Текст книги "Airtight"

Автор книги: David Rosenfelt

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

“I need your help.”

“I thought that’s what you’ve been getting.”

I nodded. “And I continue to appreciate it. But we’ve got to elevate it a notch.”

“I’m listening. Reluctantly, but I’m listening.”

“We’ve got to go wide with this.” In our parlance, that meant I was saying that so far the investigation had been limited to the officers in our precinct. Going wide would mean bringing in other precincts.

“How would that help?” he asked.

“I believe he’s in a bomb shelter in one of three counties. I need every cop that can walk going door-to-door, asking people if they know of bomb shelters in their area, so we can check them out. I also got a list of abandoned missile silos from the Defense Department, which we can do as a follow-up if this doesn’t pay off.”

“You know what the odds are of this working?”

“Very slim,” I said.

“What about Gallagher?”

“I want to leave him out of this, for now. I can’t afford to burn that bridge, not while there’s a chance of him seeing the light and letting Bryan go. Or at least extending the deadline.”

“So I’m going to call in the troops, sending them on a wild-goose chase, and conceal information crucial to the investigation? When the commissioner finds out he’ll turn me into a school crossing guard, with a defective whistle.”

“It’s on me,” I said. “If it goes south, you only knew what your people told you, and I withheld the crucial facts. I’ll take the bullet.”

What I was saying was true to a point, but much was left unsaid. Barone would look bad in the process, and he had to know that.

“This is a big ask,” he said.

“Captain, my brother is going to die if we don’t do this, and maybe even if we do. I am asking you to do whatever you can to prevent that from happening, whatever the blowback might be.”

“You know which precincts we’re talking about?”

“I do.” I took a piece of paper out of my jacket pocket, and handed it to him.

He looked at it, and said, “This has to go through the chief.”

I nodded. “He’ll go with your recommendation, as long as you tell him it’s life-and-death.”

“Which is what you’re telling me,” he said, pointedly.

I nodded again. “Which is what I’m telling you.”

He thought for a moment, then went to his desk and picked up the phone, asking his assistant to get the chief on the phone for him. “If he’s not there, find him,” Barone said. “This is Grade One.”

Within twenty minutes we had the authorization we needed and I was on the way out there to organize the operation, which had almost no chance for success.

I was almost there when my cell phone rang. It showed up as “caller unknown,” which gave me hope that it was Gallagher.

It was.

“Stay near this phone,” Gallagher said, instead of “hello.”

“Of course. Why?”

“I may have information you’ll want to hear.”

“Good, but when?” I asked. “Time is running out.”

“I know the timing better than you,” he said. “I just need to confirm something, and maybe save some lives in the process. You’ll be a goddamn hero.”

“I just want my brother alive,” I said. “That’s all.”

“Then hang tight.”

“I will.”

He was quiet for a while, and I thought he might have hung up. “Hello?” I said.

“I needed to know that Steven hadn’t done anything,” he said. Again there was a long period of silence. Then, “I knew, but I needed to know.”

“Please tell me where Bryan is,” I said, but Gallagher ignored my plea.

Instead he said, “Have you ever crossed the line?”

I knew exactly what he meant. “No, I’ve gone to the edge a few times, but never crossed it.”

“Think long and hard before you do,” he said. “Because there is no way back.”

Bryan … we’re making great progress. I just had a conversation with Gallagher that was very promising. He said he was soon going to be telling me information that I’d “want to hear.”

You would have made a great cop, and it’s not too late. All you have to do is give up any hope of ever having a decent house or car, but the upside is that you’ll start getting shot at.

You’re handling this amazingly well, Bryan, and I’m proud of you. You’ve always been miscast as the younger brother, because I’ve always looked up to you.

See you soon …

“What the hell happened here?”

It was the question Tommy Rhodes asked as soon as he walked in, but he had a pretty good idea already. He had seen the car leaving, and gotten a look at the driver.

The door to Carlton’s house had been ajar when Rhodes came in, and the scene was fairly chaotic. William, who had been assisting Carlton throughout this operation, was bleeding slightly from the mouth, and had obviously come in second place in a two-person encounter.

Carlton was doing quite a bit worse. He was screaming in pain, yelling at William to get the car, and holding his arm at an awkward angle. It was obviously broken, and Rhodes saw it as a good bet that the driver who had just left was the source of the break.

“I’ve got a broken arm, that’s what happened.” Then, to William, “Let’s go.”

“Where are you going?” Rhodes asked.

“The hospital, where do you think?”

“What are you going to tell them?”

“That I fell, that I slipped, what the hell is the difference? If you got here on time, maybe this wouldn’t have happened at all.”

He started moving towards the door, but Rhodes closed it.

“What are you doing?” Carlton asked.

“I’m trying to find out what that guy wanted, and what you told him.”

For a brief instant, Carlton’s face reflected some worry along with the pain, but he recovered quickly. “He thought I had Brennan killed.”

“What did you say?”

“That I didn’t, what do you think I said? Damn idiot, he didn’t even know the cops shot the killer.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know,” Carlton lied. He wanted Rhodes in the dark as much as possible; he didn’t trust him.

“What else did you tell him?”

“Nothing. This hurts like hell, you understand? If they don’t operate on it right away, it won’t heal right.”

“Carlton, you’re not in this alone, OK? Tell me what else you told this guy.”

“For the last time, Rhodes, I didn’t tell the guy anything. Now get the hell out of the way.”

But Rhodes was no longer looking at Carlton; he had nothing more to say to him. Instead he turned to William, making eye contact without saying anything.

William understood the unspoken question, and slowly shook his head from side to side. Carlton didn’t notice the connection between the two of them; he was already heading for the door.

He got his hand to the doorknob when the three bullets hit him in the back, pushing him into the door, before he slumped to the floor.

“Leave him right here; I want him found,” Rhodes said to William.

“He will be.”

“Just the latest victim of the outraged citizens of Brayton.”

William smiled. “They’re out of control.”

Barone had done an impressive job.

Whatever he had said to his counterparts in the three northwest New Jersey counties had certainly motivated them. By the time I got to state police headquarters, officers from all three counties had gathered there. There were probably sixty in total, more than I would have expected could have been spared from other work.

“We’re looking for someone who has been kidnapped and is being held in what we believe is an underground room. Our assumption is that it is a bomb shelter, though we cannot be absolutely positive about that.”

One of the officers asked what made me think it was a bomb shelter, and I said, “The room seems to be soundproof, and fits the design typical of shelters in the sixties. C rations were also found in a metal cabinet, though they have apparently expired.

“We have reason to believe that the shelter has been occupied recently, as there is a satellite television hookup that is operable and in use.”

I showed them pictures of Bryan; I didn’t mention that he was my brother, but it’s likely that some of them made the connection because of the name, and the rather slight resemblance between us.

“There is a complicating factor,” I said. “A major complicating factor. There is a limited air supply, scheduled to run out soon. So there is no time to lose.”

“What’s the plan?” an officer asked.

“The plan is to go door-to-door, asking everyone if they have or, more importantly, know of bomb shelters in their area. We can then cross-check that against our list of homes with satellites.

“Every single possibility must be followed up on immediately, and if we need more manpower, I’ll make sure that we get it. I am aware that this is a difficult assignment, but we are one knock on a door away from solving it, and saving Bryan Somers.

“There is no time to lose, ladies and gentlemen. This situation defines ‘life-and-death.’”

Lucas … I am very, very anxious to hear more about your progress with Gallagher. I don’t have to tell you that time is running short.

I keep imagining that I’m having trouble breathing, that the air is running out prematurely. But I’m still alive, so clearly I’ve been mistaken. So far …

Hoping that someone gets me out of here before I run out of air is definitely the textbook definition of “waiting with bated breath.”

Hurry …

Alex Hutchison was gratified, but not surprised, at the response.

People were scared, and they were frustrated, and they were looking for someone to help them find a solution. Alex was providing, if not a solution, then at least a plan of attack. No one had a better idea, so they followed her.

People had started showing up the day before, bringing their tents and sleeping bags with them. Underneath them was the natural gas that Hanson was planning to bring up, in Alex’s mind destroying the environment in the process.

But no one would be able to drill while the land was inhabited by so many people, and it was Alex’s intention to keep a good number of protesters there 24/7.

Alex had confidence that the Brayton police would not attempt to evict them; those officers were the friends of the protesters. Their children went to the same schools, breathed the same air, and drank the same water. They would not turn on the protesters and do Hanson’s bidding.

Alex spent as much time as she could at the site, keeping morale up, and making sure as best she could that everyone was well behaved. Logical speculation was rampant that the recent violence was committed by protesters, so Alex wanted to keep these demonstrations as peaceful and law-abiding as possible.

But Alex instinctively understood that demonstrations could only be effective if there was someone to demonstrate to. Hanson Oil and Gas had paid a fortune for that land, and they were not about to pack up their drills and go home because there were people camping out on it.

Even if the Brayton police were reluctant to do their bidding, Hanson would undoubtedly get a court order, and then some police organization, local, state, or Federal, would be forced to act on it. Alex needed to make it as painful as possible for Hanson to try and do that.

The only chance to accomplish the goal was to win the public relations battle. That was why she had called a huge rally for Saturday evening. Her hope was to get at least ninety percent of the citizens of Brayton, plus many supporters from nearby towns, to descend on the contested land.

By publicizing the rally as much as possible, she hoped to get the media out in force. Interviews with worried parents, their children by their sides, would send a powerful message.

So Alex made the rounds, talking to the people camped out and offering them words of encouragement. It was not easy for them; these were not wealthy people who could afford to take time out of their lives. Husbands and wives were alternating staying on the property, each arriving as the other went back to their job, earning the money that they needed to pay the bills.

As she walked around, she noticed someone she recognized. She had spoken to the man at her diner; he had asked her a bunch of questions. There was a physicality about him that was intimidating.

But he was minding his own business, talking to no one, and in fact paying attention to no one. He seemed to be pacing the land, as if measuring it out. Then, as she watched, he walked over to one of the areas where test drilling had been done.

He leaned down, and although it was getting dark and hard to see, he seemed to be feeling the dirt. Then he walked over to another, similar place, and did the same thing.

Buttressed by the fact that there were a lot of people around to dissuade the stranger from doing anything to her, Alex walked over to him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Bothering no one,” Gallagher said.

“Do you work for Hanson?”

“Go back to your friends.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just kept conducting his mysterious examination of the area. She kept following him, not backing down.

“You’re not going to drill on this land,” she said.

“You got that right,” he said. “No one is.”

She persisted. “Who are you?”

“Lady, I’m the person that’s going to save your life. Don’t make me regret it.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Are you always this big a pain in the ass?” he asked. “When the police tell you to leave this property, don’t give them a hard time like you’re giving me. Listen to them.”

“Our police would never try to throw us out.”

“The state police will. Start packing up.”

“We’re not leaving.”

He didn’t bother answering her; instead he headed for his car. The decision had been made; he’d call Luke from the car, and tell him what was going on, and where Bryan was.

There was no longer any need for Bryan to die; justice was going to be served in another way. And Luke would help in that process; Gallagher would use him to get the New York State Police to do what they needed to do, one way or the other.

He turned the key, started the ignition, and shared the fate of Michael Oliver.

It wasn’t until later, after the fires had been put out and the police and firemen were searching the scene for clues, that they also discovered the body of Tommy Rhodes. He was killed in his car, which was almost a quarter mile down the road from where the explosion took place. It was done execution-style, by a bullet in the back of his head.

This was where I would be for the next thirty-six hours.

I took a room at a Holiday Inn in Morristown, but I’d be spending very little time in it. I was there to find Bryan, and I wasn’t going home until he was with me.

And I was going to be out in the field with everyone else. I wouldn’t be making door-to-door cold calls, though. We had gathered data from local real estate agents, showing all homes that had been on the market in the last decade that listed a bomb or fallout shelter among their attributes. It was considered a plus in selling a home, albeit a minor one.

So I’d be going to those places that we already knew had such a shelter, after cross-checking it against our list of satellite homes. Unfortunately, this didn’t provide proof that there was a satellite hookup in the shelter itself, only in the home.

The officers on the hunt were going out in pairs, because finding the home with Bryan could prove dangerous. Gallagher could have accomplices there that might resist a rescue attempt, and the officers had to be prepared for that.

I also had a partner, the identity of whom was a big surprise. Emmit showed up, looking weak and a little worse for wear, but anxious to be of help. Emmit at half strength was a hell of a lot tougher than I was, and I was happy to have him back. I was also very grateful.

We spent a few hours going over our information, and making sure all the other officers knew their assignments. It was complicated, especially since we were doing it on the fly. We didn’t want any duplication of efforts; there just wasn’t time to waste.

I was no longer focused on the situation in Brayton. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe it was connected to the Brennan murder; the fact was that I did. And once Bryan was safe and sound, I would revisit it, and bring in the Feds and anyone else necessary to crack the case.

Brennan wasn’t the only victim in that situation. Michael Oliver had also died, and Emmit had been shot. It still seemed illogical to me. Carlton and Hanson Oil and Gas had the most to gain by preventing Brennan’s ascension to the court, and therefore had the motive to kill him. But the rest of the violence was meant to hurt those companies. Could there be killers on both sides? It seemed very, very unlikely.

But in the court of Gallagher, I had already milked it for all it was worth. Based on my last conversation with him, I think it had accomplished a lot. But he seemed intent on convincing himself without any more help from me, and I could only hope that he’d do so quickly.

But that was just a hope, and I couldn’t begin to rely on it. So Brayton would go on the back burner while we found Bryan.

It was while I was walking through the station that I saw the report on the television. There was another explosion near the site of the property in Brayton. It happened in the parking lot, adjacent to where the residents had set up their protest camp.

One person was believed killed, but either the identity of the victim was unknown or they weren’t yet ready to report it. Another person, identified as Tommy Rhodes, was shot in the head and died at the scene. The Mayor, Edward Holland, was again pleading for outside intervention, and railing against those who were not providing it.

The way things were going, I figured that by the time I got back to focusing on Brayton, they would have all killed each other.

We have strong reason to believe you are in a bomb shelter in northwest New Jersey. We have a massive manhunt going on to check every single shelter in three counties. Barone has mobilized a huge number of state police officers, and every one is looking for you.

This is in addition to the Gallagher news I told you about. I’m openly telling you all this because I’m hoping he’s reading the e-mails. Gallagher, if you are, please contact me as soon as possible.

We’re coming, Brother.

“I have no easy way to tell you this, Jules.”

Julie Somers braced herself for what was going to come next. It was going to be bad; Lou Rodriguez was not prone to the dramatic.

“Tell me,” she said into the phone, but not really wanting him to.

“Gallagher is dead.”

The news hit her in the chest, and pushed her back against the wall. “How?”

“Someone blew up his car in a parking lot in Brayton … where the protesters are camping out.”

“You’re sure it was him?” she asked, knowing the question was a stupid one.

“I’m sure. I’m sorry, Jules.”

“Any idea who did it?”

“No, I was watching him while someone must have rigged the car. If it helps, he had gone to Carlton’s house, and was in there about twenty minutes. Based on the yelling I heard, it wasn’t a fun visit for Carlton. I looked in the window when Gallagher left, and Carlton was holding his arm at a weird angle and still moaning to some other guy who had been there.

“I left to follow Gallagher, and he went to the place he died from there.”

“What was he doing there, do you know?” She was trying to get as much information as she could for Lucas; he might have a view of the big picture in a way that whatever Lou saw could be helpful. She doubted it, but had nothing else to hold on to.

“Just walking around, looking at some of the drilling equipment, checking out the dirt, or something. I couldn’t tell, really. He spent some time talking to a woman there, the one who was on TV. Then he went to his car and that was it. The explosion took out a bunch of cars around him.”

Julie pumped Lou for additional information, but he didn’t have anything more of value to offer, and in fact wasn’t yet aware that Rhodes was also murdered nearby. And the truth was, she doubted that what he did say could help Bryan in any way.

Gallagher’s only value to her was his knowledge of where Bryan was. At the moment, she couldn’t care less if he had solved the Brennan murder, or the violence in Brayton, or the Lindbergh kidnapping. He was the only one who had known where Bryan was, and that knowledge had died with him.

And now she had to tell Luke.

We had two chances to find Bryan, and then suddenly we had one.

What Julie had to tell me was even more devastating than that simple math makes it appear, because Gallagher represented by far the greater of the two opportunities. What we were doing in searching for shelters was a long shot at best.

Weird as it may sound, hearing about Gallagher’s death made me realize for the first time that Bryan might die as well. Of course I had known that intellectually for quite a while, but I was so wrapped up in the “hunt” that I kept the truth about Bryan’s situation tucked in the back of my mind.

Now it was front and center, and it made me so scared that I felt nauseous.

“How bad is it?” Julie asked.

I wasn’t going to lie to her. “It’s very bad,” I said. “And it’s my fault.”

“How is that?”

“I should have started this search days ago. Instead I focused too much on Brayton, and on convincing Gallagher to let Bryan go. I thought that was our only real shot, so that’s where I spent my time.”

“It was the logical thing to do,” she said.

“No, the logical thing when you have a kidnapping is to look for the victim. I was too intent on convincing Gallagher, and not spooking him.”

“Are you going to tell Bryan?”

“I don’t know,” I said, because I didn’t. “I’ve been getting his hopes up, because mine were up, and because I don’t want him taking those pills. I’m afraid if I tell him what happened he might panic and take them. What do you think?”

“I think we need to keep him alive until we can’t keep him alive any longer,” she said. “Hold off on telling him.”

“OK. For now.”

“You want to hear the rest of what Lou said, about Gallagher going to see Carlton, and then going to the site of the drilling?”

“Will it help us for me to hear it?” I asked.

“Probably not, but you never know.”

She told me the rest of it, and I filed it away to use after Bryan’s rescue.

“I’m coming out there,” she said. “I want to help search.”

“OK. I don’t blame you.”

I told her where I was staying, and that I’d book a room for her. Unfortunately, I only would need to book it for one night, because that’s all we had left.

The media was not yet reporting that Chris Gallagher was the person killed in the blast. Based on what Julie had said, it was unlikely that the body had been ID’d yet or, for that matter, even recovered remotely intact.

If there was enough left of the car they could probably trace it to Gallagher in that way, especially if it was owned or rented by him. If it was borrowed, it would take that much longer. Trying to recover and test DNA would take longer still.

I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what the hell Gallagher was doing at Carlton’s house, or the disputed land after that. But that was for another day.

Soon Julie would be here, and together we would find Bryan.

Or we wouldn’t, and then nothing would ever be the same.

Lucas … it’s great that you seem so optimistic. I trust that you’re telling me the truth.

This afternoon there was no news on, so I watched a movie. It was calledThe King’s Speech ; I doubt that you saw it because it had no explosions or nudity. It was a true story about a relationship between two men, a Royal Prince and the therapist who helped him cure his lifelong stammer.

The Prince had a brother, who became King and then left the throne for a woman, making the stammering Prince the new King. Though they were brothers, they had no relationship at all, or at least not one worth having.

Maybe facing death is making me sentimental, but it told me that family is not enough, friendship is more important. So if I get out of this, I want to be friends, not just brothers.

And if I don’t make it, I want you to know that I forgive you for what you have done, and I forgive Julie as well.

But get me the hell out of here.

Julie arrived ninety minutes later.

She met us in the hotel restaurant, where Emmit and I took her through the progress we had made, and where things stood. As updates go, it wasn’t a pleasant one, because we were not getting anywhere.

Of course, in the kind of operation we were conducting you’re always getting nowhere, unless and until you have one hundred percent success. We’d certainly eliminated possibilities; officers had filed reports indicating that they had already checked out seventy-one confirmed bomb shelters.

In four of those instances, they were refused admittance until they threatened to bring the owners to the station and make their lives miserable. Failing that, the officers would have gotten search warrants, but it was unnecessary, because in each case there was ultimate compliance.

It was getting late, and we all decided to get four hours’ sleep and meet very early in the morning. There was nothing we could do anymore that night, and we needed to be refreshed for the next day. Left unspoken was what we all knew: it was Bryan’s last day.

Emmit went upstairs first, leaving Julie and me. We ordered a drink, just one because of that need to be completely alert the next day. It also might help us sleep, although at that point I didn’t think a sledgehammer to the head could put me out.

“Have you told Bryan about what happened to Gallagher?” she asked.

“No. Not yet.”

She nodded. “Good. Please give it a little time. We’re going to get it done tomorrow.”

I had strong doubts we would, but saw no need to mention it at that point.

Sitting with her right then was weird but not awkward, if that makes any sense. It was weird because of the awful situation we were facing, and because we were two people who had been in love with each other for six years.

After that one night, we never talked about it or our feelings for each other, and we definitely weren’t about to now. But it hung out there over the table like a fairly large-sized watermelon.

Since we couldn’t talk about that and we certainly didn’t want to discuss Bryan’s plight anymore, Julie asked me, “So, at the end of the day, did Steven Gallagher kill Danny Brennan?”

“No way. We can add that to the list of things I’ll have to live with.”

“He raised the gun, Luke. He was going to shoot either himself, or you. The fact that he didn’t kill Brennan didn’t make him less dangerous.”

“Yeah,” I said, with as little enthusiasm as I was feeling. “Did you see The King’s Speech?”

“Yes. Great movie.”

“Bryan saw it the other night; he assumed I hadn’t seen it, because it seemed too upscale for my taste.”

She laughed and said, “I would assume the same thing.”

At least I think that’s what she said. I was focusing on the fact that when she said it she put her hand on my arm. It was like a jolt of electricity; she could have been reciting the Gettysburg Address and I wouldn’t have noticed.

Finally I said, “I saw it the night it came out.”

“Then you had a date that chose the movie.”

She had removed her hand, so I was hearing clearly again. “Guilty as charged, counselor. Anyway, Bryan wrote about the relationships that the brothers had, and compared it to the relationship between the Prince and the speech therapist. It showed him that family isn’t enough; you need to work at being friends.”

She nodded as if she understood; I guess when you live with someone for six years you get a good idea how they view things.

“Funny thing is, that’s not what struck me about it at all,” I said. “It got me thinking about how we’re all programmed from an early age to be what we’re going to be. Not because of any royal line of succession like those guys, but by our parents, or our intelligence, or whatever. For a lot of reasons, Bryan was going to be in business and I was going to be a cop.”

“I think you both wound up in the right place.”

We both realized at the same time the place Bryan was in at the moment, which put an end to the discussion.

“Let’s go,” I said. I paid the check, and we went upstairs. We walked down the hall to Julie’s room; mine was just a few doors past it. When we got to her door, I wanted to go in with her. I’m less in need of comforting than anyone I’ve ever met, but at that moment we both needed it, and we were uniquely in a position to provide it for each other.

“Good night,” I said.

She kissed me lightly on the cheek. “Good night, Luke. Tomorrow is going to be a great day.”

“Yes, it is,” I said.

She closed the door, and I walked the rest of the way to my room. It seemed like about four miles.

Hang in there, Brother. Big day tomorrow. Julie came up because she wants to be there when you get out; I hope that’s OK.

More tomorrow.

I was right about having trouble sleeping.

I lay there for a while, trying to ready myself for what we were facing, and trying to quell the fear.

I think I fell asleep, in fits and starts, and the only reason I say that is because I was having a dream. I don’t remember that much of it now, but Bryan was the King of England, or at least King of something, and I was sort of a dope in the castle who nobody paid any attention to. It was the Paterson, New Jersey, version of The King’s Speech.

I had the dream a little after five in the morning, and the reason I know that is because that’s what time it was when I jumped up like someone shoved a hot poker up my ass.

I grabbed the phone and called Julie and Emmit. “Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes,” I said to each of them. They both asked what was going on, and I just repeated, “Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

I was down there in twelve, and Julie was already waiting for me. Emmit was there a few seconds later. There was coffee in the lobby, and we each grabbed a cup and sat down.

“Bryan e-mailed me that he watched The King’s Speech,”I said. “He’s had television service throughout.”

They didn’t say anything, probably hoping that I was going to offer more than this old news.

I was.

“I read an article a while back, I think it had to do with targeting advertisements to people, but the point of it was that the satellite and cable companies know what you are watching. They keep records of it; they even know what people record.”

“I think I read that,” Emmit said.

I could see excitement building in Julie’s eyes, but it was tempered. “But you know how many people watched The King’s Speechthat night?”