A Taste of Honey

by Tom Benson

  Bert said, “I didn’t think you could produce any more surprises, but this is excellent.”

  “Thank you,” she said and shone her flashlight around. There were old wooden crates and various packaging materials strewn around the floor area. “We’ll come back together to set the place up.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Bert said and walked around to investigate a little more. He was looking for anything that might help them to improvise. He shone his flashlight towards the far end, and it reflected back at him from the thousands of pieces of broken glass spread over the floor. There was something towards the distant end. A freight container stood as if dropped through from the floor above. Bert shone his flashlight on the container.

  “That’s what we need,” Honey said and they both went forward to check it out. The pair spent about half an hour in their chosen location and went through a final walkthrough of their plan. They headed back out and walked as far as a busy street with people, traffic, and lighting. At that point, they split up and took separate cabs back to streets near the hotel.

  Honey arrived first and went straight upstairs to her very basic room. About ten minutes later, there were two light taps on her door. She went to the door and opened it to see Bert opening his room just along the corridor. He looked back, smiled and nodded goodnight.

  *

  Thursday, June 26th, 2003

  1 Police Plaza

  Lower Manhattan, New York

  John Kelly had just said good morning to his PA and turned to open his door when he was approached by two men. They were both dressed in smart suits, white shirts, and plain dark neckties. Kelly noticed that their shoes were gleaming. He knew instinctively which department they worked for, and his blood boiled, but he painted on a smile.

  “Good morning Captain Kelly,” the first, tall, immaculately dressed man said, offering his right hand. “I’m Detective Investigator Bryce Ambrose from Internal Affairs.” As if it would make him more welcome, in his left hand he held up a small black wallet which contained his ID.

  Before John Kelly could respond, the other tall man standing beside DI Ambrose lifted a similar black wallet up for inspection. “I’m Detective Investigator Mark McLachlan, also of Internal Affairs.”

  Kelly said, “Good morning gentleman, how can I help you?” He shook their hands in a firm but rapid gesture, as if prolonged contact might infect him, and then he pushed his office door open and stood in the threshold.

  Ambrose said, “We’d like a word about one of your officers,” he glanced back through the door across the corridor at Cindy, who was watching. “If you don’t mind Captain Kelly, I’d prefer we talked in your office.”

  Kelly looked into Cindy’s office and caught her eye. “I’ll need a bit of privacy for a while Cindy.” The use of her proper name confirmed her suspicions about the visitors.

  “One moment sir,” she said getting up from her desk and slightly raising an eyebrow. “Before you deal with anything else, I’ve got an urgent update from DI Forest.” She glanced at the investigators and then looked at Kelly with an unwavering gaze.

  The two men from Internal Affairs assessed Cindy. It didn’t take highly-tuned powers of observation to see that they were surprised by the sound and appearance of this Englishwoman who worked in this department.

  They had already found out that Captain Kelly’s unit was shielded from any outside interference, because it had taken a lot of pressure to get permission to interview him. Here he was with an English PA; which wasn’t regular. The IA investigators were intrigued. They feasted on irregularity.

  “Give me two minutes please Cindy,” Kelly said, and almost smiled, but he had no idea about any update. The two men in suits recovered and were suddenly on high alert. As cops who investigated cops, anybody from Internal Affairs was a pariah, and they knew it. Both men pretended not to have heard anything suspicious and after checking out Cindy from behind, they stood with blank expressions.

  Kelly showed the two investigators into his office and indicated they should sit. He hung his peaked cap on the stand and then got behind his desk and made himself comfortable. He was sure that his PA had recognized his subtle message; calling her by name. The update she had mentioned was still a mystery to him.

  Cindy knocked and nodded an acknowledgment to the investigators. She handed a slim document to her boss and with her right eye shielded from the visitors she winked at Kelly. A twitch of his lips was all she needed. He had acknowledged.

  She stood upright and turned to address the suits. “I’ll be back in a minute with my boss’s coffee. Would you two gentlemen like coffee, freshly made, not from a dispenser?”

  McLachlan said, “No thank you-,” but was over-ruled by his colleague.

  “Yes, that’s very kind of you. One black and one cream and sugar, please.”

  Kelly said, “Before we get down to business with whatever you boys need to know, would you mind if I have a quick look at this?” He raised the front cover of the mysterious report. “You can enjoy your coffee for a moment before we get started.”

  “Yes,” Ambrose said, “go ahead sir. We can wait a few minutes.”

  Captain Kelly lifted his reading glasses from the desk, opened the file and made a quick check of the contents. There were six sheets of information, and even before he read any of the detail, a considerable weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He didn’t deserve that lovely woman across the corridor.

  Cindy entered the office again a few minutes later, distributed the coffees and as she was leaving, stopped in the doorway. “By the way sir, DI Delano will be out of touch at least until tomorrow. She said you’d understand her predicament.” She paused and glanced at the two investigators before saying quietly, “The ongoing sting operation.”

  “Of course,” Kelly said and nodded, still mystified, but maintained a serious expression on his face and nodded. “Thank you, Cindy.” He glanced at the report on his desk. “That will be all for now.”

  By the time John Kelly had read the six pages of information, he was ready for his two unwelcome visitors. He removed his reading glasses slowly, as if in deep thought, sipped his coffee and looked from one visitor to the other. His features were impassive.

  “Thank you for your patience gentlemen. As you’ve probably gathered, I have a couple of officers putting their asses on the line out there, so I owe it to them to stay on top of their workload.” He paused and closed the bogus file. “Now what can I do for you?”

  Ambrose squinted at the file in front of Kelly and then looked into the captain’s eyes.

  “We’ve come to talk to you about Detective Investigator Kimberley Forest.”

  McLachlan said nothing but stared intently at the uniformed man behind the desk.

  “Well,” Kelly said, “I can tell you anything you want to know about her, as long as it’s not related to this file.” He raised his right hand and laid it flat on the report.

  McLachlan said, “Why can’t you tell us about that particular file Captain Kelly?”

  “It’s an update on an active undercover operation; sanctioned by the Governor.”

  Ambrose said, “Are you saying that DI Forest is on a covert operation right now?”

  “Well,” Kelly said, and glanced at his closed door, “I’m saying yes, as long as neither of you talks about it outside this office. If you do, I’ll deny it.” He paused. “There are probably only six people in our fair land that have the authority to know what she is working on.” He glanced at the meaningless reports. “It’s been going on for six months.”

  The two men from Internal Affairs exchanged a look and then Ambrose spoke.

  “I’m going to leave my card with you Captain Kelly, and I’d appreciate a call when DI Forest returns from her mission.”

  “I’ll do that DI Ambrose,” Kelly said, “if she returns from her mission.”

  ***

  Chapter 17

  Dead or Alive

  .

  Thursday, Ju
ne 26th, 2003

  New York

  “There he is,” Bert said, “the guy wearing the sports coat and brown pants.”

  “I see him,” Honey said and glanced down at her copy of the photo. “The mustache has gone, and the hair is a little longer, but it’s him alright.” She watched him enter the brownstone building. The pair were standing half way along a city block, and Bert was holding a street map open.

  Bert said, “As I said yesterday, it seems that he comes to work by car on some days and parks round the corner in that private lot we checked out. There is no rear exit, so anybody using the lot has to enter or leave through the front door.”

  “Could he come in by car and go home by bus?”

  “No, there is no overnight parking allowed.” He nodded and smiled. “If he came from that direction it confirms that he’s come to work by car today, which makes our job so much easier.”

  Bert had set off from the hotel before breakfast so that he could follow up on the small amount of information he had. It didn’t take much of a bribe to get more from the porter in the building, including where Strickland lived.

  The porter was an African American by the name of Marvin. He had been compelled to leave his job with the NYPD because of injuries sustained in the line of duty. Marvin was still a cop at heart and had a gut feeling about Strickland, so he was happy to help Bert. Marvin had refused the wad of bills that Bert had offered. He asked Bert to make a donation to the NYPD Benevolent Fund.

  Honey said, “I have to say, I’m impressed that you managed to locate him and find out so much so quickly.” She glanced from the building to Bert and then back again. “There are police forces in at least three states looking for him.”

  “As you know, I had him narrowed down to two separate locations just the other day, but I was able to fine-tune my search when you sent me a message from your other contact.” He grinned. “I’ve also made a new useful contact. A nice guy called Marvin.”

  Honey said, “My Pittsburgh guy isn’t quite as low profile as you, and he may have twisted a few arms to get a result, but it all seems to have worked.”

  “Access to a photo/recognition database is helpful,” Bert said, “but having good connections also comes in handy.” He paused as he watched the target walk up the stairs into the building. “His greatest mistake has been that he uses a short list of pseudonyms. Perhaps he’s not great on remembering a new name.”

  Honey said, “Even a few names can be used individually in a variety of states and departments. We were lucky that he risked taking a job with responsibility for youngsters?”

  “You’ve got it,” Bert said and nodded. “My theory is that the state police who are trying to trace him are assuming he will keep a low profile and avoid jobs with responsibility for children. In any place like that he would have details filed with a photograph.”

  “It seems his method of hiding,” Honey suggested, “is to relocate and look for jobs where he wouldn’t be expected to turn up, and then he changes his appearance only slightly.”

  Bert said, “That place he’s in now is a training facility for misplaced teens.”

  “Do we know how long he’s had a job there?”

  “About a month, so he’ll still be settling in before he tries to lure anybody into his clutches. His grooming process will be part of the enjoyment.”

  Honey nodded. “I’ll be in that coffee shop over there while you go and check out his apartment.”

  Bert said, “Call me if he leaves early. Unless there is a fire or another emergency, he’ll only be able to leave from that front door. The rear doors and windows are alarmed.”

  “Got it,” Honey said. “I’ll see you for lunch unless something comes up.”

  *

  It was 12.30pm when Bert got out of the cab and strolled into the deli to sit opposite Honey. He waited until they’d ordered food before he produced a batch of photographs and handed them over.

  He said, “These were between the folds of clothing in the closet. Not where you’d expect to store your favorite pictures.” He pulled a small selection of pictures from another pocket. “These are a bit more disturbing, but I brought them, because they’re not the same people as the first ones.”

  Honey looked at the first batch and flicked through them slowly. Some were boys and others girls, but with only a few exceptions they all looked to be between 14 - 17-years-old. The older photos looked like younger children, probably before Strickland gained confidence.

  As she reached the back of a small bunch, there were two photos at which Honey stared. She recognized the people, having met them.

  “These are our confirmation of identity,” Honey said and held up the pictures of Kathy the hairdresser and her brother Mike of Photo-Grafix.

  “Those two pictures look much older than the others,” Bert said. “I hope they’re still okay.”

  “They’re fine,” she said and allowed herself a trace of a smile. “They’re adults now and I met them both a few days ago.” She put all the pictures in her coat pocket. “Did you find anything else?”

  “He must have had a phone call. On a small dresser, there was a piece of paper with an indentation from a note he’d scribbled on the previous sheet.” Bert held up a sheet with the indentation, where he’d traced over it lightly with a pencil.

  “Is it a phone number?”

  “Yes,” Bert said. “It’s a cell number. I checked it out and it relates to a 16-year-old girl who is in the place Strickland is working for here in New York.”

  “Well she’ll be safe now at least.”

  They were eating lunch and going over some small details of their plan when the volume of the television over the counter increased.

  “This is Caroline Connelly reporting for ISITV,” a familiar voice said.

  Honey said, “Does that woman never sleep?”

  “You’re one to talk,” Bert said, and they both paid attention to the brunette on the screen.

  “It seems that the mysterious killings and disappearances of recent weeks have produced a new casualty. I’m on location outside a small hospital near Muskegon, Michigan. In the ITU there is a man whose last words were, “It was her,” and then he became delirious and slipped into unconsciousness.” Connelly nodded slowly at the camera, and a smile played over her lips.

  “We’ve got a survivor and it looks as if we will finally have proof if there is a female vigilante roaming our streets.” She paused for effect as she liked to do and then stared into the lens. “I believe it is not only a vigilante, but a rogue police officer. I believe there is a cover- up. This has been Caroline Connelly reporting for ISITV.”

  “She’s a pretty one,” the diner owner said, “but she can be a bit of a drama queen.”

  There was good-natured laughter from some of the regulars.

  Bert said, “We’ll have to be extra vigilant now. If Strickland catches a news bulletin, he might take fright.”

  “He hasn’t left yet,” Honey said as she sipped her coffee and looked across the street.

  When they parted, Bert went off to make preparations, and Honey maintained a watch on the brownstone across the street. Her target would be leaving at 5pm if he kept to his regular work schedule. If he didn’t, she would be ready.

  *

  1 Police Plaza

  Lower Manhattan, New York

  “The District Attorney’s office is on the line sir,” Cindy said and paused in Captain’s Kelly’s doorway.

  “Did you get a name?”

  “It’s Paul Franklin,” Cindy said. “It’s the DA himself.”

  “Thank you,” Kelly said and nodded as he lifted the handset.

  “What can I do for you Mr. Franklin?” Kelly said formally, and then listened for less than a minute. “I’ll be there in half an hour.” He tidied his desk, removed his uniform jacket and tie, and then slipped on a light blouson jacket. He closed the office door and went across to his trusted PA’s office.

  “I’m going ou
t for a while Sherlock. It’s about the vigilante killings. I should be back before five.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “If it isn’t, I’ll be under arrest before five,” he said and winked.

  Cindy pulled a stern face and shook her head as her boss left and strode away.

  *

  The vigilante attacks had regular slots on the television and radio. Apart from the DA’s office, the bulletin had attracted the attention of somebody else across town. He left work early.

  At 4:15pm Gary Strickland lifted his car keys from his coat pocket and looked around the lot nervously as he reached out to unlock his car door. He glanced across at the young blonde woman who had just walked into the parking lot. She was standing near the car parked beside his and fumbling through her purse for her keys. He didn’t recognize her, but she appealed to him. He was easily distracted by an attractive young woman.

  Strickland opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel and to his astonishment, before he closed his door; the front passenger door opened, and the blonde got in. Something caught Strickland’s eye, and he looked down. An automatic with a suppressor fitted was pointing at his groin.

  Honey said, “Unless you want your balls to be part of the seat padding, you go where I tell you.”

  “Okay,” Strickland said, “but I don’t understand. “What’s this about?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Honey said, “but if you do anything stupid, I’ll replace your manhood with small metal objects.” She pointed the end of the suppressor over his thigh.

  “Okay, okay,” Strickland said, “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  Honey’s knowledge of the city took them in a circuitous route out to the docklands. She knew that they might see New York Port Authority officers, but there would be little chance if Bert had made the appropriate phone call.