Tough Justice: Countdown Box Set

by Carla Cassidy

  The apartments were not far from the beautiful thirty-five acres that comprised the Brooklyn College campus in Midwood. Outwardly, the building looked like the rest in the quiet, attractive neighborhood.

  Painted an unobtrusive beige, the brick building appeared neat and clean with a couple of potted plants on either side of the stairs leading up to the front door. Young trees in early fall multicolor fashion grew out of neat planters along the sidewalk, an effort to update the old neighborhood. The overall setting was one of peace and tranquility.

  But wasn’t that the way it always was? A terrorist was arrested and the entire neighborhood all expressed shock and surprise. A serial killer was taken off the very streets where all his neighbors talked about what a nice guy he was.

  Nobody really knew what went on behind closed doors. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she thought of what Nick had seen behind the closed bedroom door in her apartment.

  Secrets. Nobody knew how many secrets a person had, but she and James were about to find out what went on behind Howard Dennison’s doors.

  If he didn’t allow them in, then she was certain a search warrant could be obtained relatively quickly. With the bombing of the police precinct fresh and with the evidence that Howard had bought some of the ingredients to cook up a bomb, no levelheaded judge in this city would deny a search warrant, especially with the constituents whipped up in a panic.

  “There’s no way to know what to expect,” she said to James before they got out of the car. “We need to be prepared for anything.”

  James gave her a taut grin, his eyes lit with the anticipation of possibly taking down the bomber. “Let’s do it,” he said.

  Every nerve in her body sizzled with the same anticipation. She embraced the sweet rush of adrenaline as they got out of the car and approached the building.

  Chapter Seven

  The apartment building had a locked front door with guests having to be buzzed inside. She pressed the call button for H. Dennison and nothing happened. She pressed it again and still no response.

  “He must not be home,” James said.

  “Or he doesn’t want any guests.” She pushed another button. No answer. She pressed a third button.

  “Yes? Who is it?” An elderly female voice drifted out of the intercom system.

  “Delivery for V. Higgens,” Lara replied, reading the name next to the button.

  A buzz sounded and the door unlocked. This was why Lara liked living in a building with a front doorman. There was always somebody in a building like this who was lax about security. She’d gotten lucky finding one of those people on her first couple of attempts.

  They entered into a small lobby with an elevator. “Fourth floor,” she said. “He’s in apartment 406.”

  When they reached his apartment Lara knocked twice and then pressed her ear against the door to see if she heard any activity inside.

  Nothing. She turned to James. “I don’t think he’s home.”

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “We go back to the car and we wait.”

  Minutes later they were back in the car. “I wonder how long we’ll be here?” James said.

  “Why? You got a bus to catch?” She released a sigh. “We’ll be here as long as it takes.”

  She took a sip of her coffee and settled back in the seat. She’d been on more stakeouts than she could count. It wasn’t her favorite part of her job, but there was a bit of a rush in stalking prey, in watching the streets to see if a criminal made a mistake and then moving in for the kill.

  She rolled down her window to allow in the cool early autumn air and took another sip of coffee. James rolled down his window as well and drew a deep, audible breath.

  “Fall is one of my favorite seasons,” he said. “I’m into the whole autumn experience. You know, drinking apple cider by the fire and picking out a great pumpkin.”

  She felt his gaze lingering on her, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t feel like making small talk, but her silence certainly didn’t stop James.

  “I like summer, too. Drinking cold beers on the hot beach and cooling off by body surfing, that’s my perfect summer day,” he continued. “Then there’s winter. Winter in New York can be fun. You ever go ice skating at Rockefeller Center?” He didn’t wait for her response but extolled the virtues of one of the most popular ice skating rinks in the country.

  She actually found herself appreciating James’s ability to do monologues of utterly mundane topics. Whenever she got quiet with Nick, he did the same. It was rarely an uncomfortable silence, but it was...just silence.

  Minutes ticked by and then an hour. She now knew James was a dog person and not a fan of cats, that he loved his mashed potatoes with cheddar cheese on top and that he’d gone to camp in Maine one summer when he was ten years old and had learned all about lobsters and sailing.

  He talked about his older brother and their close relationship. They often went to ball games together... Mets and Jets fans.

  People came and went from the apartment building but none of them matched the picture of the man they sought. Lara called Christina to see what she’d found on Howard Dennison and what was taking so long with the search warrant. So far, just the basics. Dennison was twenty-five years old and he was currently an anthropology student and the search warrant was still in the works. All the judges had been inundated with requests and things were backed up.

  When it was close to seven o’clock and Dennison still hadn’t shown, a sudden horrifying thought struck her. “What if he’s out there right now planting a new bomb? What if he’s whispering into somebody’s ear this very minute and telling them about some free concert outside?”

  “Jeez, Lara and here I thought we were having such a good time,” James said dryly. He expelled an audible breath. “If something like that happens right now, then we can’t beat ourselves up about it. We’ve got agents on the streets and dealing with all aspects of the investigation. Sooner or later we’re going to nail this guy.”

  “I hate waiting,” she replied.

  “I know. You don’t have the reputation of being a particularly patient person around headquarters.”

  She clicked her short nails on the steering wheel and then she saw him, a dark-haired young man walking on the sidewalk coming toward them. He carried what appeared to be a grocery bag in his arms and even though the photograph Drew had given them was bad, she knew in her gut he was their man.

  She sat up straighter in her seat, a motion that apparently signaled to James her belief that the man on the sidewalk was Howard Dennison. He also sat up straighter and placed a hand on the door handle.

  “If this is him, let’s get to him before he gets into the apartment building,” she said. She grabbed her door handle, waiting to spring. “Nice and easy, we don’t want to spook him.”

  Her gut instinct was right. She waited until the man turned up the small walkway to the apartment building and then she and James got out of the car.

  “Mr. Dennison,” she called out to him.

  He turned to face them. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Howard Dennison?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “FBI, we’d like to talk to you,” she said and flashed her badge. “I’m Agent Grant and this is Agent Walsh.”

  “This must be a mistake,” he said, his brown eyes radiating open confusion.

  “We need to ask you some questions.” Lara stepped closer to him while James shifted to the side, which would prevent the man from making any sudden moves to escape them.

  “Could you slowly put your bag down on the ground?” Lara asked. She had no idea what he might be carrying inside the brown bag and she wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Yes, of course.” He placed the bag down at his feet and then straightened back u
p and held his arms out to his sides. “Could you please tell me what this is all about?”

  “Do you have any weapons on you?” James asked.

  “No, of course not.” Once again he appeared completely confused. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here and I’m sure it’s some kind of a mistake, but could we at least go inside to discuss it? I have ice cream in my bag.” He looked at James and then at Lara.

  “Sure, we can go inside,” Lara agreed. “We appreciate you speaking with us.” She offered him a friendly smile. She knew instinctively that once again this wasn’t the time to put her hard-ass on. He’d certainly done nothing to warrant it so far. He’d been polite and cooperative.

  If they were lucky they wouldn’t have to worry about the missing search warrant. Hopefully he would allow her to check out the whole apartment.

  “May I pick up my bag?” he asked.

  “I’ll just get that for you,” James said.

  Dennison was dressed in a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt. With his black hair and sturdy build, he didn’t match the physical description or the picture of their sunglasses suspect.

  Still, she wasn’t completely taken in by his politeness. She knew better than to let down her guard. He might not be their whisperer, but he could still be involved in all this. They followed him up to the porch where he pulled a key ring from his pocket.

  “Do you live here alone?” Lara asked before he inserted the key.

  “I have a roommate, but he’s currently out of the country,” he replied.

  “Where out of the country?” James asked.

  Lara knew what he was thinking. Was the roommate in one of the countries that fostered radical extremists?

  “He’s in Mexico.” Howard unlocked the door and pushed it open, obviously not entering until they gave him permission.

  Lara nodded to indicate he could go inside. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” he asked as they rode up in the elevator.

  “I think we’ll all be more comfortable speaking in your apartment,” she replied. She didn’t want to stress him, but an elevator wasn’t the appropriate place to interview a person of interest.

  When they reached the fourth floor she and James followed him to his apartment door. He opened it and led them through a sparsely furnished living room and into the kitchen where James placed his bag on the table.

  “May I unload my groceries?”

  “Go ahead,” Lara replied. “We’ve received information that you’ve been buying large quantities of hydrogen peroxide and acetone. Can you tell us why?”

  “Is that what this is about?” He visibly relaxed. “I use it to bleach bones.”

  “Bleach bones?” James looked at him in stunned surprise.

  “I’m an anthropology student.” He pulled a container of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream from the bag and placed it in the refrigerator freezer. “I also have a PhD in homegrown terrorism. I should be happy that my purchases alerted the authorities, especially given what has happened over the last month. I have a letter from the dean of the university explaining all this, if that helps, and I’ve also registered with Homeland so I don’t end up getting investigated.”

  “We’d still like to ask you some questions,” Lara said. James began to question him on his whereabouts at the times of the two bombings. “Mind if I take a look around?” she interrupted. She was confident that James could conduct the interview without her.

  Dennison nodded. “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”

  As she went back into the living room, the murmur of the male voices drifted out from the kitchen.

  The living room held a shelf of what appeared to be college textbooks and a few knickknacks. A dining room was completely empty except for several framed diplomas and pictures of Dennison and another man on what appeared to be an archeological dig site.

  She identified Dennison’s bedroom by a photo of him and what appeared to be his parents on the nightstand next to the double bed. There was also a stainless steel table near the window. It held what appeared to be human bones in various stages of bleaching and a box of acetone and hydrogen peroxide bottles.

  She tugged on her gloves to check three boxes that were on top of each other in the floor of his closet. One held old trophies that Dennison had earned in high school for track and field and the other two held summer clothes apparently stored for the winter months to come.

  The roommate’s bedroom yielded nothing of interest and the hall closet held nothing but coats and windbreakers, an umbrella and a pair of winter boots.

  She looked in corners, checked in boxes and anyplace else she could think of, but she found nothing to indicate that any bomb manufacturing was going on anywhere in the apartment.

  Nothing. There was absolutely nothing here to ring an alarm. A wave of disappointment swept through her. Howard Dennison appeared to be exactly what he’d told them he was. No mad bomber, only a student using chemicals in his work.

  “He has alibis for the times of the bombings,” James said when she reentered the kitchen. “He was in classes at the university.”

  Those alibis would be checked and double-checked. They would confirm his class schedule, speak to his professors and follow up with friends to make sure he had been where he told them he had been at the time of the bombings.

  “Thank you for your time and cooperation, Mr. Dennison,” she said. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”

  James got up from the table. “Mr. Dennison, we’re sorry for the inconvenience to you.”

  “Please, don’t apologize for doing your job,” he replied.

  They walked outside, where the dark of night had fallen, mirroring the darkness inside her heart.

  “It could have been him,” James said as she headed the car back to headquarters.

  “I wish it would have been him,” she replied. “The longer we take to catch this creep the more time he has to make and plant another bomb.”

  “It would help if we could figure out the motive.”

  “If you see something...” Lara started to repeat what officials told civilians every time a bomb or a terrorist attack of any kind occurred in any city. “Other than our friendly drugstore manager we don’t even have good tips coming in on this.”

  “Maybe Homeland will share some tips that have come in with us at tomorrow’s briefing. Or maybe Nick’s tip will yield something and maybe tomorrow we’ll get this creep,” James said, his voice ringing with an optimism she didn’t feel.

  “I wonder why Christina didn’t turn up that Dennison was registered with Homeland?”

  “She probably didn’t have time to do a more complete search on him. We’re all working her to death,” James replied. “Or else maybe that information was classified for some reason?”

  “Why don’t you call Victoria and give her an update,” Lara said as she pulled away from the curb to drive back to headquarters. “And tell her to forget our search warrant.”

  As he spoke to their boss, Lara felt herself descending into a dark place where innocent people and cops were blown up and she was helpless to stop any of it.

  Ultimately, this job was all she had in her life. It defined who she was on so many levels and right now the fear of failure weighed heavily on her shoulders.

  “Want to get a drink before heading home?”

  James’s question pulled her out of her dreary thoughts. She glanced over to him and saw a hint of unexpected male interest shining from his eyes.

  The woodsy-based scent of his cologne was like nothing Nick wore. It would be so easy to have a few drinks with him and take away the feeling of failure that flirted with her. Maybe that would help her exorcise Nick from her mind, from her heart. Maybe...

  “It’s been a hell of a long day,” he continued.
“I think we both deserve a drink. Come on, Lara. Have a drink with me.”

  Oh, yes, it would be so easy to lose herself in him tonight. He could take away the helplessness and defeat that ached inside her. She was torn between the desire to invite him to her apartment and the need to be alone.

  “I think I’ll pass for tonight. I’m really tired, James. I’m ready to head straight home after dropping you off.” She wanted to escape from the stress of the case, from the memories of Nick, but she knew that sleeping with James wasn’t the way to do it.

  “Okay, that’s cool,” he agreed easily.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t seem in the least offended and she didn’t want him to be. The last thing she needed was more tension between herself and any of her teammates.

  Minutes later she pulled into an empty space in the parking garage and she and James got out of the car. “Good night, Lara.”

  “Good night, James. See you in the morning.” As he headed into the building, Lara left the garage and walked to the nearby subway stop.

  As the subway flew through the night, shuddering and whining, she knew instinctively that this was going to be a night of little or no sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  The clock on her computer read 12:52 a.m. Lara should be in bed. She should be thinking about bombs. She should be getting a good night’s sleep to prepare for the ongoing investigation in the morning. She should be doing anything but sitting in her home office.

  She’d taken a nice long shower as soon as she got home and had gone to bed, but instead of falling fast asleep, she’d tossed and turned and then had stared up at the ceiling. Sleep had been completely elusive. Five minutes ago she’d given up any pretense of trying to sleep and instead had come into her office.

  She now took a sip of water and stared at the old crime scene photos of her mother’s body. She hadn’t wanted an alcoholic drink to cloud her mind tonight. She needed to be cold-stone sober to delve back into the mystery of her mother’s murder and her dysfunctional past with her father.