Good Cop Bad Cop (A James Harris Series Book 1) Read online

  The entire fight had only lasted about fifteen seconds at this point and as the punk with the bleeding hand and nose grabbed his face and rolled sideways to get away, Harris leapt to his feet to face the other boy who had cleared the cobwebs from the initial blow he had absorbed. He saw the absolute rage in Harris’ eyes and, thinking better of any further action, turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

  A small crowd of kids had gathered and with only the bloodied boy remaining on the ground, Harris stood over him and spoke.

  “If I ever hear of either of you messing with anybody in this neighborhood again I will kill you. Return the bike today or else.”

  With that he turned and, leaving the boy sobbing on the street, walked to his father’s car. His dad had a grim look on his face. Harris stopped at the driver’s side and met his father’s look. He waited silently.

  “A man once said that the only thing necessary for evil to flourish was for good men to do nothing,” his father finally spoke through the open window. “I’m proud of you son.”

  “I understand, dad. It will never happen again.”

  With that his father smiled.

  “I believe you. Get in the car and we’ll go get some ice on that eye. It’s starting to close up.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, dad, I’d rather walk.”

  The elder Harris looked behind his son and saw the group of admiring kids staring at him. He nodded in understanding. “Okay, then. See you at dinner.”

  That had happened over twenty years ago but it remained as fresh in his mind as if it had taken place yesterday.

  Harris made a left onto I-95 and saw the bridge ahead was flowing smoothly. He often thought about his youth and all of the things that led him to where he was today. He understood Bonnie’s frustration, but it was all part of being married to a cop. He also understood why the divorce rate was so high among police. He thought about calling her and telling her to go without him, that he’d try to catch up with the group later but he knew that would never fly. Bonnie almost seemed to enjoy their fights lately.

  Harris reflected on the call he’d received from his captain. It was a double murder, most likely drug related. He clenched his teeth as he realized that his career might just be killing his marriage as well. Stomping down on the gas pedal, he pushed his Camaro harder as he raced up the incline of the Alexander Hamilton Bridge.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  3

  Christi Sellinger sat and stared vacantly at her laptop screen. There were so many miniaturized icons that she could barely make out the famous Woodward and Bernstein newsroom picture taken at the height of Watergate. Out of respect for her heroes, she’d dragged a few of the icons off to the side so that their faces showed.

  With a loud sigh, she moved her mouse to the bottom task bar and with a click, opened the Word document she’d been working on for the past 3 days. Exactly 2 paragraphs had been written.

  The assignment piece her editor had given her was a story on the upcoming 104th birthday of a Staten Island woman whose claim to fame was that she had been aboard the Carpathia when she was just a young girl. If you mentioned the Carpathia to most New Yorkers, very few would be able to tell you that this was the ship which had first arrived on scene to rescue the Titanic survivors.

  Christi bit her lower lip and grimaced at the screen. She wondered whether or not there would be a Carpathia for her sinking career. Stop it, she chastised herself silently, you’re just paying dues. Of course she’d been paying dues for 7 years now and after countless stories about dogs that saved kittens from burning buildings and the occasional lottery winner, she longed for an assignment to a real news story.

  “Shit,” she spoke softly to everybody and to nobody. She dug through the papers on her desk and finding her notes, quickly found the old woman’s phone number.

  “Twenty bucks says it’s a corded wall phone,” She mumbled to herself. She dialed the number and waited as the phone simply rang and rang on the other end. After ten or eleven rings she hung up. Great, she thought, no answering machine either. Not only was it the weakest story currently being written in the news room, she would also have to chase the damn thing.

  An older, male reporter walked past her desk and shot her a smile and a wink. It was not the type of smile he would have offered a male counterpart. Bastard, she thought angrily as Bob Ferguson headed towards the restroom. Ferguson was assigned to the crime division and covered real news while she was stuck writing this crap. He was also was the lead reporter assigned to James Harris, who was one of the NYPD’s most decorated cops. Not many cops were assigned their own reporter but the exploits of Lieutenant James Harris sold papers. Harris left a wake of destruction in his path that was becoming legendary. Covering him was her dream assignment and she was sure that she could do a better job than that old dinosaur. She thought back to the famous case from a year ago.

  Harris, and his partner at the time, had stumbled upon a horrific scene in an apartment tenement near Times Square. Upon entering a seedy, two bedroom shithole, they had found a ten year old boy naked and shackled to the floor. He had been tortured with lit cigarettes and molested God knows how many times. The scumbag who was at the scene had never gotten the chance to stand trial because Harris had simply blown him away. The reports read that the man had come at Harris with a knife but nobody believed it. Popular opinion was that Harris had simply executed the man. After DNA tests revealed that the dead man had indeed raped the young child the entire matter was swept under the rug. However, immediately after that incident, Harris’ partner had asked for reassignment. He had not been the first of the man’s partners to ask for other duties and now Harris worked alone. It was also no secret that a lot of the brass hated Harris and had it in for him. It was all tantalizing stuff. However, Ferguson had never even been able to get so much as a quote from Harris. Not a single word. Nothing they could print in any case. All he had was anonymous sources and carefully worded innuendo. Harris exploits were easy enough to make interesting, but what Ferguson wrote was all surface crap and no meat. Christi knew she could get more from Harris and it infuriated her how she was looked upon as merely a piece of eye candy to be enjoyed by the boys club here at the Gazette.

  Needing a coffee badly, Christi pushed back from her chair and stood. Walking through the maze of desks and cubicles she headed towards the break room. Just as she was about to enter the kitchen she heard her name called across the news room.

  “Sellinger!”

  Christi turned and saw the city editor leaning out of his office. She gave him a look of exasperation and pointed to the kitchen door. The man shook his head and waved for her to come over.

  “Double shit,” she muttered as she turned and headed towards his office.

  She walked in to see her boss was already back behind his desk. “Can’t I even get a coffee before you chew me out over Steamboat Annie?”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, the birthday girl who helped rescue the Titanic survivors? And quite possibly one of the last ten New Yorkers who has neither a cell phone or an answering machine.”

  “Forget that piece right now. I need you to get to City Hall and record the D.A.’s presser. Maybe dazzle me by asking her a tough question. But get the guts of it.”

  “Where’s Collins?”

  “His kid is having his tonsils out. He’s off being super dad.”

  “Awww, that’s sweet.”

  “It’s not sweet, it’s bullshit. It’s not like the kid’s having his goddamn spleen removed.”

  “Nice, Carl. Real nice.”

  “Anyway, put the old broad on the shelf and go cover this. The D.A.’s going to address the proposed tax increase to fund extra prosecutors for her office. People are really watching this one.”

  “Wow, an honest to goodness reporting job?” She mocked. “Do you really think I’m ready, chief?”

  “Just get over there,” he said ignoring the sarcasm. “The thing kicks off in an
hour and traffic is a mess.”

  “Got it.”

  Christi left the man’s office and hustled to her desk. She felt a rush of adrenalin course through her athletic body. It wasn’t going to win any awards but it actually felt like real work. She reached her desk and pulled open the top drawer. Snatching a mini digital recorder and her press pass, she stuffed both into her burgundy, faux Louis Vuitton bag. She grabbed her coat, which was draped over the back of her chair, and hurried to the elevators.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  4

  Emily struggled to a sitting position. She slid her bare feet slowly across the cold cement and pushed back awkwardly until she was leaning against the equally cold, cinder block wall. It scratched her bare back. She twisted her hips in deliberate, wrenching motions and tried to sit as straight as she could manage through the pain. Emily could not remember ever being this cold.

  She looked around her and shuddered as her nightmare continued to become more and more a reality. She had woken up in this cell, stripped completely nude. There was the one cinder block wall that she leaned against now. The other three walls were made of thick plywood. The plywood walls rose to a corrugated, metal ceiling. From that ceiling hung a small light bulb and in one corner, a video camera was mounted. It stared straight down at her.

  The floor was grey cement, the type you would find in a warehouse or a basement. The plywood wall she now faced housed a door which had a peephole that she could not see out of. She had tried, it was simply black. At the bottom of the door was a small opening with a tiny door on a hinge that opened from the outside. Twice it had lifted and through it had been passed a cold sandwich which resembled a hoagie one would buy pre-made at a gas station. There was no wrapping nor paper plate or napkin. The sandwich had simply been rolled across the floor. A bottle of water had also been rolled through the opening. She tore into both and the first time finished the water before she had the sandwich. The sandwich had tasted old and was quite possibly turning. The bread was dry and crumbled onto the floor and without water to wash it down, the sour aftertaste had lasted for hours. She didn’t make that mistake the second time.

  In a corner of the cell closest to the door sat an old, gray bucket. She had been instructed to use that as the need arose. This humiliation only added to her misery and she wept the first two times she had needed to squat over it. Thus far, the bucket had not been emptied.

  All Emily had to cover herself with was a small blanket such as a child would own. She had tried a couple of times to sit on if for comfort but the ever present video camera caused her to change her mind and pull the small blanket over her breasts and genitals as best she could. Now, she glanced up at the camera and began sobbing uncontrollably as she had been doing intermittently for several hours now.

  When she’d first awoken she quite literally thought she was having a nightmare, that she was merely having a bad dream that would end any moment and she’d wake up in her large and immaculately furnished bedroom. She would tell her mother about the dream over breakfast and shudder with the memory. Her mother would give her a big hug and the dream would fade, a soiled memory soon to be banished to the ethereal trash bin of her mind. However, after feeling the cold, hard surface of the floor and walls, she began to understand. And then she had remembered. The details had come flooding back in absolute and stark clarity. She remembered the van, the woman who had tricked her and the men who had appeared as if out of nowhere.

  On two different occasions she’d tried screaming and when she did the light had blinked out trapping her in complete darkness. These had been the times she’d come closest to losing her sanity. After her screaming stopped and she fell silent the light had come back on after a few minutes. After the second episode she learned. And she screamed no more.

  Emily had no idea whether it was night or day. She had no idea how long she’d been here. She had faded in an out of restless sleep as the hours dragged on. Choosing to cover herself as best she could, her body was wracked with chills as it pressed against the cold floor. She wanted to try and wrap herself in the thing, to have enough to lie upon and still cover herself. But the blanket was too small. And the camera was always staring.

  Now, as she sat as straight as she could to relieve the pressure from her back and hips, she thought of her mother. This only added to her misery as she realized how much all of this would affect her. Emily wept again as she chastised herself for allowing this to happen. She’d been taught from an early age not to expose herself like that. As the child of two wealthy and important parents, she’d been schooled on how to avoid a kidnapping, warned of abnormal circumstances that she was to avoid.

  Tears streamed down her face and not wanting to be subjected to the darkness again, she did her best to remain quiet. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the reality of her situation.

  “I’m sorry, mama,” she mumbled in a soft voice. “I’m so sorry….”

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  5

  There was the normal organized chaos as reporters milled about the lobby of City Hall waiting patiently for District Attorney Blumquist’s press conference. The news world was a small one, even in a major city such as New York. Everybody pretty much knew everybody else and most had worked with one another somewhere along the parallel lines of their careers.

  Christi smiled at the people she knew, nodded at the few she didn’t and felt very much like a reporter. It was a welcome change to how she felt most days at the New York Gazette. She maneuvered her way as close to the podium as she could.

  “So they let you out to play, did they?” A male voice spoke from beside her.

  Christi looked to her right and saw the familiar face of Bob Timmons, star reporter for the New York Mirror. Bob was a legend in any newsroom and had several huge stories under his belt. He was one of the journalists that she’d interned for when she was studying at NYU.

  “Holy shit, Bob,” she cried. She leaned forward and gave him a warm hug. “What the hell are you doing here? Isn’t this a tad pedestrian for a man of your stature?”

  “Ha, stop that. I’m just plain old Bob. Beat reporter.”

  “Yeah, right. So was Clark Kent,” she laughed. “But seriously, you’re covering a press conference? What’s up?”

  “It’s basically a tie in to an expose I’m doing on fiscal irresponsibility. These proposed tax increases are a joke when you put in perspective what the city wastes every year.”

  “So what else is new? Death and taxes ain’t going away.”

  “No, but I really want to hear the D. A. defend these new hires. It’ll be interesting to see her fall in lock step with the mayor.”

  There was a murmur in the crowd and Christi looked to see District Attorney Silvia Blumquist walking towards the podium. She was flanked by two beefy security types and a handful of aides.

  “Here we go,” she spoke to herself more than Bob. She quickly grabbed the recorder out of her purse and pushed the play button. A small, red light came on.

  The D.A. stood at the podium and smiled out at the many reporters and cameramen. She looked very professional in her custom suit and perfect hair. Christi noticed her nails were also impeccable and her teeth were a dazzling white.

  It’s good to have money, she thought.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” The D.A. began. “Let me first thank you all for taking the time to come here this afternoon. I know you all have busy lives and this was on short notice, so thank you.”

  “Can you tell us why you feel extra staff are necessary, or justified, when we already have a budget crisis in the city?” A male reporter spoke brusquely from the rear of the throng.

  The crowd bristled with this breach of protocol.

  “I will first outline exactly why these steps are necessary and then give you all clear illustrations as to what the end goal is but I’m going to ask that you hold all questions until I’m finished laying this out. I’m sure a lot of your questions will be answered sim
ply by hearing what I have to say.”

  “Yes,” the man continued with unmistakable contempt in his voice. “I’m sure you and the mayor, who is conspicuously absent today, have worked very diligently to explain away yet another massive tax increase that will hit the middle class the hardest. I look forward to hearing both your rationalization and your justification.”

  The D.A. stared out at him the way a school teacher would an unruly student. This was not a new tactic, usually practiced by the sleazier reporters from lesser papers as a way of garnering sensational blurbs. By being disrespectful and antagonistic, these hacks were trying to illicit an outburst or an admission. Either way it didn’t faze the woman.

  “Well it would appear as if you’ve already prejudged what I’m going to say so why don’t you just leave now and write whatever you want?” She smiled condescendingly as she spoke. “Or you can stick around, keep an open mind and try to learn something.”

  The crowd of reporters chuckled.

  “Why is it that the mayor never seems to be seen with-“

  “But to do that, you’ll have to remain quiet for a little while,” the D.A. continued, cutting the man off. “And maybe show me a little respect. Do you think you can handle that?”

  Laughter erupted among the reporters. They were used to the D.A.’s no nonsense manner. This was not a woman to be talked down to.

  Sylvia smiled again. “So now that we’ve got that behind us, let me begin to-”

  The District Attorney stopped short as a female aide stepped to the podium and placed a hand on her shoulder. The aide looked extremely upset as she leaned forward and whispered briefly in her boss’s ear. She locked eyes with the D.A. as she finished. Sylvia looked at the woman and made no attempt to hide her annoyance. There was not a person watching who couldn’t read her lips as she simply looked at the woman and asked. “Is this a joke? Now?”