Read Online The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel by R.J. Torbert - Free Book Online
Authors: R.J. Torbert
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said.
Rachelle covered her face with her hands and started crying. “What happened? Why?”
“He kept saying, ‘Wrinkled Ghost Face, zombie, kidnapping’ over and over.”
“I don’t understand,” Rachelle replied as the tears flowed. Madison was holding her from behind.
“It’s possible the kidnappers responded to the article and found him.”
“I never used his name,” Rachelle yelled, as tears flowed even more. “All right,” Madison said. “Please, let me take care of her.” Madison took Rachelle to bed and came back out to Paul. “anything else? Is my sister in danger?”
“I’m not sure yet,” said Paul. “This is odd, but then this whole case has been odd from the beginning. She never mentioned his name in the article, yet the day the article is published he’s killed. There has to be a connection somewhere. I’ll be in touch. I’ll pick Rachelle up in the morning for work.”
“I don’t think she’ll be going to work tomorrow,” Madison said. “She may have a few things on her mind.”
“OK,” Paul replied. “Call me if she decides to go out.”
They left the house, and it was Bud’s turn to vent. “Fucking almighty. Just what we need. This will be all over the country. Ghost Face returns to Port Jefferson. I can see it now!”
“Bud,” Paul replied, “it’s a mask connection.”
Bud said, “Movies, TV, commercials. Why can’t this be a normal case? That mask scares the hell out of me!”
Paul’s cell phone rang. It was Detective Lieutenant Cronin. He said, “See me first thing in the morning. I want to know how you’re going to handle this. You better have some answers because the FBI will be here in the morning.” The phone went dead without even a goodbye.
Wednesday, June 15
F our Days Until Ransom Due
Jack O’Connor was at Detective Lieutenant Cronin’s office at 9:00 am. “I see your men have bankers’ hours,” he said to Cronin.
Cronin knew that there were issues with Paul and Bud, but he wasn’t going to take grief from an FBI agent. “They were on the job from 3:00 pm ’til 3:00 am yesterday, and quite frankly if you guys had solved this case sooner, we wouldn’t be having this meeting this morning, would we?”
Although Cronin was in his late forties and had a decent-sized muffin top over his belt buckle, he was very intimidating at 6’4”, with white hair, blue eyes, and the map of Ireland all over his face. He had been through so many close calls during his career that nothing really shook him up anymore. He still had a piece of a bullet in his face from a past assignment. Many famous killers over the past 20 years had been caught by him and his homicide squad, including the Long Island Sniper.
O’Connor took Cronin’s remark as a cue to get some more coffee and wait for Powers and Johnson. At 11:00 Bud and Paul arrived in Cronin’s office. O’Connor walked in without losing a beat.
“Well, congratulations! You had an article published and managed to get an innocent person killed,” O’Connor sniped.
Bud replied, “Screw you, asswipe.”
O’Connor looked at Johnson then at Cronin. “Very professional crew you have.”
Then he turned his attention back to Bud and Paul. “Cut the shit, Detective. I don’t want to hear it,” he said. “You two clowns may have cost a life while we are getting ready to pay a ransom in four days to try to end this.” He began to talk again when he saw Johnson silently mouthing the words “Fuck you, fuck.”
“Excuse me?” O’Connor yelled at Cronin. “Your detective is still unprofessional here, saying ‘fuck you’ to me.”
“Sorry,” Cronin said, “I didn’t hear a thing. Continue, please.”
O’Connor continued on with the plan for Sunday. “The drop is at the Cross Island Ferry, after a key is delivered to the Pink House in Belle Terre by FedEx from an office in Connecticut.”
Paul sat silently as O’Connor continued to talk. “We will not have more than two agents on
Rachelle covered her face with her hands and started crying. “What happened? Why?”
“He kept saying, ‘Wrinkled Ghost Face, zombie, kidnapping’ over and over.”
“I don’t understand,” Rachelle replied as the tears flowed. Madison was holding her from behind.
“It’s possible the kidnappers responded to the article and found him.”
“I never used his name,” Rachelle yelled, as tears flowed even more. “All right,” Madison said. “Please, let me take care of her.” Madison took Rachelle to bed and came back out to Paul. “anything else? Is my sister in danger?”
“I’m not sure yet,” said Paul. “This is odd, but then this whole case has been odd from the beginning. She never mentioned his name in the article, yet the day the article is published he’s killed. There has to be a connection somewhere. I’ll be in touch. I’ll pick Rachelle up in the morning for work.”
“I don’t think she’ll be going to work tomorrow,” Madison said. “She may have a few things on her mind.”
“OK,” Paul replied. “Call me if she decides to go out.”
They left the house, and it was Bud’s turn to vent. “Fucking almighty. Just what we need. This will be all over the country. Ghost Face returns to Port Jefferson. I can see it now!”
“Bud,” Paul replied, “it’s a mask connection.”
Bud said, “Movies, TV, commercials. Why can’t this be a normal case? That mask scares the hell out of me!”
Paul’s cell phone rang. It was Detective Lieutenant Cronin. He said, “See me first thing in the morning. I want to know how you’re going to handle this. You better have some answers because the FBI will be here in the morning.” The phone went dead without even a goodbye.
Wednesday, June 15
F our Days Until Ransom Due
Jack O’Connor was at Detective Lieutenant Cronin’s office at 9:00 am. “I see your men have bankers’ hours,” he said to Cronin.
Cronin knew that there were issues with Paul and Bud, but he wasn’t going to take grief from an FBI agent. “They were on the job from 3:00 pm ’til 3:00 am yesterday, and quite frankly if you guys had solved this case sooner, we wouldn’t be having this meeting this morning, would we?”
Although Cronin was in his late forties and had a decent-sized muffin top over his belt buckle, he was very intimidating at 6’4”, with white hair, blue eyes, and the map of Ireland all over his face. He had been through so many close calls during his career that nothing really shook him up anymore. He still had a piece of a bullet in his face from a past assignment. Many famous killers over the past 20 years had been caught by him and his homicide squad, including the Long Island Sniper.
O’Connor took Cronin’s remark as a cue to get some more coffee and wait for Powers and Johnson. At 11:00 Bud and Paul arrived in Cronin’s office. O’Connor walked in without losing a beat.
“Well, congratulations! You had an article published and managed to get an innocent person killed,” O’Connor sniped.
Bud replied, “Screw you, asswipe.”
O’Connor looked at Johnson then at Cronin. “Very professional crew you have.”
Then he turned his attention back to Bud and Paul. “Cut the shit, Detective. I don’t want to hear it,” he said. “You two clowns may have cost a life while we are getting ready to pay a ransom in four days to try to end this.” He began to talk again when he saw Johnson silently mouthing the words “Fuck you, fuck.”
“Excuse me?” O’Connor yelled at Cronin. “Your detective is still unprofessional here, saying ‘fuck you’ to me.”
“Sorry,” Cronin said, “I didn’t hear a thing. Continue, please.”
O’Connor continued on with the plan for Sunday. “The drop is at the Cross Island Ferry, after a key is delivered to the Pink House in Belle Terre by FedEx from an office in Connecticut.”
Paul sat silently as O’Connor continued to talk. “We will not have more than two agents on
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