Lucky Break (Lucky Strickland)

by Christine Gael

  “Roger that. If I need you, I’ll call. See you in a bit.”

  She disconnected and pocketed her phone, setting off toward the Central Park Chess & Checkers House on foot. It was the start of rush hour, and it would take her longer to drive the short distance than it would to walk.

  She was drenched in sweat and regretting her decision fifteen minutes later, when the cream and brick pagoda came into view. The green benches were full, and blessedly shaded from the still molten early evening sun.

  She stepped up and scanned the faces of those playing, her gaze catching on a pair of older men tucked in one corner. A half dozen people were gathered around them, and she could only assume that meant they were worth watching.

  She tugged out her badge and flashed it, as she shouldered her way in with murmured apologies.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  The older of the two men looked up and eyed her quizzically, but the other kept his gaze pinned on the board carved into the stone table between them.

  “Good evening,” he replied, his eyes flicking down to her badge before returning to her face. “Are we in trouble?” he asked with a flash of dentures. “Lou!” he shouted, across the little table, causing the other man to jerk his head up in surprise. “We got a lady cop, here, wants to talk to us!”

  Lou, a dark brown man with a shock of white hair, turned to stare up at her. “What about?”

  “Chess,” she replied simply, as she turned to face the small crowd of onlookers. “If you can all disperse, you can come back once they resume play.”

  There was some grumbling but most went quietly. A moment later, it was just her and the two men. The man and woman playing at the table next to them eyed her warily.

  “You can go ahead.”

  They returned to their game as Lucky faced Lou and his friend.

  “My name is Detective Strickland. I’m with the NYPD, and I’m hoping you gentlemen can help me. I have some questions about the game, I’m hoping you might be able to answer.”

  “I’m Ralph and this here’s Lou,” the older man said with a nod. He translated her message to Lou by shouting it at him, and then told him to turn up his hearing aid, which he did with a nod. “We’re both happy to help, if we can.”

  She tugged out her phone and cued up the pictures she had, along with the information she already knew from Abbott and Fielding.

  “We have a series of crimes that seem to be based on the game of chess. If I show you what we have so far, I’m hoping you’d be able to tell me your thoughts, and what move you might make next.”

  She blew up the first image and laid her phone between them on the edge of the table.

  “Oh, girlie, you’re going to have to do better than that. Old eyes, you know,” Ralph said with a chuckle as he plucked the pieces off the board and moved them to the side. “Go ahead, here, where we can see it.”

  She eyed the phone and the board, and then traced the perimeter. “Imagine the whole table is Midtown. We believe the sixty-four squares on a chessboard represent specific blocks in Midtown. The first move that was made was from here,” she said, indicating the space on the board that corresponded with Mel’s pawn shop, “to here,” she said, tracing the stone path to the square on the board that represented the Museum of Modern Art.

  Ralph set a white pawn on the square in question and listened patiently as she walked them through the rest of the moves, adding the other relevant pieces as they went.

  "That, there, looks like the Vienna Game," Lou said, scratching at his temple before nodding. "Yep. That's what that opening is, assuming black played E5 for his first move.” He shot her a look from beneath his cap. "You got any information on the other side of the board's play?"

  “No. As far as we know, this is a one-sided game.” She swallowed hard and a sudden sense of foreboding rolled over her. "Anything you could tell me about what a likely next move would be?"

  “Could also be a Closed Sicilian,” Ralph murmured, studying the board. “But either way…”

  Lou’s brow furrowed and he toyed with his hat for a second before leaning back in his chair and settling his gentle gaze on her. "Black is getting checkmated next move."

  "By the queen?"

  He nodded, touching a fingertip to the white bishop on the other side of the board. “Yep, the bishop will be defending her so she can’t be taken.”

  “And what if there were no queen. Imagine she’s gone,” Lucky said, taking the white queen and setting it to the side.

  Ralph cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Well, that’s a different kettle of fish. In chess, you don’t want to move any piece more than once in the opening unless there is a compelling reason to do it. If it were me, I would start developing minor pieces on the other side of the board that I haven't moved yet.”

  Lou nodded. “Yep. I’d move the queen’s pawn to D4 and then take out my other bishop, or move out the king’s knight.”

  “That’s a lot of moves to win, then, right?” No way their guy would think he had enough time to do all that before they caught him. Not after the debacle from the night before.

  “Yep.”

  “So what’s the quickest road to checkmate?”

  Lou shot her a pointed look, picked up the white queen and put it back on the board where it had been before she moved it. Then, he set the black king three squares away on the diagonal and a black pawn between it and the queen. “She takes the pawn, and the king is a sitting duck.”

  Lucky snatched up her phone and moved the image around, flicking a glance at the board and then back to the picture, blowing it up even bigger. Her heart stuttered as a memory, wrapped in cobwebs and faded with time, rose to the forefront of her mind. She’d been young, less than ten, when she’d seen the open newspaper on the kitchen table. Her father’s picture stared back at her, with a headline above it.

  An interview with District Attorney, George Strickland: The King of Convictions

  She shook her head, trying not to let the old men see the panic that was crawling up her throat.

  “Thank you both for your help. I’ve got to go.”

  “Good luck, Detective,” Ralph called after her.

  She strode away from the table, already punching the button to call Stonybrook. She gritted her teeth as she waited for someone to pick up the line, cursing herself for not seeing it sooner.

  “Stonybrook, Cherise speaking.”

  "Cherise, this is Detective Ella Strickland, George’s daughter,” she said as she broke into a run. “We have a suspect on the loose that we consider to be armed and dangerous in the area. We have reason to believe that he will be headed to your facility and could be a danger to my father, specifically. I need you in lock down, ASAP. No one gets in except for me or one of mine."

  "Wait, what are you-"

  "I don’t have a lot of time for questions, Cherise. I just need you to do what I’m telling you to do, and I will be there as soon as I can. Send someone from security to check on my dad, right now. Is that understood?"

  The woman's breathing had picked up and her voice went shrill. "Um, yes. Okay. Okay, I got it.”

  “Call me back as soon as you confirm he’s all right and that you’ve got the place locked down.”

  “I will,” Cherise promised.

  Lucky disconnected and then dialed Carlos. He answered on the third ring, which felt like an eternity.

  “I was just about to call you. We got a name. Andrew Mathews. Born February 8th, 1989 in Queens to Louise and William Mathews. Former public school janitor. We got a fingerprint match from a background check for the school. We are running him through the DMV and will hopefully have a recent photo shortly. No criminal record as an adult but has a juvenile file currently under seal. We’re working on a court order now.”

  Shit.

  After a huge crackdown on retention and use of juvenile records, tons of files were expunged or deleted. Others were deemed inaccessible by law enforcement without a court order. B
ecause of the nature of the crimes involved, it wasn’t a matter of if they would get access. It was a matter of when. But time was ticking, and it was a delay they definitely didn’t need right now.

  “Can you see if either of his parents did time?”

  “On it.”

  She could hear him tapping away on the keys as she caught sight of her car and sprinted toward it. It was only a few seconds later when ‘Los broke his silence.

  “Okay, yup. Mother was, apparently, some sort of drug mule. Did time from ’98 to 2001 when she passed away of cervical cancer.”

  She swallowed hard and forced the words past the ache in her throat. “Who was the prosecutor in her case?” She waited for his answer, but knew it before he ever said the words.

  “Jesus, Luck. It was your father.” ‘Los sounded as gobsmacked as she felt.

  “He’s the end game, ‘Los. He's the target. George Strickland, The King of Convictions. His nursing home is on the exact same block that would represent the black king’s space on Andrew’s chessboard.”

  And she'd had her head so far up her ass, she'd missed it until now.

  “Son of a bitch,” he hissed.

  "I just got back to my car and am on my way to Stonybrook now. I already called ahead to have them check on him and close it off for visitors. If he’s still playing by the rules, he’s got to take the blocking pawn to put the king in mate, and the queen has to move for him to do it. If he’s shredded the rulebook, we have to assume he’ll head straight for my father. We need to focus our efforts in three places: The Luther hotel and surrounding area where he left the queen last, the block where that black pawn sits diagonal from the nursing home, and at Stonybrook itself. We mobilize three teams right now, get them in place before nightfall, and we wait him out."

  “I’ll take care of that the second we hang up. You just worry about getting to your dad."

  ‘Los disconnected and Lucky hopped into her car. Then, she drove as fast as she could…like her father’s life depended on it.

  31

  She double-parked her car near the front doors of the nursing home a short while later, mentally talking herself off the ledge. Everything was okay. Cherise had called back and said her father was fine. She needed to stay focused and calm so she wouldn't miss anything.

  She hit the sidewalk at a fast clip, making a beeline for the doors as she glanced down at her phone to see if ‘Los had texted.

  “Oops, careful!”

  She felt a steadying hand on her shoulder and looked up to see that she’d nearly mowed down Beverly Marks’ grandson, Doug.

  “So sorry,” she mumbled, stepping back as she slipped her phone in her pocket. “I wasn’t watching where I was going at all.”

  “No worries. I was just going to see Gram but they turned me away. Any idea what’s going on in there?” he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

  “Just a precaution,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Give a call in a couple hours and I’m sure everything will be back to normal.” She pointed to the doors and started moving again. “Sorry, I’ve got to--”

  “Of course, of course,” he said in a rush, waving his hand for her to go ahead. “Go do your thing.”

  She reached the second set of doors a moment later, but they remained closed. A security guard stood nearby and she waved him over and held up her badge. He took a long moment to actually look at her ID carefully through the glass before unlocking the door.

  "Am I the first on scene?" she asked, pushing past him and making a beeline toward the reception desk.

  "Yeah. My two guys have rounded up all patients who are mobile enough to move and have them seated in the community room," he called as he locked the doors again and jogged lightly after her. The reception desk was empty and he pointed down the left lane of the u-shaped hallway. "The patients who are bedridden are down that way. There are two nurses and one staff doctor with them, and then, one of my guys standing watch at the entrance to that wing."

  She slowed her pace and gave him a curt nod of approval.

  "Fine job," she noted the name on his security badge, "Renault. You did really well. I'm expecting a couple uniforms any minute now. I'll be in the community room for the moment, but if you can ring back and let me know when they get here."

  "Got it." He turned back to his post and she rushed headlong down the hallway on shaking legs. The smell of antiseptic and sickness was almost suffocating. She slowed her pace and took a deep breath. Whatever else happened from here, she'd made it in time. Her father was alive and, if she was right, he was the end game. She hadn't let this twisted bastard win.

  She reached the community room and tried to find her father's unruly white hair among the masses through the glass wall, but most of the residents were facing the opposite way, watching the television. All seemed calm as she knocked three times on the door before announcing herself through the glass.

  Cherise came into view, the worry evident on her pretty face. She typed a series of numbers into the locking mechanism next to the door and swung it open.

  "Ella! I'm so glad you're here. Can you tell us what the heck is going on?"

  The other woman had kept her voice just above a whisper and Lucky responded in kind.

  There was no pulling punches, here. New Yorkers dealt with threats all the time and took pride in going about their day, regardless. This guy had already committed two brutal murders. If Lucky wanted them to continue to take this seriously, she had to tell it like it was.

  "There is a murderer on the loose. Our theory is that he intends to target my dad for prosecuting his mother in the late nineties. The goal here, at this point, is just to make sure we don’t give him any room to infiltrate this place. No deliveries, no visitors. If staff needs to turn over, it will have to be done under officer supervision until further notice.”

  She nodded, her expression solemn. “Got it. We can do that. I’ve already informed my people that no one is allowed in, and the staff here, now, will be here until midnight.”

  Lucky nodded as she glanced at her watch. “My hope is that we’ll have this guy in cuffs long before then.”

  And if not?

  It likely meant they’d missed something.

  She shoved the thought away and peered around the room again. “Where is he?”

  "You see him with the red blanket around his shoulders? Off to the side, by himself?"

  Lucky followed the path of Cherise’s hand and finally laid eyes on him. There sat King George, slowly chewing what looked like a Fig Newton as he contemplated the concrete jungle of Midtown through the picture window.

  "He was in his room listening to oldies when you called. When I told him we had to come to the community room, he told me he couldn't leave because you were coming to get him. Once I got him here, though, he forgot all about it and just wanted a cookie." The other woman leaned in and gave Lucky’s arm a squeeze. "He's doing just fine, El. And you're here, now, we've got our security in place and more police on the way. Why don't you take a breath and then go over and see for yourself."

  She didn't have time for all that, but she did take the time to rush to her father's side. Just two seconds to see his face, and then she would go. She'd be able to leave him in the hands of the coming uniforms and focus on her job.

  Stopping Andrew Mathews before he killed again.

  Her phone buzzed and she dug in her pocket to retrieve it.

  Carlos.

  “Hey, I’m at the nursing home. My dad is okay and things are under control, here. Where are you?”

  “I’m just pulling into the parking garage kitty corner from you with the rest of the team.”

  On the block where the black pawn protecting the king would sit.

  “Okay, good. Keep your eyes peeled. One of the reasons we’ve had such a hard time getting a decent sketch of him is because he blends in.”

  “We don’t need a sketch, now,” ‘Los replied with grim satisfaction. “We have his driver’s license pictur
e. Came through just a couple minutes ago. I’m going to send it out to everyone as soon as we hang up. Hernandez and Taylor should be at your location any minute, with two more guys shortly behind them. Then we have another team en route to The Luther hotel. We’re going to get him, Luck. It’s all coming together, now.”

  From his lips to God’s ears.

  “Stay in contact, and watch your back,” she said before disconnecting.

  She stepped around her father’s wheelchair so he could see her face.

  "Hey, Dad.”

  George looked up and smiled, instantly recognizing her for the first time in a while. "Hey, Ella-girl. I knew you'd come. I still have to get my shoes, though."

  "I’m so sorry, Dad, I can't stay. I have some work to take care of, but I wanted to stop by and say hi and see how you were."

  As hard as seeing him decline had been these past few years, the relief that coursed through her at seeing him alive shook her deep. Until she'd looked into his eyes, she couldn't let go of the fear that she was about to lose yet another family member. She patted his vein-webbed hand.

  "I love you, Dad,” she said, choking on the words a little as her throat went tight. “I promise I'll be back soon, all right?"

  "Okay," he said. Then, he looked down at his cookie, and stuffed the remainder into his mouth.

  She was just about to head back out to the lobby to meet the arriving officers when she stopped short and took another glance around the room. "Where's Beverly?"

  "Who's Beverly?" he asked.

  Her gaze snagged one of the orderlies and she reached out and tapped his shoulder.

  "Hi there. I don’t see my dad's friend, Beverly Marks. She lives in the room two down from his.”

  He blew out a sigh and shook his head. "Oh, man. She had a bad fall last night and broke her hip. We had to send her to a rehab facility. Probably won’t be back for a few weeks."

  Lucky’s heart skipped a beat.