Fury From Hell (30 page)

Clift nodded.  “Thought it was something like that but protocols still have to be followed.  So,” he shrugged at her with eyes as sad as a hound dog.  “Be ready to be pulled off your cases at any time.  Actually, I’m shocked that no one’s contacted you yet…”

Betty finally looked up and stared into her eyes.  Jennifer’s eyes were calm while Betty’s were wide and frightened.

Folding her arms across her chest, Jennifer stared at the scuffed tile floor and nodded seemingly to herself.  In a very low voice she asked no one in particular, “So, should I go up to Internal Affairs myself, and get this over with?”

It was Betty who touched her arm and squeezed. “No, you do everything as normal until they tell you otherwise.” Betty moved her hand when she saw Jennifer was not responding and looked up at the two men.  “Right guys?  She stays on the case until we know something for sure.”

Yearwood sneered and said nothing.  Clift nodded vigorously.

“It’s settled.  As usual, she comes with me and we’ll do two of them and you guys can do the other three.  Or, do you want us to take the lion’s share?”

“Fine.  We’ll do the three interrogations.” Yearwood said, surging to his feet quickly.  “We’ll take Rossini, Bart and Oselow.  You guys will do Carney and Giordano.”  He turned on his heel and stalked out of the conference room.

Feinster and Jennifer turned to stare after him.

“What the hell’s up with him?” Clift wondered.

Betty shrugged and looked at the senior cop and shrugged again as she said, “Maybe you should shadowbox around the issue and see what you can find out.  That didn’t look or feel right.”

Clift glanced at them both while getting to his feet.  He got to the door and paused with his hand on the doorknob.  Without turning around he said softly, “Yearwood’s thing for Holden may have been more than any of us had ever imagined.”  He opened the door and walked out allowing the door to swing softly closed behind him.

***

Tuesday, November 13
^th
, 8:10 A.M.

Sitting slouched deep in the passenger seat staring out of the squad car window, Jennifer pulled on her lip squeezing and pinching it forcing herself to think of nothing and no one, especially not Yearwood.  She was failing miserably.

“So, the files give us a Forest Hills address for Carney and a Staten Island one for Giordano.  You’re going to love this.  Carney’s ex just filed a domestic violence case late last week.  Says he beat her up real good because she didn’t make his dinner the way his Ma did.  And the pisser?  He drove her car away from her place but his driver’s license is expired!  If he gives us any trouble we’ve got him cold.  Not much on Giordano.  Just a few ties to the mob but nothing sticks to him.  All cases were dropped including one for extortion and money laundering.  But he doesn’t do the rough stuff.  Seems he’s a face guy.   So which one first?”

“You pick.  I’m not going to be here much longer.”

Betty put the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it.  She sat back and looked over at Jennifer.  There was no way she could even begin to fathom what was going through Jennifer’s mind.  In the last few weeks, Jennifer’s life had been torn asunder, and now her professional life was about to go through the same tumult.

“At least you won’t have a demon inside of you wanting to eat the guts of the inmates around you.”

Betty’s dark humor sparked something in Jennifer and she turned toward her friend.  A smile flitted around the edges of her mouth as she fake punched Betty’s shoulder.

“You’re pretty sick, you know that?”

Betty snorted and was satisfied that Jennifer looked a little less beaten down. “Better sick than hopeless.  Keep your chin up, Holden.  That rotten rat-bastard has his day coming.  You don’t throw crap out the window and wait to watch the show.  There are consequences for everything.”  She turned back and started the car.

Jennifer frowned as she absorbed that thought. “You think Yearwood called IAD?”

“Didn’t you see his face?  He looked like the cat who ate the canary.”  She brought her voice down as she noticed it was echoing off the interior of the squad car.

“Feinster I could kiss you right now.”

“Why?  So you can get his pants in more of a dander? 
‘Oh, she likes women and gorgeous men! Fuckin’ A!”

They both snickered and the tension plummeted.

“I wondered if you were embarrassed of me. You pressed for me to be on the team...”

“Nah, I was worried IAD had picked you up, already, and hauled you in for questioning.  I don’t do well when my friends are in trouble and I can’t help them.”

“Mother Hen syndrome.”

“Maybe.  So, Carney or Giordano?  You’ve got good instincts.”

Sighing and turning her mind back to the case Jennifer shook her head and just mumbled. “Go with the alpha order.  We’ve only got two.  Shoot out to Queens, then to Staten Island.”

Jennifer flopped back against the seat as Betty keyed in the first address on the GPS unit.  Betty gave her a sidelong glance before saying, “You might want to get some shut eye for a bit.  I’ll wake you when we’re close.  You’re looking a little peaky.”

With a nod, Jennifer burrowed deeper into the passenger seat.  She pulled her brimmed cap down covering her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.  She needed the downtime and thanked her lucky stars to have the friendly neighborhood witch at her service.

***

Tuesday, November 13
^th
, 8:25 A.M.

Yearwood blazed through red lights and turned corners so tightly that he left rubber on the tarmac.

“You’ve got to calm down and drive slower Yearwood or else I’m going to drive.  Sure you don’t want to see that.”  Clift clapped him on the back in a fatherly gesture squeezing to emphasize his point.  Yearwood cut his eyes at him but came off the accelerator.

Clift’s heart rate began to reduce and his breathing came easier now that the trees weren’t going by in a blur.

“What’s the rush?  You know the chances are they won’t be at home, or worse — they’ll run.”

Clift glanced over at the younger man and saw not even a hint of humor on his face.  The older cop sighed.

“Or, is something else bugging you?”

Yearwood gritted his teeth and focused on the road keeping his speed down to thirty-five miles per hour. “No rush other than to get to the first perp.  And nothing’s bugging me — well, yeah.  Something is bugging me.  How can you be so calm when we might have a killer on our team?”  He flashed Clift a pointed look.

Clift furrowed his brows.  “You can’t be serious.  You really think Jennifer is a cold-blooded murderer?”

“Stranger things have happened.  Why didn’t she tell us about being at the casino?”

“She answered that this morning, Paul!”

“And you believed that drivel?  Didn’t you see the worry and fear in her eyes?  She’s hiding something and I hope one of us doesn’t end up dead before the slow ass IAD takes her off-duty!”

Clift was more than worried when he heard the venom in Yearwood’s voice.  He noted the younger detective’s eyes were dark and unreadable other than for the anger filling them.

“Besides, she’s practically a rookie!  What the hell is she doing on this case anyway?  She hasn’t added anything!”

“She pointed us to the casino,” Clift said in a dulcet tone already knowing what Yearwood was going to say.

“Yeah because she was there!  Clift she’s hiding something from us.  Oh, and let’s not forget about the part where she was picked up a married man who died mysteriously hours after meeting her!”

Clift stared at him with widened eyes for a moment then quickly looked away.  That was certainly not what he had been expecting and he didn’t offer a response.  Blinking rapidly, in hopes that his mind would clear as well, he pulled out his notes on the three men they were slated to question.

Clift redirected the conversation several minutes later as he peered out the window.  Reading the street signs they just passed he asked, “Guess you’re headed to Oselow in Brighton Beach first?”

They were passing the indoor tennis courts near Coney Island Avenue heading straight for the highway.  Yearwood nodded but said nothing. They drove in silence.

The Fury took this reprieve and infused Yearwood with tranquility.  It was getting harder to contain the man’s rage.  The demon realized it might need to let him release some of it.  Abatu wondered if it should feed again, but being in a male host would be very different, and possibly difficult, to approach and kill another man.  Feeding in a male host would be fueled by pure masculine aggression — something the Fury was not sure it wanted to indulge.  Abatu watched as Yearwood’s anger ratcheted down a few notches.  Hoping that he was now more stable, the demon retreated into the background to observe and reflect.

***

Tuesday, November 13
^th
, 8:30 A.M.

“I think we should have something to eat before we go and see Mr. Carney.  Whaddaya say, Holden?”  Betty knew that even though Jennifer’s eyes were closed that she was not asleep.

“We ate breakfast this morning.”

“Think we need something else.  I’m famished, now.”  Without waiting for an answer, Betty slid deftly into the right lane between two cars and made the turn into a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot.

Jennifer peeked out from under her stiff brimmed hat and snorted pulling it back down.

“How cliché, Feinster.  Dunkin’ Donuts?  Really?”

“We don’t have to get donuts.  We could get a latte with an egg white turkey wrap — and a half-dozen munchkins,” she added hastily before getting out of the car.

“I’ll stay here.”

“Coffee?”

“Nah.  Nothing for me.  I’m good.  Just want to get to Carney.  Hurry it up.”

Betty slammed the door and walked towards the chain store’s entrance glad Holden didn’t accompany her.  Once inside, and in line, Betty pulled out her phone dialing Lady Ariella.

“Hey, got some bad news.  Things are deteriorating fast for Jenn at work.  One of our colleagues put two and two together and has tenuously tied Jennifer to Palmer.  IAD’s got the scent and I’m sure they’re already watching her, checking her files and all she’s been up to lately.  We might have a lot of heat to deal with, especially now that we’ve pulled her out of her apartment.”

“The timing couldn’t be worse.”

“Agreed.  But what do we do?”

“She can’t go back to her place or her normal life.  The Fury could get back into her creating even more issues for Jennifer.  Oh, and there’s one more thing.”

“What?”

“If Abatu repossesses her it could speed up the inevitable.”

“Okay, whoa.  What are you saying?”

“With furies, their hosts die within a few weeks usually from some consequence caused by the demon’s possession — uhm — the blackout periods.”

“But how will she — we — explain why Jennifer left her apartment?  And two, how do we explain the mess that’s in there?  You know…”

“Of course I know what you mean, Kamali.  Say no more.  Get the keys from Jennifer and I’ll go straighten it up as much as possible and get the window repaired.”

“My Lady!”

“It’s got to be done.”

“What about the door?  It’s smashed.”

“Let me worry about that.  We must protect ourselves, and not call attention to who we are or else you’ll have the IAD on you as well.  That is, if they haven’t begun looking into your activities since you’ve been hanging around her so much of late.  When do you think you can get me those keys?”

“Just a sec.  Gimme a large coffee with half-and-half with four sugars, and a Big N’Toasty.  My Lady?  I’d have to check with her and get back to you.”

“Kamali, I need those keys today at your earliest possible convenience.  And, keep Jennifer calm.  The herbs will not protect her if she’s emotionally unstable.”

Paying for her order, Betty moved to the pick-up counter and waited for her food.

“Okay, but not sure how I’m supposed to keep her calm in all of this!  I’m barely calm and it’s not me they’re going after.”

“I didn’t hear you order anything for her.  You might want to get her something.  Make her eat to keep her energy and strength up.  With all of this stress, her body needs the nutrition —not that Dunkin’ Donuts can provide much by way of real nutrition.”

Accepting the dig with aplomb, Betty ended the call and placed another order for Jennifer and wondered how to broach the subject of getting Jennifer’s apartment keys to give to the High Priestess.

***

Tuesday, November 13
^th
, 9:05 A.M.

“Mr. Barnabas Carney?  I’m Detective Feinster, and this is my partner Detective Holden.  Can we come in and ask you a few questions?”

The big man with the bulbous red nose and protruding gut pushed his greasy hair back. Carney peered at their badges through his still locked storm door.   He lowered the hand that had gone through his hair and scratched himself, leaving a wet greasy stain on the unzippered khahis he wore.  Holden averted her eyes and grimaced.

“I know my rights.  I don’t have to speak to you until I get my lawyer.”

“While that is very true,” Holden began in a courteous tone, “by denying to speak with us, we have to go to the trouble of getting a subpoena to question you.  But, here’s the thing, if we happen to find oh, let’s say, a few traffic tickets that haven’t been paid, or that your driver’s license is expired.  Hey, or maybe we find an ex-girlfriend has recently pressed charges for a domestic violence incident.  Then, we have no choice but to follow the due process of the law.”

As she was speaking, Carney became visibly fidgety and cleared his throat one too many times. “Yeah and what if I forget the lawyer and speak to youse?”

Feinster smiled benignly and picked up where her partner left off. “Then, we just talk because we haven’t looked in your files.”

He narrowed his eyes at them before muttering a few choice obscenities.  He unlatched the door and shoved it open.  Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the house.