Good Cop Bad Cop (A James Harris Series Book 1) Page 9

  The morgue? Harris looked into his rearview mirror at himself.

  “Holy shit, that’s it,” he spoke aloud. “The morgue!”

  Flipping his lights and siren on, Harris cut to the right across three lanes of traffic as cars screeched to avoid him. He made it onto the exit ramp and flew down towards the stop lights. Cars were stacked deep waiting for the green but with his siren and lights on, Harris simply sped around them. Making a left, he drove beneath the underpass and with another quick left was back on the C.I.P., this time heading south. He turned off his siren and reached for his phone, searching his contacts until he found a number. He pressed the green bar on his phone and lifted it to his ear. After four rings a woman answered.

  “Nassau County Medical Examiner’s office, how can I help you?”

  “Hi, this is Lieutenant Harris of the NYPD. Is Bob still in?”

  “You mean Doctor Watts?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hold please.”

  “No! Don’t put me on….Jesus Christ,” Harris muttered as Let’s Get Physical by Olivia Newton John now played in his ear. He drummed the top of his steering wheel anxiously as he waited.

  “Nassau County Medical Examiner’s office. How can I help you?”

  “It’s still me. Is Bob…errr….Doctor Watts in or not?”

  “He is in the middle of a procedure. I’m afraid he can’t be disturbed.”

  “So he’s there?”

  “Yes but he can’t be disturbed.”

  “Tell him it’s Jimmy Harris. I’m on the Cross Island on my way to your office. Do not let him leave!”

  “Sir, I cannot-“

  Harris hung up before she could finish. He flipped his siren on one more time and sped down the highway as cars hurried to clear a path for him. Bonnie and dinner would have to wait.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  25

  The place was a Joe Coffee on Columbus Ave on the Upper West Side. The three men shared a small table, each with a black coffee in front of them. They leaned in towards each other as the never ending stream of patrons milled around them, calling out orders and jostling for position at the counter. It was a typical New York morning, as every person in sight seemed to be in a contest to see who was in the biggest hurry.

  “I don’t give a damn what she said,” Deputy Commissioner Dinkins spoke with quiet authority. “You two will continue to investigate this case and you will report directly to me.”

  “With all due respect,” Lieutenant Mullins said. “The D.A. doesn’t like us very much. She’s made that more than clear.”

  “Oh bullshit, she doesn’t think one way or another about you. She just wants her daughter back.”

  “But if she finds out we’re circumventing her orders, we can both kiss our careers goodbye,” Danforth added, as his partner nodded in agreement.

  “Bullshit. This comes from the Commissioner and if he deems it necessary he can add a platoon of cops to a case. Besides, if you find the little princess, you guys will both be captains before Christmas.”

  “But if we start poking around, Harris is sure to find out. He has a direct pipeline to the D.A.. He can blow us out of the water.”

  “Look, there are a hundred ways I can spin it if she finds out you’re still chasing leads. And if there’s any heat, I will take it.”

  Danforth and Mullin both turned to look at each other. Neither looked convinced.

  “Just do it,” Dinkins spoke as he pushed his chair backwards and rose to stand. “And I want to be briefed twice a day. Like I said, this is coming from Commissioner Gerland himself. Make it happen.”

  “Yes sir,” Mullin said.

  Dinkins turned to leave and then stopped and leaned back towards the men who remained seated. “Also, I want you to get any dirt you can on Harris. Understand?”

  “Sir?” Danforth asked.

  “You’re bound to run into some people he’s trampled on as he chases this. Let me know exactly what he’s been doing and who he’s done it to.”

  “”We’ll do our best.”

  “Do better than your best. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone here. As a matter of fact, when you’re not chasing leads on this case I want you two to take turns tailing that asshole.”

  “Sir, that will take an unbelievable amount of time.”

  “Just for the next few days. You get me the goods on that bastard and I’ll see you each get an extra week of paid leave.”

  “Sir, Harris is going to make us,” Mullin spoke. “He’s good.”

  “So be better!” Dinkins snapped. “Jesus Christ all I’m asking for is a few days!”

  A number of the patrons turned to look at the three. The Deputy Commissioner glared at them until they looked away.

  “Do we have an understanding?”

  The men nodded and the internal affairs chief spun on his heel and quickly exited the coffee shop.

  Danforth and Mullin sat in silence for a several minutes. Each looked down at his coffee and contemplated their new orders. Finally Danforth looked at his partner and spoke.

  “We’re screwed.”

  “Yeah. Pretty much.”

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  26

  Christi sat in the back of the Yellow Cab and waited. The meter was running but she was sure that she would be allowed to expense it. Especially if she brought in an exclusive on Harris, the bad boy cop. They were parked on the right side of the road, across the street from the 12th precinct. Harris’ black Camaro was parked four cars ahead of her. She wasn’t certain that she, or the cab driver, could pull this off but it was worth the risk. The only way she would ever be able to write a first person account about a day in the life of the renegade cop was to see it for herself.

  “Lady, the fare is getting high,” the cabbie spoke in a thick accent as he turned his head to face her. He was of Middle Eastern descent and wore a turban. “I hope that you can pay.”

  Christi reached into her purse and produced a fifty dollar bill. She handed it to the man.

  “This should cover the meter and then some,” she said. She reached into her purse and pulled out a second fifty dollar bill. “And this is your tip if you stick with that black Camaro once it leaves.” She put the bill back in her purse.

  The man smiled broadly showing off yellow, stained teeth. “Oh yes, ma’am. I will make sure he does not get away.”

  “This is not a car chase so stay a ways back. He can’t know we’re following him.”

  The man’s face registered concern. “Forgive me, young lady, but I do not want to get in trouble. Is this legal?”

  For the third time, Christi reached into her purse. She pulled out her press credentials and flashed it at the man. “I’m a reporter covering a case. This is perfectly legitimate.”

  The man relaxed and smiled again. “Thank you. What paper do you write for?”

  “The New York Gazette.”

  “Oh,” the man hesitated. “I don’t read that one.”

  “Well,” Christi smiled at him. “I’ll bet you will soon enough.”

  Christi grabbed her phone and between glances at the precinct door, responded to a text from one of her best friends. The woman was trying to set her up with a sculptor who lived in the Village. A sculptor, she thought to herself. This has got to be a joke. Christi had always been attracted to men who were the take charge, action type. She could just imagine what kind of wildly boring conversations she would be trapped into with a member of the art community.

  ‘LOL…no thanks’ she texted. ‘I’m not over my breakup with the drag queen painter yet.’

  She pressed send. Within seconds she got a reply.

  -Very funny. You would like him –

  Christi began to answer when she looked up and saw Harris exit the building. She quickly put her phone back in her purse and tapped the cabbie on the shoulder.

  “That’s him!” She said with more excitement than she’d intended.

  Christi watched as Harris walked a
cross the busy street. She couldn’t help notice his broad shoulders and the self-assured swagger he had as he walked. He was not arrogant in his self confidence, but he definitely stood out from the crowd. She noticed that along with a tan blazer, he also wore faded jeans. They were not designer jeans, but the type a cowboy would wear and without realizing it, she bit her lower lip. Christi noticed the cab driver looking at her through the rear view mirror and she dropped her head in embarrassment.

  Get a grip, she thought to herself. Stop the schoolgirl shit. She cleared her throat.

  “You should focus on him,” Christi spoke, a tinge of annoyance in her voice, as she lifted her head to lock eyes with the cabbie again. “I’m pretty sure you’re not going to lose me.”

  The cabbie smiled softly and watched as the Camaro pulled into the street. He eased his cab out from the curb and began to follow.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  27

  “I’m just upset that you didn’t even bother to consult me on the matter.”

  “Why in the hell would I need to consult you? I’m doing everything in my power to get Emily back!”

  Sylvia walked around the large, granite island, which stood in the middle of her expansive kitchen. She carried her coffee mug to the cantor and after pouring a refill, turned to face her husband. He sat at the mahogany, hand carved table which sat twelve. The table had been designed and carved especially for them by a Belgium wood master.

  “Do you know what they say about this guy? He’s a goddamn criminal with a badge,” Sheldon spoke with exasperation.

  “Oh, bullshit,” Sylvia snapped. “He’s never been convicted of any wrong doing and he’s got the best arrest record on the force.”

  “Yeah, he’s also had more charges filed against him than any cop too.”

  “Of which, exactly zero have stuck!”

  “That just means he knows how to work the system,” her husband replied.

  “Maybe so,” Sylvia answered. “But isn’t that exactly who you want looking for Emily?”

  “We’ve already got the FBI and two of the top detectives the NYPD has looking for her. How do we know this renegade won’t rough up the wrong person or even scare the kidnappers into…” Sheldon stopped short, unable to finish the sentence.

  “Into what?” Sylvia asked, her face a blank stare. “Go ahead and finish.”

  Her husband sat in silence, his head down. He looked at his empty plate, which sat in front of him.

  “Into killing her?”

  Sheldon looked up and locked eyes with his wife. His face muscles twitched as he tried to hold back the tears that welled in his eyes.

  “Yeah, Sheldon, I can say it. Hiding from it is the worst thing we can do.”

  Large tears rolled down her husband’s face and he turned away to stare down at the table again. Despite herself, Sylvia felt revulsion watching him show weakness. She knew it was irrational but his tears made her angry. Sheldon cleared his throat and struggled to compose himself.

  “I just don’t understand why. How could this happen? It doesn’t seem real.”

  Sylvia, disgusted by the emotion she had just felt, walked over and placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder. She squeezed. Sheldon responded by reaching across his chest with his right hand and placing it atop his wife’s.

  “Let’s say the rumors are true,” Sylvia spoke softly. “Let’s pretend for a second that James Harris is a steam roller who does whatever it takes to get the bad guy. Let’s go even further and say that he is capable of committing a crime if it solves a case.”

  She paused and her husband looked up and into her eyes. His tears had stopped.

  “Don’t you want that guy on our side?” She asked.

  Sheldon remained quiet. He finally pushed back his chair and stood. Turning so that he faced his wife, he took his time to choose the right words. He saw the lack of sleep in her eyes and noticed that her crow’s feet appeared to have deepened seemingly overnight.

  “Sylvia,” he began gently. “I want Emily back as much as you do. This is tearing me apart and I know it’s doing the same to you. But if you dance with the devil, there will always be terrible consequences. There are other ways. Nothing is worth selling your soul for.”

  Sylvia took a step back, her face aghast at what she’d just heard. This time she made no effort to hide her disgust.

  “Are you kidding me?” She asked, disbelief in her voice. “Did you really just say that?”

  “Sylvia-”

  “Nothing is worth it?!” She screamed in anger.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “You go straight to hell! I would sign a blood oath with Satan himself in order to get Emily back safely!”

  “Sylvia, that is not what-”

  “Who the hell are you?!” She backed away in horror. “What kind of man are you?!”

  “Don’t you speak to me as if I don’t want Emily back as much as you do!” Sheldon finally yelled back, his own face growing red with anger. “But are you prepared to throw away your political career by cutting a deal with a man who by all rights should be off the force!? I’m trying to be the voice of reason!”

  “Oh my God,” Sylvia clasped a hand over her mouth and looked with wide eyed incredulity at her husband.

  “Oh stop with the holier than thou bullshit,” Sheldon said with disdain. “I’m looking at the entire picture here. You make it sound as if I’m trading on Emily’s life.”

  “You son of a bitch,” she whispered.

  “If it goes public that you sought out this animal, and then got his suspension overturned, you’re through.” Sheldon added, standing his ground.

  “You unbelievable son of a bitch,” Sylvia repeated. She stared into her husband’s face and searched for something, anything to tell her that this was just stress talking. But he meant it. She knew that.

  “You get the hell out of this house,” she said, with a low, raspy voice raw from crying.

  “Sylvia, do not be ridiculous.”

  “Get the hell out,” she repeated.

  “You’re tired.”

  “Go stay at the apartment in the city, I don’t want to see your face here.”

  “You are overreacting.”

  “GET OUT!”

  Sheldon jumped, startled by the loud outburst. He stared into the contorted face of his wife and knew further discussion was futile. He nodded slowly.

  “Okay. And when you come to your senses you know where to find me,” Sheldon said.

  With that, he turned and left the kitchen.

  Sylvia watched his back as he exited and then she placed both hands down on the cold counter. Her eyes stared past the granite and into something much farther away, something much darker. And then her own tears fell. She closed her eyes and sobbed.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  28

  A naked and shivering Emily sat in the cold, wooden chair just outside her makeshift cell. She stared into the dark vacancy with eyes like those of a doll, devoid of emotion and almost lifeless. She no longer cried or even appeared panicked. Her kidnapper had led her out of her cage by simply offering his hand. She had taken it and followed meekly, a broken shell of the vibrant and energetic woman she had been just five days prior.

  Emily had not struggled when her captor sat her down, nor had she resisted when he secured each of her wrists and ankles to the chair. She had also paid no mind when the man had thrown an aging bouquet of flowers onto her lap.

  On the floor of her cell lay a legal pad upon which she had written the note that she would now recite aloud for the camera. There was no longer a need for the pad as she had memorized the short message as she had been instructed.

  She sat motionless and seemed oblivious to the man as he made his preparations. To her right a switch was clicked and a row of green lights appeared on the black box. The man then went to the video camera which was set on a tripod five feet in front of Emily. He clicked another switch and a red light appeared on the camera. Wit
h one final button pushed, a bright light from behind the camera illuminated Emily fully. The man clapped his hands loudly.

  “Father…you are to place ten million dollars in your off shore account in the Caymans. In two days you will receive a text message with a routing and account number,” Emily relayed the message with a blank stare. There was no emotion in her voice. “As soon as you receive the text you will have five minutes to make the transfer. If it is not done within five minutes, this will happen.”

  There was a discernible click as a switch was thrown.

  Emily’s chest heaved forward and her shoulders were thrown back. Her head twisted grotesquely to the left and her neck muscles bulged from the strain of the voltage passing through her. Her hands, jutting from the end of each restraint, danced madly, fingers snapping opening wildly and then shutting into claws with jerking spasms. After fifteen seconds it stopped and Emily slumped forward. The room was silent except for the sound of the young woman fighting to breathe, her bare breasts rising and falling rapidly. A large vein in her neck pulsed visibly with each rapid heartbeat.

  A pair of hands clapped loudly. Emily struggled to raise her chin. The hands clapped again with a crisp smack.

  “This-this will happen each minute that passes until the transfer is complete,” Emily spoke, straining weakly to look into the camera. Her eyes were now wide with fright and her lips trembled as she spoke.

  As she finished reciting the message, Emily’s chin dropped again and she sat silently, staring at the legs of the tripod as she continued to breathe heavily.

  The hands clapped piercingly again. Emily lifted her eyes to the camera. They were wide and vacant.

  “Help me, daddy,” she sobbed softly. “Help me.”