Read Justice Online

Authors: Jennifer Harlow

Justice (9 page)

BOOK: Justice
9.24Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads


Yes, but you might remember something new now. A forgotten detail that surfaces that could help. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.


I suppose.

She looks down at the floor and continues.

After the gala, Chad and I went to the Bahamas for a week to recover from the whole ordeal. We were back maybe two hours when three men broke in. They just kicked the door down and ran into Chad’s townhouse. We were in the living room, and they shot Chad on sight right through the head. The blood…

She closes her eyes.

It was all over me. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even scream. That’s when another man pointed what looked like another gun at me. But it was a Taser. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a windowless room.

Those men were found the next day with two holes in their heads. A five million dollar ransom was demanded, but the kidnapper wasn’t forthcoming with his identity. James Ryder’s name popped up a few times, but he had disappeared as well. On paper, he seemed like a legitimate businessman with a crush. It was Justice who suggested that the gala and kidnapping were connected. Within three days, it was confirmed. James Ryder was Alkaline, the supervillain who ran Diablo’s Ward. With this revelation, the biggest manhunt in the city’s history was underway. The psycho made his first mistake in all his years. Love makes even the most methodical sloppy.


James showed up hours later with my still packed suitcase. I begged him to let me go, but he refused. I spent the first few days curled up in a ball in bed almost catatonic. James would just open the door and check on me like a nurse does a patient. He’d say, ‘Everything will be alright, Grace. I promise,’ and he’d leave. Hunger finally got the best of me, and I left the bed to eat. Mind you, I only had the finest. All my favorites from the top restaurants. The room had a TV, books, all I could want. He knew all my tastes.


I think it was the fifth day that I was allowed out of my room. We were underground somewhere, so there were no windows and most doors were locked. There were guards on duty at all times, but I could walk around. I had access to the living room, dining room, office, and kitchen, though the forks and knives were locked up.


He took you home,

I say.


Yes. And he treated me like a guest. As best as I can figure, with hindsight mind you, he brought me there so I would fall in love with him. For us to get to know each other better. He believed that if I was alone with him, and we spent enough time together, I’d forget about Chad and love him instead. At the time I just knew to play along with whatever he wanted. We’d play chess or watch movies, and we’d always have dinner together.


Did he talk to you about his crimes? His accomplices?


Some. He spoke about his childhood in the Ward, coming into his power. I gave the names he mentioned and crimes when I was rescued. I haven’t been able to recall any others since.


What about places?


None,

she says sadly,

and since last night I’ve been trying. I want him caught as much as you do. Probably more.


That’s okay,

I say with a sympathetic smile. This is a waste of time. I’m not doing anything but torturing her now. I start to stand up, but she grows tense.


You’re leaving?

she asks.


I can get the rest of this from the case files. You don’t have to—


I want to,

she says.

I
need
to. I need you to hear it. So you can understand who you’re dealing with. So when he’s in your sights, you don’t hesitate.

A chill fills the room spurred on by her voice. I sit again.

Okay.

Grace’s gaze moves to the outside of her window.

I did my best to be a good prisoner. I was attentive when he’d drone on for hours about Justice and his crimes. I’d help him make dinner. And yes, I even let him kiss me on a few occasions. He actually believed I loved him after a week or two. But at night when I was locked back in my room, I’d cry myself to sleep. Every night.


What happened the day you escaped?


He’d just had the fight with Justice at the library.

Ryder was at the library in a disguise, but a patron still recognized him and called the police. Justice got there first. It took a year before they could re-open it. Many said it was a miracle that the entire place didn’t collapse. If you look closely, you can see the patches they had to put in where the acid ate away the wall.


He was so enraged, like nothing I had ever seen before. I can only equate it to demonic possession. He threw things, destroyed a chair, and…even killed one of the guards who tried to calm him down.

Tears glisten in her eyes.

His body…there was nothing left of his chest but blood and pulp. I ran screaming into my room, barricading the door with anything I could. I was so terrified, I huddled in the corner.


Then perhaps five minutes later, as if nothing had happened, James knocked on my door. He apologized for the outburst, for scaring me, but I refused to open the door. After half an hour he pushed his way in, calm as could be. I couldn’t stop crying. He tried to smooth my hair, but I cringed. He asked if I still loved him, and…I lost it. I told him I hated him, thought he was worse than the devil. He told me he loved me. I spit in his face. That’s when he…you know.


Yes.


After it was over, he curled up into a ball beside me, whispering for forgiveness. I just got off the bed and walked out. He simply let me leave. I’ve spent many a sleepless night wondering why he did that. He had to know what I’d do.


Maybe he didn’t care,

I offer.

He knew that he’d lost you.

An image pops into my mind of Rebecca walking down the aisle toward Justin. My stomach momentarily knots up. Hell, I think I just sympathized with the devil.


Perhaps,

Grace says.

Grace was spotted wandering down the street by a vendor, who immediately called the police. Within an hour Justice had Alkaline in custody. The villain didn’t even put up a fight.


Do you think he’ll contact you?

I ask.


I don’t know. It’s been years, I doubt I’m anything but a memory to him by now. At least I hope so.


He’s not stupid,

I say.

He’ll know we’re watching you closely. If you want it, we can have officers posted right outside your door.


I have Warren and Arnold,

she says, referring to her guards.

I’m more than confident in their abilities.


Well then,

I say, standing up again,

if you need anything else, just call me. If you think of anything else, or just need to talk…

Grace stands as well, ushering me toward the door.

I will.

We reach the door, she hands me the file. I open the door.

You know…

I stop and turn around.

What?


I never used to like you.


Huh?


I thought you were just some pathetic hanger-on maneuvering for a way out of the gutter. We all did.


I kind of figured that,

I say.


But we were wrong, weren’t we? You’re genuinely in love with him. And he has no idea, does he?

Sucker punch right into the gut.

He’s my best friend,

I say, the old stand-by.

She smiles sympathetically.

Can’t help who we fall in love with, can we? It has no rhyme, it has no reason. And it’s usually so fucking unfair.

She quietly scoffs. We stand in silence for a moment before her faux smiles returns.

Well, then. Will you please give Justin my best wishes? I doubt I’ll be attending the engagement party or the wedding. I hope he’ll understand.


Of course he will.


And good luck.

She starts closing the door.

You will need it.

The door shuts in my face.

CHAPTER SIX

Tips

Alkaline’s been a busy boy today. He’s visited the zoo, every grocery store in the city, and apparently can now be found in the fifth plane of existence, whatever the hell that is. We received over two hundred fifty tips, and they all have to be logged. The ones that don’t involve inter-dimensional travel have to be investigated. Scut work, not my favorite thing. I’ve gotten through about twenty, most dismissed with a simple phone call.

The squad room is quiet now. All non-essential personnel were sent home to catch a few winks. I got mine last night, so I’m stuck here. Cam and Kowalski are in our now empty interview rooms reviewing the preliminary reports on the guards. Harry’s in his office with the door closed and the blinds drawn. Probably asleep at his desk.


This is stupid,

Mirabelle says across the room from his desk.

I’ve been yelled at four times in a row for calling so late. It’s past midnight. Even Alkaline’s asleep right now.


That’s why we’re better than him. He rests, we don’t.


Maybe I’m in the wrong racket.


I really can’t picture you in a spandex costume, Mirabelle.

A young uniformed officer walks in holding a piece of paper.

Um, ma’am?


Yes?

I ask.


There’s a woman on the tip line who’s asking to speak to a detective. She’s pretty insistent.

Ugh.

Fine. Transfer her.

The officer walks back into the other room.


You want me to take it?

Mirabelle asks.

The light on my phone blinks to let me know I have a call.

I got it.

I pick up the phone.

Det. Joanna Fallon.


Are you like in charge of the Alkaline case?

a young woman asks nervously.


Yes,

I lie.

You say you have information? Can I get your name and telephone number, please?


Can’t this be, like, anonymous or something? I don’t want them to know it was me. They’ll, like, kill me.

The certainty in her voice with those last words grabs my attention. I signal to Mirabelle, mouthing

trace the call.

He hops to.

That’s fine. What can you tell me?


It’s my boyfriend. Robbie. I think he’s in trouble. Like major trouble. And I’m like totally freaking out.


What’s his connection to Alkaline?


If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t arrest him, okay?


That’s not up to me, that’s up to the DA. But if his cooperation leads to Alkaline’s capture, the DA will take that into consideration.

The girl is quiet as she considers this. I’m going to lose her, so I add,

Miss, if your boyfriend is involved with Alkaline, then he is in grave danger. This is a man who could very easily kill Robbie just so he won’t talk. You as well.

She waits a moment before saying,

I think Robbie is making a driver’s license and passport for Alkaline. I saw him printing one with Alkaline’s picture on it. He doesn’t know I saw it.

Yes! Yes! A legitimate break. Finally. I’m so happy, I could cry. I smile at Mirabelle, who has been listening to my every word.

What’s Robbie’s last name?


Munoz. I’m not saying anything else. I gotta go.

She hangs up before I can ask another question. I sigh.

Crap.

Mirabelle listens into his phone for a moment, and then hangs up.

Call came from a payphone on McFarlane. The Ward.


Is the name ‘Robbie Munoz’ familiar to you?

I ask Mirabelle.

Counterfeiter?


Munoz? Yeah. We had him in today. He was Luis Rivas’ old apprentice. You know, the documents guy Alkaline offed? Weren’t you the first responder on that one?


Yeah.

I get up to retrieve the file on the interview today. Mirabelle helps me with the other box. I think we set a new record for number of interviews in one day with not a damn thing to show for it. Munoz is about a third of the way through. I open the file. Munoz swore up and down he had nothing to do with Alkaline and wouldn’t, even if asked.


Why would a guy work with the man who melted his boss?

Mirabelle asks.


A shitload of money?

I copy down the address, and put the file back. We’re going to the Ward.

You coming with me?


Think this is legit?


Worth a look.

I grab my coat, clip my gun back on, and rush out with Mirabelle behind me. I briefly consider filling Harry in, but don’t want to wake him if this doesn’t pan out. He’s grumpy without enough sleep.

The streets are near empty as I drive us to my old stomping ground, Diablo’s Ward. It boasts a hooker and junkie on every street corner. Really a wonderful place to raise kids. I made pocket money turning in dirty needles I found in parks to clinics. Fifty cents a pop. Treasured childhood memories.

Every election year some politician swears on his or her own mother that their first priority is cleaning up the Ward. The rotting, splintering, condemned buildings where junkies inject their fixes will come down, replaced with schools and parks. There must be a lot of dead mothers out there judging from the state of this place. The only people out tonight are dealers, the homeless pushing their carts, and the pros drumming up business.

Munoz’s place is in the heart of the Ward, a small apartment complex of maybe four stories of white cinderblocks. We park alongside the building, surveying the area. Far as I can tell, there are no lookouts to cause trouble.


What do you think?

I ask Mirabelle.


Let’s rock and roll.

Just as we’re about to get out, three gunshots ring out above us. Instantly, we each reach for our guns and crouch down, but the shock lasts for a millisecond before we leap out of the car, guns at the ready. With his free hand, Mirabelle pulls off his walkie from his belt.


Dispatch, shots fired in the vicinity of 4763 McFarlane Street. Plainclothes officers in need of assistance.

I see nothing. No people, no weapons, nothing. I hate flying blind. For all I know there’s a fleet of crack-heads with Uzis charging around the corner. As I’m assessing, there’s a large thump on the hood of the car. Metal hitting metal. We swing our guns at the source. A Glock lies on the hood of our car in the middle of a crater. But before we can even register this fact, a man’s screams from the roof grab my attention.

My legs start pumping of their own accord before I’m aware that I’m running toward the building, then through the unlocked front door. I glide upstairs, checking every corner for danger. Mirabelle is behind me, managing to keep up all five flights.

The access door to the roof lies on its side against the wall, along with a piece of plywood in three pieces. The barricade obviously didn’t work. A piece of lead wouldn’t either. The man hollers again, but I can’t make out the words. Adrenaline pumps through my system as I make my way up the final flight of steps, and goddamn I do love that feeling. Anything could be out there. These could be my final moments on the planet for all I know. What a fucking rush.

Mirabelle is a few inches behind me and I look at him. He nods. I run out the door onto the gravel roof with my gun pointed.

Police! Freeze!

I shout before I realize who I’m drawing on. Fuck.

Justice stands by the edge of the roof, holding a crying man over the side one handed by the belt. The man, who I recognize from his mug shot as Munoz, is near hysterical and praying in Spanish.


Good evening, detectives,

Justice says as if greeting us at a party.


Put him down,

I say.


I haven’t finished questioning him,

Justice says with his gravelly voice.


Put him the fuck down!

Justice complies. The moment Munoz’s feet hit the roof, he falls onto his knees and kisses the gravel, murmuring in Spanish. Justice holds his hands up in surrender.

If you wouldn’t mind pointing those guns somewhere else, please. I’ve already been shot three times today. We are on the same side, you know.


Debatable,

I say, but put my gun back in the holster, as does Mirabelle.

Det. Mirabelle, can you please escort Mr. Munoz to the squad car?

Mirabelle pulls out his cuffs, putting them on Munoz, who doesn’t even seem to mind. Mirabelle yanks the almost relieved felon up and escorts him off the roof. Justice nods respectfully at Mirabelle, who I’m fairly sure blushes and nods back.

Sir.


What the hell are you doing here?

I ask when they’re gone.


Following up on a lead, the same as you detective.


And how did you hear about Mr. Munoz?


I have my sources.

Meaning he’s tapped into our phone lines or computers. Sneaky bastard. He starts walking toward me.

He was contacted two days ago by an unknown person via e-mail asking him to make a passport, birth certificate, and driver’s license. He received a wire transfer the same day, but didn’t know who he was making it for until today when the same person e-mailed a photo of Alkaline to put on the documents. I was just about to find out about the delivery details when you arrived. He’ll probably lawyer up now.


Geez, sorry for doing my job, asshole,

I say as snidely as humanly possible.


The man shot me the moment he saw me.


We’ll make sure to charge him for it.


It could have been you, detective. You’re not even wearing your vest. I noticed you weren’t wearing it last night either. He could have killed you if I hadn’t gotten here first.

My Irish flares up.

Excuse me?

I almost yell.

Are you criticizing me after I find you dangling a perp off a fucking rooftop? His lawyer’s going to have a field day. Anything he told you is inadmissible.


Good thing I don’t work for the police. Though, I’m told starting tomorrow I’m your Federal Marshall liaison. We should be seeing more of each other in the future.


Oh, goody.

The sound of sirens, our late back-up, draws his attention.

Time for me to depart. And wear your vest, Joanna. Please.

He vanishes, leaving nothing but a gust of wind as he super-speeds past me down the stairs.

The. Fucking. Nerve. I’m literally vibrating with anger, though it could be the adrenaline wearing off. Wear my vest. Not a bad idea, but if he tells me I have to eat all my vegetables I just might shoot him myself. Prick.

***

One sleepless night later, to my credit, I have fifty pieces of evidence logged, thirteen interview requests from the press, an eight-page incident report, two angry phone calls from the motor pool for the dented car, and one lawyered-up suspect. Not to mention a stern talking to by Harry for not keeping him in the loop or waiting for back-up. All this sudden interest in my safety is getting old and stifling. I feel like a pissed-off China doll.

At least the whole debacle wasn’t for nothing. The computer guys are working on tracing the e-mail and wire transfers. We know one of Ryder’s aliases. A scumbag is off the street. But according to city hall, the best news is that we actually have a lead. We don’t look incompetent for a change. The press conference I just gave went as smooth as Don Juan. Too bad I looked like a gargoyle.

And now to cash in my superstar award. I get to go home and sleep. Maybe even eat something, take a shower, and change my clothes. I’m on call if anything comes up, but even God isn’t that cruel not to allow me eight full hours of sweet oblivion.

Harry isn’t in his office as I walk out, but Lt. Pete DiQueeno of Special Victims is. He waves as I pass, and I do the same. I guess we’ve all been relieved for a few hours. My off-duty car is exactly where I left it over twenty-four hours ago, though there are five fliers under the wipers. I reach my bed ten minutes later. I kick off my shoes, put on my pajamas, climb in, and pass out thirty seconds later.

A loud ringing by my ear jerks me out of Jo’s Happy Place. I look at the clock. A little past noon. Almost three hours. I’m too tired to think of something witty to say.


Det. Joanna Fallon,

I say when I answer the phone.


Jo, it’s Cam,

my partner says.


What?

BOOK: Justice
9.24Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Romantic by Barbara Gowdy
Technical Foul by Rich Wallace
Knives at Dawn by Andrew Friedman
Lord of Hell (Alex Holden) by Harnois, Devin
Agincourt by Juliet Barker
The Extra by A. B. Yehoshua
The Martian Pendant by Taylor, Patrick