Tough Justice: Countdown Box Set

by Carla Cassidy

  Once again Jacob frowned thoughtfully. “I’d say he was medium. Not too tall and not skinny or fat. Just, you know, normal.”

  A normal guy, that’s the way the other two eyewitnesses had described him, too. So damned frustrating! “And you’d never seen him before?”

  “Never, and I’ve been in the hospital cafeteria lots of times.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “Jeans and a blue shirt and he was wearing an awesome pair of Nike Airs. Those things go for at least two bills.”

  Of course he’d notice the shoes, given the sad condition of his own. “Jacob, can you tell me anything else about the man that might help us locate him?”

  “No.” He cocked his head and his gaze held hers intently. In the depths of his beautiful green eyes she saw a haunted look. “If he was the bomber, how come he’d tell me about the concert and not just let me get blown up like the others?”

  “I don’t know, Jacob.” How she wished she did know the answer to that question. And how she hoped he wouldn’t spend a lifetime with survivor’s guilt plaguing him. “Why don’t you give me your home phone number so I can call your mother to come and get you.”

  Minutes later she left the conference room and called the number Jacob had given her. She got an answering machine and left a detailed message with her cell phone number.

  She would have liked to go back to the scene, but with Jacob a loose end she needed to stay at headquarters. Hopefully his mother would arrive soon for him and then she’d be free to head back out to the hospital.

  She sat at her desk and called Nick. “The body count now stands at forty-three,” he said. “Where are you?”

  “At headquarters.” She explained about Jacob. “Anyone else come forward with the same story yet?”

  “Nobody that I’ve spoken to.”

  “I’ll be here until Jacob’s mother picks him up and then I’ll head back out to the scene. In the meantime, I’ll start compiling a list of any witnesses or survivors that come to Christina.”

  “Okay, sounds good. I’ll see you later,” Nick replied.

  After hanging up, Lara went into Christina’s office. The tech agent would be getting information in dribs and drabs from the agents on scene and the news reports.

  “Just bring me whatever you get in on witnesses and survivors and I’ll keep a running list,” Lara said to the harassed woman.

  “I have some names for you already.” The printer spewed and Christina got up to grab a piece of paper. “These are some of the victims who survived and are now in the hospital,” she said as she handed the paper to Lara.

  Minutes later Lara was back at her desk. For the next two hours she was immersed in work as reports came in fast and furious from the other agents, and Christina continued to bring her names of witnesses and victims. She finally got up to refill her coffee cup and suddenly remembered the kid in the conference room.

  Damn, she’d totally spaced out on him. She walked down the hall and peered into the room. Tough guy had his head down on the table and appeared to be sleeping. Her heart squeezed just a little bit. Poor kid. This was no place for an eleven-year-old. She hadn’t heard a word from his mother. Who knew when or if she’d come for him?

  She entered the room and gently touched him on the shoulder. He whipped his head up and tensed as if expecting a blow. Once again her heart constricted in her chest.

  “Come on, kid. I’ll take you home,” she said. “It doesn’t look like your mother is coming for you.”

  “She sleeps a lot during the day,” he said as he got up from the chair. He stretched with his arms over his head, the movement exposing his thin little belly.

  “Where is home?”

  “Queensbridge South,” he replied.

  Lara stifled a groan. Queensbridge housing project, one of the seven most infamous housing projects in the country. No wonder Jacob was scrappy and street smart. He’d have to be to survive in the place he called home.

  He’d survived a deadly bomb blast only this morning and now she had to take him home to hell.

  Chapter Eight

  “Maybe I could borrow a couple of dollars from you and we can stop at a drive-through to get a hamburger? I’m starving,” Jacob said once they were in the car and headed back to Queens.

  A new wave of guilt swept through her. The kid didn’t get his burger in the hospital cafeteria and that had been hours ago. She doubted that he’d had breakfast.

  Damn, she hadn’t even thought about feeding him while he’d been cooped up in the conference room. “If you need to borrow money from me, then how were you going to pay for your food at the hospital?”

  He squirmed in the car seat and directed his gaze out the passenger window. “I...uh... I had some money but I don’t know where it went. It must have dropped out of my pocket when I ran outside.” He turned to look at her. “You know, it was a bad situation and I was totally traumatized.”

  He’d just lied to her. She knew it in her gut. He hadn’t had any money. In a busy cafeteria at lunchtime it probably was easy for a kid to grab some food and then sneak right past the overworked, busy cashier.

  It didn’t matter now. “Sure, I’ll stop somewhere and front you a burger and fries. I’m feeling pretty hungry myself,” she replied. It was true, she was hungry, but she couldn’t imagine how hungry he must be. When was the last time he’d had a real meal? She didn’t want to ask. She knew she probably wouldn’t like his answer.

  A few minutes later she dug her wallet out of her bag and laid it on the console between them as they drove through a Burger King. She ordered burgers and fries; and a soda for her and a chocolate shake for him. They ate while continuing on to Jacob’s home.

  “I love French fries,” he said. “When I get some of that reward money I’m going to go someplace and get a triple order of fries.”

  “I’d opt for pizza myself,” she said.

  “What kind of pizza?” he asked.

  “Definitely pepperoni.”

  He took a sip of his shake. “I’ve never had a pepperoni pizza so I’ll stick with French fries.”

  Jesus, the kid was breaking her heart.

  The Queensbridge public housing project was two buildings in Y shapes that rose up six stories high. The buildings were a worn grayish brown, both weathered and deteriorating with age. Though recent efforts had been made to improve the state of affairs in the community—even adding new community centers and gardens, a CSA and other beautification efforts—progress was still mixed with a sense of unrest.

  Lara stuck her wallet back in her bag when she parked. A wallet out in the open in a locked car was an open invitation to broken windows at the very least no matter what the neighborhood. She also took off her FBI windbreaker and folded it inside out and put it in the backseat. It would not only make her a target for every criminal who lived here, but she was sure Jacob didn’t want to be seen with an FBI agent walking him to his apartment.

  Hopelessness and despair hung in the air as they got out of her car. Lara was instantly on edge as they walked toward the front door of the south building and a group of young men faded back into the shadows.

  “I live on the sixth floor,” Jacob said as they entered a small lobby with cracked dirty blue tiles on the floor. “We can ride the elevator up to five, but it doesn’t go all the way up. We have to walk the rest of the way.”

  “Are you sure your mother is home?” Lara asked as they stepped into the elevator that smelled of piss and vomit and sweat. Several dirty needles were on the floor, attesting to the drug use that was clearly still a problem in the project.

  “I’m sure. She’s almost always home during the days. She’s probably just sleeping,” he assured her. “She mostly sleeps all day long.”

  Lara had seen worse living conditions, but thi
s was definitely rough...very rough. They rode up to the fifth floor and then got off the elevator and took the stairs.

  “How long have you lived here?” she asked as they reached the landing on the sixth floor.

  “All my life.” Jacob pulled a key ring from his pocket as he stopped in front of one of the apartment doors. He unlocked the door and then turned to face her. “You’ll let me know about that reward money, right?”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” she replied.

  “Thanks for the food.”

  “No problem. Jacob, I’m not going away until I see that your mom is here.”

  “Okay.” He sighed heavily, but turned around and opened the door. Lara followed him into a tiny apartment. The curtains were pulled to block out the sun, but even in the dismal lighting the interior of the place looked like nobody had cleaned or picked up for months...maybe even years.

  Dirty dishes overflowed the kitchen sink and a couple of cockroaches boldly scurried across the countertop. A variety of clothing and booze bottles were strewn across the floor.

  A painfully thin woman with heavily bleached blond hair was clad in a ratty pink bathrobe and asleep on the sofa. Her loud snores were the only other sound in the place.

  “I told you she was here sleeping,” Jacob said, a guarded expression on his face.

  She wasn’t asleep. She was passed out cold. A flashback of Lara’s father filled her head. The smell in the room was a grim reminder of what Lara had been through and what Jacob lived with now.

  She looked at the boy with his too-small clothes and thin frame. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked him softly.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. Don’t worry about me, it’s biz as usual around here.”

  Lara cast another glance at Jacob’s mother and shook her head. She pulled a business card out of her bag and handed it to him. “You call me if you need anything or if you remember anything else about the guy who told you about the free concert.”

  He took the card from her. “Thanks. And you let me know when you have some reward cash for me.”

  Minutes later as Lara walked down the stairs to catch the elevator on the fifth floor, her thoughts remained in that tiny apartment and with the boy who only had a drunken, passed out mother in his life.

  She shoved thoughts of Jacob away as she headed back to the hospital scene. She couldn’t think about him right now. She needed to turn her focus back to the case. She hoped the bomber had gotten sloppy and hoped like hell her teammates had already discovered some evidence that would let them finally get the bastard and put him in prison for the rest of his life.

  It didn’t take her long to catch up with Nick at the command center in the hospital parking lot. The scene was far less chaotic than it had been hours ago. Every agency in New York City drilled and practiced for the potential of a bombing, but Lara suspected the grim truth was that three bombings in less than a month had made them all more proficient. It was an ugly reality.

  “We believe we have all the dead and wounded removed from the scene,” he said. “Although I hate to say this, there were some advantages to this taking place at a hospital. We got the wounded medical care far more quickly than we would have at any other location.”

  “I’m sure our bomber didn’t have that in mind when he put the bomb in a hospital cafeteria,” she replied with irritation.

  “Did you get anything useful out of the kid?” he asked.

  “His name is Jacob, and all he could tell me was that the whisperer was an average-looking Caucasian wearing a hat, sunglasses and Nike Air shoes,” she replied.

  “When in the hell will we get a detailed description of this creep from somebody?” Nick exclaimed.

  His phone rang and he held up a finger toward her as he answered. “Yeah...okay. Yeah, we’re on it.” He hung up with his eyes flashing darkly. “Your selfie guy is back. He’s right in front of the site taking pictures.”

  “Let’s go.” She whirled around and hurried toward the area Nick had indicated. Maybe today the creep would have some identification on him. She hadn’t forgotten that he was a loose end that hadn’t been resolved to her satisfaction.

  She was vaguely aware of Nick on his phone again as he hurried just behind her. Nick finally caught up with her once again. “Do you think he’s the bomber?”

  She hesitated a moment and then shook her head. “No, I don’t. My gut instinct is telling me he’s probably not our man. He might get his kicks visiting the scenes and taking pictures, but his brazen glee just doesn’t feel right. Still, I’d like to check him out...at least learn his name and address.”

  “I’ve got a patrol car ready to tail him,” Nick replied.

  Lara shot a quick surprised look at him. Nick never played outside the rules. “Does Victoria know that?”

  “I just got her okay on it,” he replied.

  Lara quickened her pace, eager to confront the selfie guy. Today he was once again in jeans and a blue shirt, and he flashed them a bold grin as he saw them approaching. He didn’t turn and run as he had in the past. Instead, as they ducked under the crime scene tape, he hurried toward them.

  “You know what my favorite part of this is?” he asked. “You can’t prove I did it.”

  Lara wanted to slap the glee right off his face.

  “Are you making a confession?” Nick asked.

  Selfie Guy’s grin faltered and he gazed at Nick in confusion. “No... I... I don’t know.” He backed away from them and then turned and hurried off.

  Instantly Nick was on his phone as Lara clenched and unclenched her hands in frustration. If he wasn’t guilty of anything but being a creep, he was, at the very least, a distraction they didn’t have time for. They needed to get some information on the man once and for all.

  “The patrol car has him,” Nick said with satisfaction as he hung up his phone.

  “Good, then hopefully we’ll get his name and address and we can thoroughly check him out,” she replied.

  For now it was back to the task at hand. There was evidence to find and log in and reports to be made and dozens of other things to do in an attempt to identify the bomber.

  The rest of the day flew by and it wasn’t until almost eleven that night when she was on the train and headed home. As she waited for her stop she pulled out her cell phone to check her email.

  Erectile Dysfunction... Paralyzed Veterans... Your Horoscope...she flew through the email headings. An email with the heading Ballistics Results caught her attention. She frowned, wondering what ballistics would have to do with their bomber?

  She froze. Her mother’s case! Josh must have gotten some results back. Oh, please, let it be something good. Her finger shook as she pulled the email up.

  Lara, we used chemical restoration and got the serial number to the gun. The gun is registered to Lamar Jeffries, 48 years old and currently in Selden Maximum Security Prison for drug trafficking, theft and murder. You’re welcome.

  She stared at the message for several long moments, her heart banging against her ribs. How had a gun belonging to a drug dealer and murderer wound up in a plastic bag in her mother’s hope chest?

  Finally she had a new lead to follow. God, she wanted to go speak with Lamar Jeffries right now, right this very minute. She needed answers and he might be the one person in the whole world who could give them to her.

  But she couldn’t speak to him tonight. It was too damned late. A simmering excitement filled her. This could be it. Lamar Jeffries might be the link she’d been missing in her investigation into her mother’s murder. Somehow, tomorrow she’d get out to Long Island and have a face-to-face with Jeffries.

  Despite the anticipation of the potential visit, a weary exhaustion rode her shoulders as she got off the train. By the time she got to her apartment all she wanted was to soak
in a long hot bath.

  She poured herself a small shot of whiskey as she waited for the bathtub to fill. Yet even as the burn of the alcohol slid down her throat, her brain remained in overdrive.

  She stripped off the black turtleneck and tight black slacks that were her usual work uniform and then lowered herself into the tub. Visions of the bomb scene at the hospital battled with thoughts of Lamar Jeffries. The desire to put the bomber behind bars warred with her need to see the inmate who might have important information for her.

  She slumped down into the water and when it cooled she used her foot to turn on the faucet for more steamy hot water. Slowly her muscles began to relax.

  By the time she got out of the bath, her mind had somewhat quieted. And then she thought of Jacob and his drunken mother passed out on the sofa.

  She sank down on her own sofa as a flashback overtook her. “Mom, I’m home,” she’d called when she’d walked through the front door. The scent of pot roast wafted in the air as she walked into the kitchen, happy after a day of school where she’d aced a spelling test.

  No! Her body jerked at the memory of her mother’s bloody body on the kitchen floor. Oh God, oh God, there was so much blood. “Mommy, get up. Get up! Mommy please, I need you.” The memory of her frantic, childish cries rang in her ears.

  She had no idea how long she’d sat next to her mother, trying to get her to wake up before she’d finally run next door to get help.

  The memories kept coming...vignettes of a life no ten-year-old should ever have to endure. The sound of her father’s fists hitting the garage door over and over again echoed in her head. The memory of him falling around the house in a drunken stupor before passing out on the sofa brought her thoughts back around to Jacob and the life he must live with his mother.

  He had it rough. But so did you, a little voice whispered in her head. I survived my childhood, she thought. And I turned out okay. Well, sort of.

  What she needed now more than anything was a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow she’d not only have the stress of another day on the job, but also the possibility of getting some answers she desperately needed in her mother’s case.