Everything But The Truth (2 page)

Seconds later, she heard voices coming from the stairwell. So, there was more than one man after her. At least two. Her heart pounded viciously in her chest, and her hands shook so badly she was afraid they’d discover her hiding place by the amount of vibrations she was making. If they found her, she was sure they would kill her.

She had to stay alive. First, she concentrated on slowing down her breathing, then she tried to think. If she managed to escape, where would she go? The first thing she needed to do was call the police, of course.

Suddenly, the door squeaked open and she saw a faint trace of light on the concrete floor a few feet away. The sounds of footsteps came nearer.

“I don’t know where she went, Frankie. I can’t see a damn thing.” The man’s voice was harsh and raw sounding. “And I can’t find the light switches.”

“Just shut up and keep looking.” The second man’s voice rang with command.

“For the light switches, or the girl?”

“Both, you idiot.”

Someone kicked one of the boxes she was hiding behind. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she bit back a scream. Someone kicked it again. She stayed perfectly still. Eyes closed, she was crouched on the floor, the muscles in her legs aching as she tried to hold herself in position.

A few seconds later, she heard the footsteps grow more distant. Peyton peeked out of one eye. Apparently, the men had left the storage room, but had left the door open. Still, she didn’t move and was afraid to breathe.

Occasionally she heard noises, probably more boxes being moved and kicked in another storage room, but for the most part it was pretty quiet.

She thought about making a run for it, but for some reason her legs wouldn’t move. As she trembled, fearful images built in her mind and knotted her insides. What if they saw her? What if she wasn’t fast enough to get away this time? Maybe she should just stay put. They might get tired of looking for her and leave.

What if they found the light switches? There would be no hiding then. Besides, she’d seen one of the men, so they weren’t just going to leave her behind. They were going to keep looking for her. And when they found her…

She couldn’t bear to think about the consequences. Quickly coming to a decision, she crept along the wall, made her way to the doorway, and peered around the corner. It was too dark to see anything, and she had no idea where the men were. Standing, she listened for them. Then, not hearing anything, she tiptoed quietly toward the stairs.

“There she is!” one of them yelled. A bullet zinged past her and hit the wall to the stairwell.

Peyton took the steps two at a time, thankful she’d worn sneakers. At the top of the stairs, she ran around a corner and down another hallway. Seeing the door to the rectory, she prayed it wasn’t locked. Jerking it open, she slipped inside. With trembling fingers, she somehow managed to lock the door behind her. Then she ran.

She’d thrown her purse at the man in the kitchen. The keys to her apartment were in her purse. If she could just get to them. Coming through the utility room, she turned the corner into the kitchen. Poor Father Mike lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes vacant, his mouth open. She shuddered as she glanced around the kitchen through tear-blurred eyes, looking for her purse, but there was no sign of it. Obviously, one of the men had it, and he’d soon know how to find her.

Bringing her hands to her mouth, she muffled her whimpers. Knowing she didn’t have time to cry, she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. She needed to think, but there wasn’t time for that either.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a man coming from the church and heading toward the back of the house. A thin, wiry man with dark, greasy hair. She dropped to her knees so she wouldn’t be seen from the window and crawled to the living room, but just as she got there, the doorknob to the front door wiggled. She was trapped.

Without thinking, she ran back to the utility room and down the hall leading to the church. Flipping the deadbolt on the door, she pulled it open.

Maybe this was her chance. While they were busy checking the house, she could escape through the church. She prayed there were only two men looking for her, and not a third one.

Dropping to her knees, she crawled along the wall behind the pews and made her way to the narthex. She looked at the large double doors and thought about going through them, then changed her mind. Instead, she chose a side door.

Carefully, she pushed it open and peeked her head around the corner. When she didn’t see anyone, she ran for her life.

Chapter Two

Peyton had been questioned by practically everyone she’d seen at the Forty-sixth
Precinct. Then after questioning her, they’d contacted the FBI.

When the FBI agents arrived, they’d asked her the same questions the police had. She’d identified the two men from their mug shots. Frank Harrington and Louie Jacobi, although they were both known by a dozen or so aliases as well. Small time hoods, she’d been told. Well, they hadn’t looked small time to her. They’d murdered Father Mike, and they would have killed her, if she hadn’t been lucky enough to get away.

They worked for a man by the name of Sonny Donatelli, according to the police, some sort of mobster. Peyton couldn’t help but wonder if the police knew who these guys were, why weren’t they arresting them, instead of wasting time asking her repeated questions?

Glancing at her watch, she realized it was ten after two which meant she’d been there for hours. She was out of tears and exhausted, and if she drank one more cup of coffee that tasted like paint thinner, she was going to be sick for sure.

She’d been in the interrogation room for so long she was starting to see spots on the dingy gray walls. She wasn’t a criminal, so why was she locked away in this musty smelling room while the killers were running around free?

Getting to her feet, she walked to the opposite side of the room. Where was the one-way glass she’d seen on television? Or did they use video cameras now? Surveying the room for a hidden camera, she started when the door opened and two men walked in—two different men.

Which meant more questions.

“Ms. Delaney?” the taller of the two said. “I’m Detective Matthew Brozack. I understand you’ve been through quite an ordeal.” Detective Brozack was a pleasant looking man with silver streaked hair and pale blue eyes. He wore jeans, a white shirt with no tie, and a tan sport coat.

“Yes, I have,” she answered, crossing her arms. “Have you arrested those guys yet? I’d like to go home.”

“Well, it’s not that simple.” He pulled a chair out from the table and dropped into it. The other man, who she assumed was also a police officer, stood by the door, his arms pressed to his sides as if he were at attention. “Why don’t you have a seat, so we can talk,” Detective Brozack suggested.

“Look, Detective, why can’t you just get the information you want to know from one of the other cops who have already questioned me. I’m tired and want to go home.”

He smiled sadly at her, then looked over his shoulder at the other man. “Bill, why don’t you get Ms. Delaney a cup of coffee?”

Peyton’s hands shot up. “No, please. I’ve already had my fill.”

He laughed. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse,” she admitted, not feeling the least bit guilty. Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly. “I can’t go home, can I?”

“I don’t think that would be such a great idea.”

Oh, God. Now what?
“Why can’t you arrest them?”

“It’s not that simple,” he said again. “First of all, we need to find these guys.”

Oh, great. So they’re hiding.
But she supposed she’d be hiding, too, if she’d just murdered someone. “And then what?”

She took a seat and only half listened as the detective went through the steps and procedures before a trial. From everything he’d told her, she knew she’d be involved in this nightmare for a long, long time.

“…and I think it would be best if we talked with Witness Protection.”

Her mouth dropped open. “The Witness Protection Program?” Tears welled up in her eyes as she shook her head.

“Ms. Delaney, listen to me.”

“No!” Peyton jumped to her feet, feeling as if someone was trying to strip her life from her. What about her parents? What about the counseling she was doing? Jane and the other girls needed her. So many thoughts swam through her head, it was hard for her to think. “I can’t deal with this right now. I want to call my parents in Iowa. They’ll come and get me—”

“That’s not a real smart idea.” The detective stood. “Tell you what. Let’s get you situated in a hotel. You need to get some rest,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And then we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Peyton closed her eyes and sighed. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow. She just wanted to sleep. Maybe when she woke up, she’d realize this had all been a bad dream. Although she didn’t believe that for a minute.

****

They’d been in the stuffy hotel room for two days now. Peyton hadn’t been permitted to call her parents, and if by chance they’d been trying to reach her, they’d be worried sick by now. They’d always been overprotective of her, since she was an only child.

She’d had a number of babysitters in the last two days. Usually two or three officers at a time. A female officer always slept in the extra bed in Peyton’s room at night. The male officers slept in the adjoining room. They all took turns standing guard.

They’d furnished clothes and toiletries for her, and although she appreciated their kindness, she was sick and tired of being held prisoner.

How much longer would it take to catch those guys?

“Stay away from the window, please.” This from Officer Trenton who was as bald as a cue ball. They were on the seventh floor and the drapes were pulled shut, but the man seemed paranoid just the same. She supposed that was a good thing. Better to be over concerned for her safety than not concerned at all.

She quit her pacing and plopped down on top of the bed. “I’m going crazy,” she complained, hating herself for admitting her vulnerability. After all, it wasn’t their fault.

The female officer smiled sympathetically at her. Doreen Leonard was her name. Patting the empty chair at the small table, she asked, “Why don’t you play a game of cards with us? It’ll take your mind off things.”

“No thanks.” She didn’t mean to sound rude, but she’d never be able to concentrate on a card game, not even a simple child’s game like Go Fish.

“Hey, Doreen, you got any threes?” Officer Trenton asked.

“No, go fish.”

Peyton rolled her eyes just as the phone rang.

The officer grabbed it on the first ring. “Yeah?” He nodded his head at Officer Leonard, then turned his attention back to the caller. “Uh, huh. Uh, huh. Will do.” He hung up, and looking at Peyton, said, “They’ve picked up Louie Jacobi.”

Thank God
, she thought, feeling somewhat relieved. At least they’d gotten one of them, but there was still another man out there somewhere. A man who would be happy to see her dead. But she refused to think about him.

“They need you to pick him out of a line-up.”

Swallowing nervously, she said, “Okay. When?”

The officer glanced at his wristwatch. “Detective Brozack will be here in about an hour to escort you to the precinct.”

“Is that safe?” she asked. Even though she couldn’t wait to get out of this room, she suddenly worried about leaving.

“Sure. Don’t worry. Doreen and I aren’t going to let anything happen to you.”

“Of course we aren’t,” Officer Leonard agreed with a smile.

Closing her eyes, Peyton asked herself how all this could have happened. Maybe her father was right. She was just a small town girl with no street smarts. And now she was a witness to a murder.

She knew it wasn’t right to feel sorry for herself. After all, poor Father Mike was dead. And she was alive. She should be thankful. But somehow that wasn’t how she felt at the moment.

****

Detective Brozack and Officer Leonard escorted Peyton from the hotel room and took the elevator to the parking garage.

“I’ll get the car,” Doreen offered. She disappeared behind a row of vehicles while Peyton and the detective waited for her.

A few moments later they heard the squealing of tires, and a silver sedan pulled up beside them. Doreen yelled from the driver’s seat. “It’s a set-up, Matt. Go!” A stream of bullets sailed through the rear window of the sedan, sending glass flying in all directions.

Doreen ducked her head just as Detective Brozack jabbed the elevator button and shoved Peyton inside and to the floor. He practically fell on top of her. “Damn!” he swore, holding his side.

It took Peyton a few seconds to realize what had happened. The detective had been shot, and he was bleeding. “Oh, God. Are you going to be okay?” she asked as the elevator started to rise.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. Right now we need to concentrate on getting you out of here.”

“But—”

“Look, you don’t understand. There was obviously a leak in the department, and until I find out who it is, you won’t be safe. You have to get away.”

The elevator doors opened, and the detective grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. He used the wall for support. It was obvious he could barely stand, let alone walk—or run—if they had to. He was still bleeding—a lot.

“Listen closely, Peyton,” he said, looking in all directions. “I’m not going to be much help to you right now.” He took a couple of deep breaths and pressed his hand to his side, examining his wound.

“I have a friend. Reeve Sinclair,” he said in between labored breaths. “He’s an ex-cop. He owns a tavern—Sinclair’s—in Albany. Find him.”

From the face he made, she could tell he was in a lot of pain. “Damn,” he swore again. “Tell Reeve he owes me. Don’t trust anybody else. Do you hear me?”

Peyton nodded, swiping at her tears. She wondered who could have betrayed her. All the cops she’d met the last few days had seemed nice. She found it hard to believe that one of them wanted her dead. The thought made her shudder.

“Get yourself another look. A disguise of some kind.” He reached in his back pocket and handed her his wallet. “Take the money. All of it.”

“But I—”

“Take it, dammit!”

With shaky fingers, she yanked the money free and gave him back his wallet.

“Now, we’re going to walk out of here. Stay behind me. Understand?”

“Yes,” she said through a muffled sob.

“Let’s go.”

She followed him down a long, narrow hallway, which opened up into a wide corridor. Twice she thought he would topple over. Peyton didn’t want to leave him here alone, although it was obvious she didn’t have much choice in the matter.

“See those elevator doors?” he asked. “I want you to push the button for every floor going down. Get off at the second floor. There’s an outdoor pool on that floor. Go to…”

She tried to pay attention to the detective’s directions out of the building, but she was shaking so badly, she could barely comprehend what was he was saying.

He pulled her around a corner, and then yelled, “Go!”

“But what about you?”

“I can hold them off until help comes,” he said, waving his gun in front of him. He slid to the floor and looked up at her.

When she opened her mouth to argue, he yelled, “Now, go!”

She ran as fast as she could, jabbed at the elevator button and prayed it would open. She’d barely stepped inside when she heard a loud commotion. As the doors closed, she stabbed at the buttons like she’d been told, starting with the seventh floor all the way to the lobby. There was another popping noise, and several loud shots as well, but soon they faded away.