Good Cop Bad Cop (A James Harris Series Book 1) Page 10

  The red light atop the camera went dark.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  29

  It was a good lead in a case where even small leads were hard to come by. Harris had struck out with Doctor Watts and the Long Island coroner’s office. No bodies matching the suspect had been brought in during the past five days. However, when they had input the description of the short, Latino woman into the city wide data base they struck a match. A woman had been brought to the Staten Island coroner’s office the day after Emily disappeared. Her name was Rosa Gonzalez and she has been found, ironically enough, in the woods of Freshkills Park on Staten Island. The initial cause of death was uncertain until a toxicology report showed that she’d been poisoned with Strychnine. The autopsy also revealed that she had been killed elsewhere and dumped in the park roughly twelve to fifteen hours after her death.

  Rosa had a lengthy rap sheet and had lived in a small apartment in Brooklyn. Her only known living relative was a brother Carlos who lived in a rundown house in a bad section of Jamaica, which was also in Brooklyn. Carlos had served two years at Rikers Island for possession of marijuana with intent to sell. It was not his first offense. He had also been busted for a firearm possession.

  Crossing the Robert F. Kennedy span, Harris made for 278 South which would take him into Brooklyn where he would exit on the Jackie Robinson Parkway. He knew the neighborhood he was heading into and also knew that if he found Rosa’s brother home, it could get ugly. Carlos had identified the body and judging by what the pathologist had told him, he was probably using crystal meth on a daily basis. However, Harris thought, if anybody knew about the type of people his sister had hung with, it would be him.

  As he drove, Harris listened to the police scanner and the calls for available units were non-stop. New York was one of the largest cities in the world and there was never a shortage of crime or people needing assistance. On a personal note, he was happy that the D.A. wanted to hire more prosecutors. As it was, the court log jam was such that once a perp bonded out, he could be free for up to a year before his case ever came to trial. This gave these animals far too much time to keep plying their trades. It’s about time that our taxes actually made a difference, he thought.

  D.A. Blumquist was a good woman and it had sickened Harris to watch the DVD of her daughter getting raped. Although he had seen far worse during his tenure as both a cop and a soldier in the Middle East, he couldn’t imagine having to watch that as a parent. Just the thought of it caused his stomach to turn.

  Not lost on him was the fact that it was a very unusual thing for a kidnapper to make and release such a video. Harris wondered whether the man was psychotic or was there something deeper involved? He suspected the kidnapper might be somebody that the D.A. had put away or maybe a relative of somebody she had incarcerated. The entire thing smelled of revenge.

  In any case, it had the desired effect that Sylvia Blumquist had intended, Harris no longer viewed this as simply a kidnapping. He had looked into the eyes of the poor young woman who was brutalized in that video and felt his blood boil. It was now more than just his job to rescue Emily Blumquist, it was his mission, his every waking thought. And the D.A. was dead on about another thing as well, he would stop at nothing to free her.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  30

  Sylvia sat behind her desk in the plush, City Hall office of the District Attorney. As painful as it was, business still needed to be conducted and she poured over budget proposals e-mailed to her by the various branches of her administration. She desperately needed to make cuts elsewhere if she was going to justify increased spending to hire more prosecutors. Her fight to rid the streets of as much crime as possible was only fueled by her daughter’s kidnapping and if it hadn’t been personal before, it certainly was now.

  Away from her home and the constant reminder of Emily’s horrific situation, Sylvia did her best to lose herself in her work. Although nearly impossible at times, the focus of her job did act as a temporary relief from the never ending worry.

  There was a soft knock on her door.

  “Come in,” she said, without looking up from her computer screen.

  Her secretary came in with a fresh cup of coffee and placed it to the left of Sylvia.

  “Thank you.”

  She stood obediently as her boss continued to examine the open spread sheet in front of her.

  “Thank you, Mary,” Sylvia repeated when she noticed the woman was not leaving. “Is there something else?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the woman spoke, an unusual meekness to her voice. It was this that caused Sylvia to look away from her task. She saw that the face of her long time staffer was somber and troubled.

  “What is it, Mary?”

  “Uhmmm….another manila envelope was delivered to your house. One of your staff brought it to the office because it was the same as before.”

  Sylvia drew in a short and sudden gasp of air. If it was contact it would be the first since the horrible DVD of her daughter being raped had come in 2 days prior.

  “Are you sure it’s the same as before? Is there a return address?”

  Mary looked to the ground and bit her lip. She was unable to speak. While she did not see the earlier DVD, Sylvia had broken down and told her what was on it after the FBI had taken it. Later Sylvia had demanded a copy of the DVD and the Fed’s had acquiesced. Mary had seldom seen her boss show any weakness or frailty but two days ago she’d held her while the woman wept in her arms.

  “Is there a return address?”

  “They said it was the same as before,” Mary finally answered in a quiet rush.

  The color left Sylvia’s face and she slumped in her chair. Horrible thoughts ran rampant in her imagination and she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to stop them.

  “Sylvia,” her assistant spoke softly, breaching protocol and calling the District Attorney by her first name. “Should I call your husband? The police?”

  Sylvia looked up, her eyes wide and vacant. She felt herself losing control. In a sudden revelation, she knew for the first time in her life that she wasn’t strong enough to deal with something. It was simply too much and with that realization came a cold and empty feeling of hopelessness that rattled her senses. She opened her mouth to speak and nothing came out. Her throat was so dry.

  Mary hurried around the desk and, bending at the waist, placed an arm around the older woman’s shoulder. She offered a squeeze of support. Sylvia reached up and placed her hand atop Mary’s. She cleared her throat and managed to speak.

  “Call Harris.”

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  31

  Bonnie Harris rushed from the closet and flung a suitcase on her bed. It was the middle of the afternoon and glancing out of the window she noticed that it was overcast. She raced out of her bedroom and down the hall. Stopping at the entrance to her son’s room, she turned and locked eyes with him. Bonnie froze momentarily as she saw the pain in his bloodshot eyes. His face was flushed from crying and although the argument had ended an hour ago, his imploring look still tugged at her heart.

  “How can you do this to dad?” He spoke softly, all of the early fight drained from him. There was a suitcase on the carpet by his feet, only a few scant items of clothing lay within.

  “I’m not going to do this again,” Bonnie snapped, her patience worn thin. “Pack your damn suitcase we are leaving in twenty minutes.”

  Bonnie turned and headed for the kitchen. She grabbed her purse and digging through it, quickly found her wallet. Checking quickly, she saw that both her debit card and credit card lay within. She turned back towards the hallway and then stopped. She’d come in here for something else, but couldn’t remember what. There was no reason to check her purse, she’d done that earlier. Her thoughts were jumbled, mixed and convoluted in a sea of desperation and surreal stress. It was such a cliché for a wife to leave the cop who had become married to his career. She knew that, but she also knew that there was no other alternative,
to stay would cost her sanity.

  She still loved her husband, and she wasn’t ready to divorce him, but she had to get out, to put some distance between them. She simply couldn’t play second fiddle any longer. After not showing up for their planned dinner last night, she knew she had to act.

  Bonnie’s cell phone rang and it startled her. She hadn’t even realized that she’d been standing still, rooted in catatonic thought. She walked to the counter and picked up her phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Bonnie, are you okay?” The voice was her mothers.

  “Yes-no…I don’t know what I am, mom.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Soon. Soon. Danny doesn’t want to go.”

  “Of course he doesn’t.

  “Mom, am I doing the right thing?” The despair in her voice resonated through the phone.

  “Oh honey, I can’t tell you that. I don’t know. You are miserable, right?”

  “Well…not always but I know I can’t live like this anymore.”

  “Then you’ve just answered your own question. This doesn’t mean it’s over. Maybe this will shake Jimmy into seeing what you’re going through.”

  Danny walked into the kitchen, a defeated and dejected face gazed down towards the linoleum of the kitchen floor.

  “I’m ready,” he spoke softly.

  Bonnie pursed her lips and tried to maintain her composure. She walked over to her son and he leaned in letting her hold his head to her shoulder.

  “Mom, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in a little bit.” Bonnie hung up without awaiting a reply. She lifted Danny’s chin so his face was level with hers.

  “This isn’t permanent, baby. This is…just something I need to do right now.”

  “Bullshit, nobody ever gets back together,” he replied, hurt mixed with a trace of anger.

  “Hey, language. And nobody knows what the future holds.”

  “Right. Not one of my friends parents have ever gotten back together once they split up.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything. And we’re not splitting up. I just need some space for a while.”

  “Then why do I have to go!? He suddenly snapped, eyes ablaze.

  Startled momentarily by the force of his outburst, Bonnie took a step back and stared at her son. She saw the same steely resolve of his father, the same volatility when pushed.

  “Because I am not losing you too! And who would take care of you? Your father is never home.”

  “Dad has an important job! Why can’t you be more understanding?”

  “I am! But this is about something that you don’t understand and I can’t explain. It’s between adults, between a husband and a wife.”

  “Well it sucks.”

  Bonnie hesitated. “Yes it does.”

  Danny dropped his eyes to the floor again.

  “Go put your suitcase in the car and wait for me. I just have to write a note.”

  “A note?! Are you kidding me!? That’s how you’re going to tell him!?”

  “Enough!” Bonnie roared, the frustration getting the better of her. “Get into the car now! Not another word from you!”

  Tears sprang into her son’s eyes. He turned and stormed down the hall towards his bedroom to retrieve his suitcase.

  Bonnie shut her eyes and took a deep breath. This was harder than she had imagined it would be. She was entering into a situation in which she had no idea what the outcome would be. She had to trust her gut.

  Danny walked past the kitchen, suitcase in tow and opened the door leading to the garage. Moments later it slammed loudly.

  Bonnie turned to the notepad sitting on the counter. She picked up a pen.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  32

  The man sat silently upon a fold out, metal chair. He sat and stared into the wooden pen he had built earlier that month. The door was open and the light bulb on, glowing with a soft yellow hue that illuminated the small cell.

  Emily Blumquist lay naked, unconscious on the hard, cement floor. She had been out for several hours. After suffering through the electrocution the man had watched as her spirit left her. She’d stopped crying, stopped pleading. There was no fight left in her and she’d simply slumped over in the chair, her body’s defense mechanism shutting down her brain.

  The man had unstrapped her from the torture device and dragged her back to her cell. He had then left and upon returning three hours later, he saw on the video monitor that Emily hadn’t moved from where he’d laid her. He felt his own pulse quicken. If she died, it would ruin all of his plans. Nervously, he’d opened the cell door to check her breathing and was relieved to find she was still alive. He pulled the chair over to watch her as he thought about what was to come next.

  His cell phone buzzed and he reached quickly into his pocket and retrieved it.

  “Yes?” he spoke softly.

  He listened.

  “Soon. Very soon.”

  The man stared down at his victim with a cool detachment. A scowl appeared on his face as he listened.

  “It was never about that.”

  The man rose from the chair and stood as the party on the other end spoke.

  “I don’t care about the money, you know that.”

  He turned and slowly walked towards the small wooden work bench against the far wall of the room.

  “I just told you. Soon.”

  Standing in front of the table, the man listened again as the slightest trace of a smile crept to his face. He picked up a steel handled filet knife.

  “You just make sure you do.”

  He pressed the sharp knifes tip softly into the wooden surface of the table and dug a small groove. With a flick of his wrist the small shaving flew across the room, landing on the floor.

  “By the time they get the last DVD I will be home. It doesn’t matter if they find out, there will be no proof.”

  A short pause.

  “Yes. Goodbye. I will see you when I get back.”

  The man pressed a button and ended the call. He slipped the cell phone back into his pocket and then laid the knife onto the table. He looked towards the corner of the room to the tripod with the video camera mounted on it. Everything was in place.

  Walking back to the plywood cell, he stared down at Emily’s motionless body. He reached for the door and swung it shut, clicking the lock in place.

  Turning, he walked back towards the work bench.

  “Soon,” he spoke aloud. “Soon.”

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  33

  Harris parked his car a block away and walked towards Carlo’s house. He drew stares from several Latino youths who glared at him with hostility from a neighboring front porch. They knew he was a cop just by the way he walked, fearless and boldly, not even bothering to acknowledge them.

  “Hey, puto? You lost?” One of the boys yelled at him in a thick Puerto Rican accent. This was met with laughter from his peers.

  Without breaking stride, Harris shot the boy a hard look which caused the smile to quickly vanish from the punks face.

  Harris approached the home and paused to read the Beware of Dog sign on the chain link fence. Reaching underneath his jacket, he thumbed the leather catch on his holster so that his gun was ready to be drawn. He lifted the latch and pushed the gate open. Entering the yard, Harris walked up the stone path to the front porch which was an 8x4 slab of mildewed cement. A cheap lawn chair with torn, plastic stitching sat next to a TV tray which doubled as somebody’s ashtray. The door had three diamond shaped windows located on the top half but they had been covered with cardboard from the inside. Harris knocked.

  The howl of a dog was followed by furious barking and an almost immediate clawing at the door. Harris moved his hand slowly up towards his holster.

  “Who the fuck are you?!” A man’s voice asked loudly.

  “Lt. Harris, NYPD.”

  This was followed by a moment of silence and Harris heard the man scold the dog in a mean, hushed
voice. The animal fell silent.

  “In the bedroom, goddamn it.” Harris heard him tell the dog. He listened as the man walked away. This was followed by the sound of a door closing. Harris heard footsteps approach the front door again.

  “What do you want?” The tone was guarded, but less hostile.

  “I want to ask you a few questions about your sister, Carlos.”

  “About Rosa?” The man sounded confused. “Why?”

  “I just want to ask you as few questions.”

  “About what?”

  “I’m trying to help.”

  “How you gonna help? She’s dead.”

  “I’m trying to solve her murder, Carlos.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “You are her brother, aren’t you?”

  There was another, longer period of silence and Harris heard movement in the room. It sounded like the man was tidying up.

  “I won’t take much of your time, Carlos. I promise.”

  “Why you keep saying my name?” The voice was at the door again.

  “Look, Carlos, I’m not here to hassle you. I just want to find out who hurt your sister.”

  “She ain’t hurt, she’s dead. I saw her myself.”

  “I know Carlos, I’m sorry.”

  “You said my name again,” the man said suspiciously. “Why do you keep doing that?”

  “Well, I usually address people by their names when I talk to them, Carlos. Can you open the door and just speak to me?”

  Several moments passed without a reply.

  “Carlos? You still there?”

  “You got a warrant?” The question came suddenly.

  “A warrant?” Harris asked a hint of amusement in his voice. “Why would I need a warrant, Carlos? You are not a suspect, I just want to ask you a few questions that might help point me to whoever did this.”

  “You don’t have a warrant?”