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

by Richard Nesbitt

  Her heart beat so strongly that she took a strange notice of it. In her entire life she’d never felt her heart beat so powerfully. It was as if it would pound right out of her chest. She took a calming breath and exhaled slowly through her mouth.

  Don’t think, she reminded herself silently.

  Christi swung a leg up and over the opening in the window. She balanced on the edge of the steel frame and swung her other leg over, dropping to the floor. She was in the building.

  Unknowingly mimicking the actions of the man she hoped to find alive and well, Christi crouched low and made for the office door. She peeked around the corner and seeing no one, exited into the expanse of the warehouse. To her left were the empty office spaces and the wall which faced the street. The only way to go was right. Surveying the large interior of the building, Christi noticed the filth and grime born of neglect. She wondered how long the place had been abandoned. Ahead of her lay a lot of open space.

  She ordered her feet to move.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  68

  Sylvia sat alone in her bedroom. She was at her vanity facing the large mirror where she’d applied make-up before countless dinner parties, social gatherings and charitable events. It was twenty years ago in a quaint little shop in Birmingham, England that she’d found the ornate and intricately designed gold leafed mirror. Although just a toddler at the time, Emily had been with her. She tried to force a smile as she remembered her young daughters face on that first trip to England. The wonder and joy of discovery was a gift given to parents by their children. It reminded them of their own innocence long since past. Now there was no more innocence. Not in herself and certainly not in Emily. Not anymore. Normally reflecting back on that trip would bring a smile to Sylvia’s face no matter how bad her day had been. Now, she could only sit and stare into the mirror looking for an answer that was impossible to find.

  Sylvia barely recognized the face that looked back at her. It was old and tired. Gone was the vibrant and youthful glimmer that had never abandoned her before. It had departed with Emily. Would either ever come back, she wondered?

  After Christi had left she was overcome by guilt. Was she allowing the young lady to risk her own safety in order to get Emily back? Had it come to the point where she would sacrifice anything or anybody to get her daughter back safely? Yes, she had to answer truthfully. Yes, she would do anything to find Emily even if it meant putting others at risk. She asked God to forgive her for this but she didn’t care either way. The only thing that mattered was Emily.

  Sylvia was certain of one thing, that by day’s end her life would most likely be over, utterly and irreparably destroyed. If the worst happened she knew that she would never recover. It was simply something she could not back from. There was no question about it.

  The staff were keeping their distance. They all knew that what was most required from them was respect and distance. Mary had called and asked Sylvia if she wanted her there. She’d been told to stay home today. Just stay home and pray. Mary understood.

  Now Sylvia sat in front of her mirror but she no longer saw her reflection. She was lost in a surreal daydream in which she pictured Harris and Castillo shooting it out while Emily waited in the wings to see what fate held in store for her. Sylvia’s lack of sleep, coupled with the heavy stress, had triggered these waking dreams where she zoned out for minutes at a time. She knew that she should try and sleep, but also knew that it would be an impossibility.

  Sylvia snapped out of the daydream and rubbed her tired eyes. She looked at her wristwatch and saw that the morning was over. It was almost 12:30pm. She reached to the table, grabbed her cell phone, and checked that the ringer was on for the seventh time.

  The waiting was torture but there was nothing else. Sylvia waited.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  69

  Harris took the stairs two at a time.

  The scream came again, this time louder as he closed the distance between himself and its source. It was a wail of physical pain, not mental anguish. Harris had heard enough of both to know the difference. Hitting the top of the stairs, he saw another long hallway and near the end, a partially opened door. Artificial light flooded into the darkened hallway.

  Harris slowed, not wanting his footsteps to echo down the hallway. He couldn’t risk alerting whoever was in the room. Not when he was this close.

  Holding his AR-15 in the combat ready position, with the butt of the rifle in his shoulder and the barrel pointing down range, Harris walked quickly but as quietly as possible. He was only twenty feet from the door when he heard a loud clap. This was immediately followed by a cry.

  “Daaaaaaddy, help me!”

  Harris froze. He knew the voice immediately.

  It was Emily.

  Feeling a surge of raw fury boil through his veins, Harris had to use all of his training to control his emotions. He came to the door and without hesitation, poked his head around the corner, keeping his body shielded. The scene that greeted him was straight out of a horror film.

  There sat Emily, naked and strapped to the same wooden chair in which she’d been electrocuted. Blood streamed down her chest from a vertical slash that ran from just below her left shoulder down her breast. A pool of blood had already gathered on her thighs and her crotch. A camera sat on a tripod just a few feet away to record the pending slaughter. It was obvious now that Castillo had planned on making her death a very long and painful one. Behind the chair was the plywood cell that had been Emily’s home for almost a week now.

  Castillo had his back to the door and was standing in front of a long, wooden work table that was only a few paces to the left of the chair and against the far wall. Over a nice set of slacks and custom shirt he wore a long, black butcher’s apron tied around the waist. He stood now, hovering over the work bench as he chose the next instrument to use upon his victim. There were several laid out at his disposal. There was also the black box which had administered the electricity and its wires which had been unhooked from the chair. Harris knew what it was.

  Time slowed to a crawl as Harris stepped into the room and planted his feet wide in a shooters stance. He leveled the rifle at Castillo’s back.

  Emily saw him immediately and her eyes went wide and desperate. Her mouth opened to scream. It was a thin, piercing cry of desperation.

  Castillo whipped his head towards her. He immediately saw that her eyes were agape and transfixed upon something. He quickly spun his body around to see what had caught her attention. Now he stood, facing the doorway, a long, thin knife in his hand.

  He locked eyes with Harris.

  The men stared into each other’s faces feeling an instantaneous and blinding hatred. Harris remained stone-faced although his steely, blue eyes blazed with rage. Castillo’s face was just the opposite as he snarled, his muscles contorted with the fury of being discovered so close to completing his task. He whipped his head to the left to where Emily sat. He was so close. The knife danced in his hand as his muscles twitched.

  “Freeze!” Harris ordered yelling in a loud and ferocious voice. His own finger twitched on the trigger of his automatic weapon.

  Castillo looked again at the man holding him at gunpoint. He flashed Harris a menacing grin and took a testing, half step towards Emily. The knife fluttered as his hand shook with anger.

  “KILL HIM!” Emily screamed, surprising both men. Her eyes wide with panic.

  “Take another step and you die!” Harris barked.

  Castillo froze. He looked from Emily to Harris and back again, weighing his limited options. His face mirrored the grave situation with which he now faced.

  “KILL HIM!” Emily screamed again.

  Harris, remaining in a shooters stance, took one quick step forward, closing the distance between himself and Castillo. He felt a lone trickle of sweat run down his forehead.

  “Drop the knife!” He screamed.

  A shrill beeping alarm sounded on the work bench, causing all three of them to
flinch, and Castillo looked quickly at the tiny speaker. He then looked back to Harris and then behind him to the door.

  The motion detectors, Harris realized! Somebody was coming!

  Keeping the rifle leveled at the Columbian, Harris sidestepped quickly towards the center of the room.

  “OH MY GOD, SHOOT HIM!!” Emily wailed at the top of her voice as she struggled against her restraints.

  “Move a muscle and you’re dead!” Harris yelled as he moved to put both Castillo and the door into his field of vision.

  His eyes never left the Columbian, waiting for him to make a move towards Emily. Waiting for the excuse he needed. Castillo, realizing this, remained rooted in place. He had the wild look of a trapped animal. His face was a mask of fury and panic.

  And then as quickly as the entire situation had unfolded, Castillo’s features changed. The anger melted from his face, replaced by a look of acceptance and resolve. He nodded his head in resignation and smiled at Harris. Then he turned his head to address Emily calmly.

  “He will not shoot me, child,” he spoke softly in a deep, thick accent. “And he cannot save you.”

  “SHOOT HIM!” Emily screamed again as her body was wracked with sobs.

  “Drop the knife!” Harris ordered again.

  Harris could hear footsteps running down the hall towards the room. He kept the rifle leveled at Castillo and quickly circled behind Emily’s chair and towards the wall. He now had both Castillo and the door directly in his line of sight. If attacked, he would kill Castillo first and then take his chances with the new threat.

  The knife danced in Castillo’s hand.

  The footsteps grew louder.

  As another bead of sweat ran down his face and into his eyes, Harris ignored the salty sting. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  70

  Christi’s entire body jerked to a halt as she heard Harris yell two floors above her. His booming voice was impossible to miss. She froze and strained to listen. A second voice, female, screamed something indistinguishable.

  Emily!

  Feeling a rush of adrenaline coupled with a sense of relief, Christi dashed across the open bay and made for the stairs. Harris was here and he was in one piece.

  Christi hit the stairs at full speed not noticing the small detector she had just tripped. She arrived on the second floor and listened again. The woman’s voice cried out again and this time Christi was able to make out what she said.

  “OH MY GOD, SHOOT HIM!!”

  The cry came from the third floor.

  Christi turned and bolted up the second flight of stairs. She arrived on the third floor just in time to hear Harris shout another warning. Without hesitation, she took off down the hallway towards the open door.

  Bursting into the room, Christi took in the entire macabre scene. Sensory overload created a state of detachment as she attempted to fit the pieces together. Her world lost sound, just a whooshing of her own blood pounding into her head in a dull, cotton filtered echo.

  She saw Castillo and his grim, but somehow triumphant look. She saw the long knife that he held in his left hand. He stared at her with a mixture of surprise and contempt. His eyes were so dark they looked black. Christi shivered and felt as if she were looking at the devil.

  Her eyes next locked onto Harris as he held the rifle pointed directly at her with a look of fierce determination. Just as quickly she saw his eyes register recognition and he turned his gaze back upon Castillo. She had never seen a man look so deadly serious, so completely fearless in the presence of evil.

  And then she saw an image that would stay with her for the rest of her life. Emily Blumquist sitting naked and bleeding, strapped to the crudely built, makeshift chair. She saw the tortured girl’s mouth agape but she heard no sound. The girl’s hair was askew and wildly matted and her face bore the strain and crazed look of a feral animal that had been beaten and tortured for days.

  And then, as quickly as sound had deserted her, it came rushing back and she heard the cries of Emily as the girl continued to wail hysterically.

  “Holy shit!” Harris growled in anger. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

  “I…” Christi began, unable to get another word from her lips.

  Harris ignored her, immediately turning his attention back to Castillo.

  “For the last time, drop the knife!” He took another step towards the Columbian, the rifle pointed directly at his head.

  Castillo lifted his chin in a gesture of pride. Staring coldly, he let the knife slip from his fingers. He then raised both of his hands and stepped back in compliance.

  “I am not resisting,” he spoke confidently and without fear.

  “SHOOT HIM!” Emily screamed again as her crying finally subsided.

  “Emily,” Harris spoke softly, never taking his eyes from Castillo. “You are safe. He will never hurt you again.”

  “He is lying,” Castillo spoke with an arrogant sneer. “This is only delaying the inevitable.”

  Harris closed the distance between himself and the man with three quick steps and with a vicious snap of his right arm, slammed the butt of the rifle against the man’s head. Castillo fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

  “Keep your mouth shut, you filthy bastard,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

  He looked at Christi who hadn’t moved since dashing into the room. She stood in shock and stared down at Castillo who now lay on the ground.

  “Christi! CHRISTI!”

  She snapped out of her stupor and looked at Harris, a blank expression on her face.

  “Go get Emily,” he spoke, this time with soft compassion.

  “Oh my God,” Christi responded in a hushed voice.

  She ran over to the chair and dropped to her knees. Quickly fumbling with the buckles that held Emily’s ankles and wrists, she worked to free the girl. When she released the last wrist restraint Emily responded by lunging forward and clutching her tightly. Both women began crying.

  Castillo stirred and began to come around. He moaned pathetically and, pushing off the cement with his hands, tried to rise to his feet. Harris planted a hard kick to the man’s sternum with the heel of his boot. A loud crack resonated through the room and Castillo slammed against the wall with a thud.

  “Don’t you move, you son of a bitch.”

  Harris spotted Castillo’s long trench coat hanging from a hook on the wall. He walked over and grabbed it. Stepping back to where Emily and Christi continued to embrace, he held the coat at arm’s length without ever taking his eyes off the Columbian.

  “Put this on her.”

  Christi broke away from Emily’s grasp and grabbed the long trenchcoat. Standing, she flung it over and behind Emily. Emily leaned forward and extended her arms weakly and Christi got the garment on her.

  “Can you stand?” She asked.

  Emily nodded weakly. She grabbed a hold of Christi’s arms and allowed herself to be lifted from the chair. Her legs were weak but she could stand on her own. The trench coat fell the rest of the way down and hung to her ankles. Christi closed the coat, covering Emily’s naked and bloody body.

  “I’m-I’m sorry,” Emily sobbed quietly as she looked to the floor.

  “Oh my God, what for?” Christi asked as she held the girl’s shoulders and ducked low to stare up into her eyes.

  “I-I got blood on your shirt,” Emily sobbed as her mouth curled downwards in humiliation.

  “Oh, Emily,” Christi grabbed the girl and held her again. She stroked her hair. Both of the women began to sob again and Emily collapsed into her arms feeling something she thought she’d never experience again, the warmth of a caring, human touch.

  “I demand…that the Columbian Embassy be…be contacted,” Castillo spoke in gasps. He struggled to breath. “I have diplomatic immunity. You must contact my embassy.”

  “Shut up,” Harris hissed, lifting his leg as if to kick the man again. Castillo winced and
ducked his head away in fear. Harris looked down at the man with disgust.

  He looked to Christi who stood watching him, Emily’s head on her shoulder.

  “I need you to do something, now. Pay close attention.”

  Christi nodded.

  “Take Emily. Get her out of here. I assume you have a reliable car?”

  “You’re leaving us?!” Christi’s eyes grew wide with fear.

  “No. You are leaving us,” he gestured to Castillo. “Do you have a decent car?”

  “I have my bosses BMW. I’m parked right behind you.”

  “Okay. Walk directly out of here. Put Emily in the car and drive to Maimonides Medical Center. It’s not far from here.”

  “I know where it is.”

  “Good. Once you’re on the road, call the center and ask to speak to an administrator in charge. Have them paged if necessary.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell them that you will be arriving with a badly injured VIP and that you need a trauma team and as much security as they have to meet you at the entrance to the E.R. immediately. Do not tell them who you have.”

  “Why not?”

  “Christi, I don’t have time to explain everything. Just do exactly what I just tell you. A trauma team and security. Got it?”

  “I got it.”

  “When they meet you go ahead and tell them who Emily is although I doubt you’ll have to. Her picture’s been everywhere lately.”

  “Okay.”

  “Understand this, there will be a lot of people asking you a lot of questions. Don’t tell them anything until the D.A. arrives. Got it?”

  “I got it. But shouldn’t I tell them where you are? So they can send back-up?”

  “Absolutely not,” Harris spoke with a chilling finality.

  Christi stared at him, her eyes asking the question her mouth wouldn’t.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Harris said understanding the implications of her silence. He looked down at the cowering man. “I will call it in once you guys are clear.”