia in her lounge chair and hurried over to greet the woman. She leaned down to embrace her and was surprised by the fact that the D.A. hugged her back just as warmly. She needs human contact, Christi thought as they held the hug long past what would normally be an acceptable length of time. When Sylvia finally let go, Christi straightened, noticing her guide had left the room.

  “Thank you so much for driving out,” Sylvia spoke calmly.

  Christi noticed the older woman’s demeanor. She looked defeated and beaten down. Worse yet, there was a resignation in her tone that suggested she’d already given up.

  “Please,” she said, dismissing the gratitude. “I wish I could have stayed with you longer yesterday.”

  “Nonsense. You and Lieutenant Harris are the only two people on this case who are worth a damn. We can’t have you moping around the house with me.”

  Christi looked behind her and saw an ottoman in front of an easy chair. She walked over and picked it up. Walking back to the D.A. she placed it in front of the lounge chair and took a seat.

  “There are some things I need to tell you, ma’am.”

  Sylvia said nothing. She smiled grimly, and merely nodded her head, bracing herself for what was to come.

  Christi spent the next fifteen minutes laying out exactly what they’d unearthed. She omitted nothing and noticed that as she told the story Sylvia merely listened, showing little emotion. The only time she saw a flashing spark behind the woman’s eyes was when she recounted the visit she’d received from Commissioner Gerland and Dinkins. When she told her about the surveillance that had been placed on her and Harris, Sylvia’s eyes narrowed and Christi could feel the anger coming from the woman.

  “So that brings us to now,” Christi concluded. “Now we have to wait.”

  Sylvia turned her head and stared out at the water. She struggled to formulate a response, looking for just the right words. Finally she looked back to Christi. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  “It’s okay,” she began softly. “I’ve accepted it already.”

  The older woman clasped both hands together in her lap and stared into Christi’s eyes.

  “No!” Christi exclaimed more loudly than she’d intended. “There is still a chance!”

  So much for raising expectations and hope, she chastised herself inwardly. But she simply couldn’t sit here and mourn something that hadn’t happened yet.

  Sylvia reached for her hand. She took it and squeezed tightly.

  “Christi, I simply can’t pretend anymore,” she said, her voice sorrow filled and heavy. “I know what’s coming and so do you.”

  Christi stood defiantly, and yanked her hand away from the older woman. She regretted it immediately but it was too late to fix. “I do not know that! I do not! I refuse to quit the fight before it’s…” She stopped short.

  “Before it’s over?” Sylvia finished the young reporters thought. “It’s okay, dear. You can say it.”

  Now, Christi’s own tears came, born from both anger and frustration. She placed her right hand over her mouth and turned herself to face the windows. She did not want to lose control in front of this woman who had already lost so much, this woman who had so much more to lose. Her shoulders began to shake as she lost the battle for her emotions. Christi lowered her head and covered her entire face with both hands. She sobbed loudly and without remorse as the long hours and stress of the last few days caught up to her with a vengeance. She felt a pair of gentle hands wrap themselves around her from behind and realized that Sylvia had gotten up from the lounge chair and now stood comforting her.

  “I’m-I’m so sorry,” Christi said, her voice shaking.

  “You have nothing to apologize for, dear,” Sylvia said as she turned the girl around and stared into her eyes. “I owe you a debt of gratitude for all you’ve done.”

  “I’ve done shit,” Christi blurted without thinking.

  “That’s not true. You’ve cared….and it shows.”

  Cared, Christi thought? The word slapped her in the face. It was past tense.

  “No!” She shouted. “I still care!”

  “Why…I know you do, Christi. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I still care!” Christi repeated angrily. “And I’m not going to sit here and do nothing!”

  “Honey, stop,” Sylvia comforted. “You’re here with me. I appreciate that more than you know.”

  “I should be there!” She cried. “I should be there and not here comforting you! I should be helping Jimmy!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Sylvia scolded. “I will not allow you to put yourself in harm’s way.”

  Christi took a step back. She wiped her face dry with both sleeves and set her jaw. She’d had her cry and now all she felt was cold determination. Her eyes blazed as she knew what she had to do.

  “I’m going. I’m going to help.”

  “Christi,” Sylvia began.

  “No. There’s nothing you can say. I will be careful but Jimmy might need me. Emily might need me.”

  Sylvia stared at her with fondness. She shook her head softly.

  “No, child,” she spoke gently. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you too.”

  “Please don’t worry, Sylvia. I will be okay. But I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  The District Attorney knew that further objection was pointless as she saw the look of cold resolve in the young woman’s eyes. It was the same fierce determination that she’d felt during her long struggle to climb to her current position. The girl was a scrapper and she recognized and respected it.

  “Well then, please don’t take any unnecessary chances,” she said as she smoothed a lock of hair from Christi’s eyes in a matronly fashion. Sylvia realized the odds of either Harris or Christi actually finding trouble was slim. She also knew that Christi had to keep busy.

  “I promise,” Christi said. “I just want to be close. Just in case.”

  “Do you have a gun?” Sylvia asked. It startled Christi and she took a step back and smiled at the older woman.

  “God, no,” she said. “I hate guns.”

  “Why? They don’t hate you?”

  “Guns kill people.”

  “Yes,” Sylvia conceded. “But sometimes they kill the right people.”

  She walked over to an end table, opened the drawer and produced a small revolver. Walking back to Christi she extended her hand and offered the gun.

  “Ma’am,” Christi began. “I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

  “Well, if you’re going into that seedy part of the docks, I would consider it a personal favor if you took it.”

  Christi simply stared at the gun as if just touching it would be painful.

  “Look, you never know what kind of people you may encounter. Please?”

  Christi continued to stare nervously at the small revolver. Finally, she reached out and took the gun gingerly with the forefinger and thumb of her right hand. She quickly slid it into her coat pocket.

  “Is it loaded?” She asked.

  “Well it’s no good to you otherwise. Yes, it’s loaded. Just
point and shoot if you feel the situation warrants it.”

  “Sylvia,” the young woman whispered hesitantly. “I don’t have a permit.”

  The district attorney smiled.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, darling. I have friends in high places.”

  Christi returned the smile. She leaned in and gave Sylvia a soft peck on the cheek. Then she turned and made for the arched entrance leading out of the sunroom. When she got to it she stopped and turned back to face the older woman.

  “My mother died when I was twelve,” she spoke somberly. She looked down at the floor, unable to maintain eye contact. “She had cancer so I got to say goodbye. Although sometimes I think that knowing was worse. For me at least.”

  Sylvia looked at her sympathetically.

  “I don’t know why I wanted you to know that. I just did,” Christi said as her eyes left the floor to find Sylvia’s again.

  “I’m sorry, Christi. I do appreciate you telling me that and… I understand.”

  Christi smiled at the woman. Then she turned and walked quickly towards the front door.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  65

  Harris drove slowly through the plowed streets, his wheels crunching softly on pockets of crackling, gray mush that was once white snow. He surveyed the buildings on either side of the street. There were the normal assortment of homeless and vagrants milling about. Most kept close to the alleys and a few ducked into open doorways as he pulled even with them. These were the sort that hid from humanity and did little to draw attention to themselves. The junkies came here when they were holding or in hopes of finding a kindred spirit who would share. The entire area reeked of despair and isolation.

  The buildings were mostly abandoned in this small block just east of the South Brooklyn Marine Terminal. The area was on the east side of the I-278 and 37th Street underpass in what was considered the bad part of an already bad part of the docks.