Read Justice Online

Authors: Jennifer Harlow

Justice (6 page)


The preliminary should be on your desk…somewhere.

Harry shuffles the papers around.

Where, Kowalski?

Harry snaps.

Kowalski rushes over and helps in the search. Harry’s frustration grows with each passing second until it’s found.

Here,

Kowalski says, triumphant.


Okay, go make twenty copies and divide the names into groups of three. Then go home. But I want you back here by two.


Yes, sir.


Get some sleep,

Harry says as Kowalski leaves.

We all watch the lucky one go.

We’re going to need more detectives,

Cam says.

Harry finds another file and smirks.

I know. We’ll get them.

Harry stands up, as do I.

I’ll try and get Pritchard and Wu from homicide to cover the Mike Spencer angle. Cam, I want you to head up the accomplice interviews. You and Mirabelle can take the real troublemakers. Fallon, you take point at the prison. I’ll give you an officer to assist.


I want Conover. He’s had some psych training.


You got it. Help me rally the troops first. Both of you.

He adjusts his tie and smoothes his hair. We follow him out into the bullpen, where the men and women continue their conversations, oblivious to us and the mission. Ever the narcissist, the mayor poses for a picture with a female officer. I wonder if he’ll try to grab her ass too.

Harry, with us in tow, walks around the group to the huge whiteboard on the far wall. He stops, and Cam takes his position on his left and me on his right, flanking him like sentinels. We put on our best scowls.


A-ttent-ion!

Cam bellows in his deepest, best drill sergeant voice. The chatter wanes and all eyes turn to us, even the mayor’s.


Good morning,

Harry begins.

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Lt. Harold O’Hara, commanding officer of Priority Homicide, and for the foreseeable future I am the man who runs your lives.

His voice sends tingles to my girl parts.

You sleep when I tell you, you piss when I tell you, and you see your families when I allow it. If I am not here, then Det. Terrance Cameron to my left is in charge. He is the lead investigator on this case. Any information you get goes directly to him or his partner on my right, Det. Joanna Fallon.

I nod at the group who size me up then look back to Harry.

Now, for the reason we are all here.

Harry opens the file in his hand and slaps the mug shot of Alkaline on the whiteboard.

James Malvern Ryder, AKA Alkaline. Age forty-two. Height, six foot even. Hair dark brown, eyes brown. Arrested three years ago for ten counts of kidnapping, twenty for assault, one count rape, and thirty-five for murder or manslaughter. Was a resident of Xavier prison until last night when he escaped by killing two people and maiming one. We believe he is still in the city, possibly preparing for his next wave of crimes. It doesn’t get worse than this man people, and it is up to each and every one of us to find him before he strikes again.


This is no time for egos, or misplaced heroics. If you are in this room right now, that means you have either had some tie to this man, or your superiors think you are fit for this task force. No doubt you know what this man is capable of, but in case you don’t, we’re dealing with a super who has two reserves of highly concentrated sulfuric acid in either arm that can melt you down to your spine. Add to that the ability to heal five times faster than normal, super-strength, and a keen intellect. He is smarter than every one of us in this room. What this mean is no going off half-cocked. You get a lead, you tell us. We have SWAT on stand-by at all times. No heroics. I
will not
lose any of you to this man, is that understood?

The collective all mutter and nod.


Then we understand each other. Now, those of you pulled from patrol duty this morning, we will be handing out lists of Ryder’s known accomplices and associates. You will locate them, pick them up, and bring them here where detectives will interview them. Detectives, while you’re waiting, I want you to go through the crime reports of Ryder’s past offenses. Make note of anything, no matter how minute, you think is useful. If you don’t fall into either category, then you’re running down tips from the hotline. I will be pulling some of you for other jobs on the basis of need. Are we all on the same page people?

Once again we all nod.


We have to find this man. We
will
find this man. Get to work.

The group, now energized so much you can feel it, immediately springs into action. Cam proudly smiles and pats Harry’s shoulder before walking off. I lean in and whisper,

I swear to Christ, if there weren’t so many people here, I’d rip all your clothes off and ride you like the sexy, hot stallion you are until we both passed out.

His mouth drops open, but the idiot mayor saddles up to us before he can respond.

Impressive speech, O’Hara.


It certainly was,

I say cheerfully.

Maybe later, huh?


I certainly hope so,

he says with a sly smile.


Well, I’m off to prison now. Excuse me gentleman. Mayor.

I turn on my toes and walk away.

I have the coolest boyfriend.

CHAPTER FOUR

Incarceration

I get my own office down the hall from the warden, a windowless cell not unlike the ones the prisoners inhabit. Just a table, desk, chair, and enough files to keep Speeder, fastest man alive, in this office for two years. Psych reports, physicals, fan letters, guard reports, even websites all about Alkaline. I start on the letters.

It makes me embarrassed to be a woman after reading just five of these things. My luck with men isn’t the best. Once I’ve even gone a year without sex, but I’ve never been so delusional or desperate to write a convicted rapist and murderer pledging my undying love. What the hell are these chicks thinking? Most border on or just plain are pornographic. At least Ryder had
something
to do in his cell all day. I am so wearing gloves when I touch anything in there.

I just don’t get it. There are letters from hundreds of women, and some men, to this butcher and rapist. Sure he’s a handsome man, and there is the danger aspect, but he shoots acid out of his body. Acid. How the hell is that sexy?

These letters go in the pile of possible accomplices. Sadly, the pile is really fucking big. At least fifty women and men have pledged their devotion and love to Ryder. We’ll have to interview all of them to get their alibis, not that I think the accomplice is any of them. A smart man, and Alkaline is that without doubt, would either destroy or keep the letters from his accomplice, but he might have made a mistake and forgotten, so these fans will be getting a knock on their doors today. This would be a hell of a lot easier if I could figure out how he communicated with them.

After two more pornographic tales of longing, I close the file. I’m not going to find anything here. I’ll have a rookie sort through the rest. Time to move onto the light reading: psychological profile. Ryder had monthly meetings with Dr. John Qwan, prison psychiatrist who is now having his guts weighed by our medical examiner. It’s mostly information I already know. Anti-social personality with extreme narcissistic tendencies. Feelings of persecution. Genius IQ. God complex. A basic psychopath.

Ryder was born to two loving parents in Galilee, where he lived five blocks from me. I probably passed him on the street a million times. We even went to the same high school, though at different times. Creepy. He had one sister who, along with the parents, died in a fire when Ryder was fourteen. The same year his power manifested. The fire marshal declared it accidental due to a gas leak. Yeah, right. Ryder was stuck in foster care, three different families, but ran away from each within days. Started his first gang then, building a small empire by age twenty. He was arrested twice, but released both times for lack or loss of evidence. He went pretty much unchecked until Justice resurfaced and made him a priority. Then Ryder got mad and became Alkaline.

Diablo’s Ward wasn’t enough for him, especially when he lost control of the piers. He went from mob boss to uber-villain, chasing Justice all over the city. He kidnapped and killed the police commissioner, robbed banks, and tried to release a stolen virus at the library. All of this just to get Justice’s attention. It worked. Their war resulted in almost a billion dollars in property damage, multiple deaths, and worldwide interest. Now he’s back out there, more pissed off than before.

There’s nothing in this file to help me locate him, which is all I care about. Hell, the only real way we’ll find him without relying on luck, is to tie Justice up on the bridge and wait for Ryder to slime his way toward him. This scenario brings a smile to my face.

I pull out the file the warden’s secretary gave me with the list of people who had any contact with Ryder. The poor, overwhelmed thing had to go back and get me the complete list. She only had the names of people with direct contact. One theory I came up with was he left notes in his sheets, and one of the people in the laundry delivered them. Farfetched, but possible.

People from the library where he had books delivered, cleaning crew, guards, medical personnel, even the secretary of Dr. Qwan, the list is close to forty people. For a man in solitary confinement, there were a lot of people he had access to. The good news is Conover and I only have to interview a quarter of them. We took the interesting ones for ourselves.

Officer Dwayne Conover, one of my trainees from years back, with his rumpled brown suit, skinny frame, and gaunt face steps back into the room with two cups of coffee.

The warden’s coming,

he whispers as he rushes in.

Warden Gilbert Myers, a stocky man with shiny bald head, more than fills the door when he walks in. Right now he’s the second most hated man in the city: the man who let Alkaline escape. I wonder what they’d say if they found out about my part last night. I’d feel for the guy, but since we got here, he’s done nothing but make my life a living hell. The bastard yelled at me for not granting him access to the crime scene, for my constant demands of files, for him to call in personnel on their day off, even for wanting to interview him

like a common thug.

It took a lot but I kept my mouth shut. I need him. I can respect the office even if I don’t the man.


Yes, Warden?

I ask with a faux sweet smile.


Willie Lopez just got here,

he says. Lopez is the supervisory guard in the Hardcore Block.

And the press conference is in half an hour.

Ugh, I had hoped Harry was kidding about that. I hate talking to the press. They always ask questions we’re not allowed to answer, and mine is the third of the day. First the police commissioner and mayor had one an hour ago, and then right after that Alkaline’s victim, socialite Grace Pickering, the woman who he kidnapped, raped, and who ultimately led Justice to him, had one. Finally, mine in half an hour. If it bleeds, it leads.

I know Grace. She was one of the first people Justin introduced me to. They dated for about a month years later. Sweet girl until Ryder became obsessed with her. After the trial she withdrew from the society scene, only coming out to a charity event here or there. I sure as hell hope we have people outside her penthouse in case Ryder wants to rekindle their old flame.


Thank you,

I say.

Come get me when it’s time. Send Lopez in.


Fine,

the warden says with a sneer before walking away.


What an asshole,

I mutter.


I’ll bet he gets fired,

Conover says.


Oh, yeah.

Just as I locate Lopez’s file, the man himself steps in. Latino, medium height and build inside a brown Correctional Officer’s uniform, with black hair cut very short. He’s a few years older than me, but not by much. Without a word, he sits across from us and folds his arms on the table.


Officer Lopez, I’m Det. Joanna Fallon, this is Officer Dwayne Conover. Thank you for meeting with us today.


You were the one who chased him last night, right?


I am.


Thank you. I just left Stu Moore’s wife and four kids. They had to sedate his mother. I’ll help anyway I can.


I appreciate that.

I open his file, scanning it.

So, it says in your file you’ve been on Ryder’s block for four years, the longest of any other officer.


Yeah,

Lopez says.

Most last about a year, if that. Those assholes freak out even the hardest hard ass. Me and Stu were the old timers.


And only you, Stuart Moore, Logan Dodd, Ralph Marinello, Garret Leon, and Marcel Akwambe worked the block?


Sometimes, if someone called in sick we’d swing another guard in, but that hasn’t happened in a couple months. For the most part, it’s two shifts of two guys, twelve hours each. Since the prisoners are confined to their cells all day, we just watch them on the monitor and do a visual sweep every hour.


Been any disturbances?

Conover asks.


Not really,

Lopez says.

Chameleon faked a seizure about a week ago, but we immediately subdued him.


What about Ryder? Anything out of the ordinary with him in the last three months? Anything at all?

I ask.


I’ve been wracking my brain since I found out, but nothing,

Lopez says, frustrated with himself.

They keep him pretty doped up, so he’d either sleep or read. That’s all he’s pretty much done since he’s gotten here.


Were any of the other guards particularly attentive toward Ryder?

I ask.


We’re not allowed to talk to them beyond basic commands. The last guy who spoke to him was fired a year and a half ago. His name was Dylan Gunderson. I have no idea what happened to him.


Who reported him?

Conover asks.


I did.


What did they talk about?

I ask.


The weather, I think, but we have a zero tolerance policy,

Lopez says.

He was just an idiot. And besides, he doesn’t have access to the prison anymore.


You seem to know the block better than anyone,

I say.

Any theories as to how he got out of his cell? How he contacted the outside world to set this up?


The security cameras didn’t show the escape?

Lopez asks.


The ones on your block were hacked into,

Conover says.

The past week’s footage was destroyed. We have techs figuring out how it was done.


So how did the cell door get open?

I ask.


If he didn’t burn through it, someone had to open it. Only way,

Lopez says.

He could have faked a medical emergency, hung himself, any number of reasons for them to go in there.

Lopez leans forward, arms still on the table.

You have to remember, we thought this guy was neutered. There was
nothing
to show otherwise. He was a model prisoner: quiet, obeyed orders, nothing physical. I wished they were all like that.


Who gave him his drugs?

I ask.


We did. One of the guards on duty. Every meal he took them, and we
watched
him take them. Checked under his tongue and cheek. The stuff for the acid came in liquid form. There was no way he could have pretended to take that.

I jot

switched liquid how??

on my pad.

Who had access to it?


Dr. Landry, our prison doctor mixed it, brought it to us, and we gave it to him once a day at dinner.


So either one of the guards or the doctor’s staff switched it,

Conover offers.

Lopez’s face falls. Now
him
I feel for. I couldn’t imagine what I’d think if Cam or even Mirabelle was accused of helping a psycho escape. You’re supposed to be able to trust these people with your life, you against them. I’ll let this idea sink in before making him confront the hard truth. I clear my throat.

Do you have any theories on how Ryder could have communicated with someone outside the prison?

Lopez comes out of his own head.

Um, what?


We believe that someone was waiting for Ryder outside the prison,

Conover adds.

How would he be able to do that?


I don’t know,

Lopez says, still in a daze.

He received letters, but someone went through them before he got them. The only other items he was able to bring into his cell were books and newspapers, but they never leave the prison. We toss the cell once a month, but he never had anything out of place. I don’t see how else, unless he had a go between.

I meet his dark brown eyes.

So, you know these guys. You work with them. Anything we should know about them? Or you?


They’re good men,

he says with little enthusiasm.

They do their job.


Any make unusual purchases lately? Acting weird?

Conover asks.


Not that I know of,

Lopez says with no conviction. This is the first time he’s lied.

I smile sympathetically.

I know you don’t want to jam up your buddies, but you and I both know this was an inside job. Whoever organized it is responsible for the death and crippling of two of your friends. Logan Dodd lost his hand. Stu Moore lost his life. Who knows how many more Alkaline is going to hurt before we catch him. Please. Anything you know.

Lopez shakes his head and falls back in his chair. With a sigh he says,

Garrett’s wife just had another baby, and they’re hurting. Ralph likes to gamble, but I don’t know how much he owes and to who. Marcel and Logan, as far as I know, are clean.

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