Silver Justice

Chapter 10

“We’ve got another one,” Seth said, his voice sounding muted on the cell phone.

“Damn. Where this time? What are the details?” Silver asked, as she struggled to pour cereal into Kennedy’s bowl while she held the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a milk carton. Kennedy held her hands out to take it from her.

“Here, in the city. Upper East Side. Head of a mid-sized brokerage firm. Suffocated in his car.”

“Who found him?” Silver watched Kennedy carefully pour the milk, trying to be neat.

“A custodian. Car was running, so he checked it, and the victim was sitting behind the wheel with a plastic bag over his head.”

“Any sign of a struggle?”

“There was a garrote wire holding his neck against the headrest, and it cut into him pretty good, so we know he thrashed around some in the end. But the ME thinks that could have been death throes. We’re thinking that he was drugged, or stun-gunned, or both. Won’t know until later, but apparent cause of death was suffocation.”

“I don’t even want to ask about the card.”

Silver sat down opposite Kennedy and took a sip of her smoothie — a concoction she blended fresh every morning using fresh fruit and yogurt.

“In his jacket pocket. Says: ‘Don’t hold your breath’. Seems like The Regulator has a twisted sense of humor. Go figure.”

“Is forensics on the way?”

“Already here. NYPD is cooperating, so all systems go.”

“Give me the address. I need to get Kennedy dropped off, and then I’ll come straight there. Anything else I need to know?”

Kennedy made a face. She hated when her mother talked about her like she wasn’t there. Silver stuck her tongue out at her.

“Not really. The only piece of good news is that we have traffic cams on both ends of the block, so we might get lucky this time. Either our man wasn’t paying attention, or he didn’t care. In either case it’s good for us. I’m going to get the feeds downloaded and over to Sam as soon as we can.” Seth gave her the address.

“Was there any security at the building?” Silver rose and went to the counter, where she hastily scribbled the street number on a notepad.

“Yes, a doorman. But the parking area was remote-controlled. Looks like the killer slipped in and got into the car somehow and then waited for the victim. He was headed to Connecticut for an early weekend. Market’s closed today for the bank holiday.”

“Which implies that the killer knew his habits. It also points to surveillance.”

“I agree. Does Kennedy have school?”

“No. Just daycare. So Mom can go make a living catching bad guys.”

“Well, take your time. This guy’s not going anywhere. Ever.”

“I’ll see you within the hour.”

Silver terminated the call and turned her attention to Kennedy. “What’s with the making faces and not eating your breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’m going to tell Miriam not to give you anything until lunch. You’ll regret your insolence. Resistance is futile,” Silver said in a robotic monotone. This would normally have caused Kennedy to crack up, but not today.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“Nothing. I just hate that you have to work on days when I don’t have school. It sucks.”

“Yes, it does suck. I wish I was hanging out with you all day instead of having to do what I’m going to be doing.”

“They found another body?”

Silver didn’t like to talk about the job with Kennedy. She was too young. But she’d also just overheard half the conversation, and she wasn’t stupid.

“Something like that. I need to get moving or I’ll never make it to work. You going to eat, or is this one of your hunger strikes?”

“I’m really not hungry, Mom. I’m not trying to make life difficult.” Kennedy let loose a mischievous smirk. “Not today, anyway.”

“That’s good to know. I appreciate you cutting me some slack.”

Kennedy pushed her cereal around the bowl with her spoon and took a tentative bite, making a face like she was eating live cockroaches. She dropped the spoon into the dish with a clatter and pushed it away.

“I can’t do it. I just don’t want any,” she insisted.

“Suit yourself, princess, but you’re going to be starving all morning, and it’s nobody’s fault but your own.”

“Can’t we stop at the Juice Hut and get something? That’s way healthier. Carrot, mango…”

“Nope. We need to get going. Last chance to fill your pie hole. Take it or leave it.”

Kennedy shook her head.

“Okay. Put it in the sink, and vamanos.”

Silver was already mentally going through her checklist. She didn’t have the bandwidth to engage in a food tug of war with her daughter today. She rose and dumped her now-empty glass in the sink, then stood by while Kennedy approached, holding out the cereal bowl shakily. She really was just a little girl — a ten-year-old trying to make sense out of the world.

Silver didn’t want to ruin it for her and tell her that it wouldn’t get any easier from here. Let her have her illusions.

“All right. Grab your backpack, and let’s boogie. Time’s a wasting.”

They gathered their things and made for the door, Kennedy scooping up her backpack and an individual serving box of juice to have with lunch. Silver went through the exercise of locking the two deadbolts before they descended the stairs to the front entrance.

The short, crew-cut man watched as the woman crossed the street from the subway stop and made her way towards the large building that housed the FBI offices. She was practically running, which would make sneaking up on her without being detected more of a problem.

This one wouldn’t be easy. There were pedestrians everywhere, and any public assault would cause instant panic. He eyed her over his newspaper as she moved through the doors, and resigned himself to a dull day hanging around waiting for an opportunity.

He was just about to go grab breakfast in one of the greasy spoons across the street when she exited again and trotted down the sidewalk towards the garage. He had confirmed that was where the car she used for official business was kept. His senses quickened. This could be it.

The man folded his paper and walked parallel to her, sixty yards behind and at a slower gait so as not to arouse suspicion. The garage had two exits, and he’d spent time studying the layout, so he knew that he could get in through the smaller walkway or through the main auto gate. Judging by her trajectory she would almost certainly go through the main entry, so he cut down the alley and entered through the pedestrian entrance.

He was about to make a cool fifty grand.

Silver hoped the holiday traffic would be light and that it wouldn’t take too long to make it to the crime scene. She’d needed to drop in and collect her field kit and sign a few vouchers before heading out.

As she strode through the garage entrance, her phone beeped an instant message notification. She waved at the attendant as she read it and noted that half the stalls were empty — that was hopeful. As she rounded a van and texted a reply she caught movement out of the corner of her eye — just an impression, at the far end, fairly close to her car. She relaxed when she saw that it was only Hank, the neighborhood homeless man who cleaned windshields around the block for spare change. He was pushing his cart of precious treasures, one of the wheels clattering as it vibrated erratically, something wrong with the bearing.

Hank had been eking out his grim existence near the garage for the five years she’d been working out of the building. He stopped his trek when he saw her and straightened his hunched form to attention, doing his best to hold a salute. The filthy clothes and stained, cast-off overcoat did little to augment the gesture, but she waved anyway, as was her custom. He waited until she passed, and then she heard the clamor of his cart lurching back into motion.

Her mind was churning over the implications of another killing — a little over a week after the last one. The Regulator was accelerating, which didn’t portend good things given that the crime scenes were still devoid of clues. This was the worst kind of killer to pursue — one whose actions would continue until he made a critical mistake or the FBI just got plain old lucky. And that didn’t seem likely any time soon.

She stiffened as an explosion of feathers burst from between two cars, and a pigeon flapped its way noisily towards the exit. Her nerves were closer to the surface than usual. Probably the anxiety over her ex and the financial pressure, as well as that of batting zero for five now on the killer. She hadn’t been sleeping well, was on edge from a combination of sleep deprivation and caffeine jitters.

Silver sighed when she saw the familiar outline of her car.

From behind her, a man’s hoarse voice screamed, “Hey! HEY! LOOK OUT!”

Silver spun around and registered a man barreling towards her, the unmistakable outline of a pistol pointing at her head. She instinctively hurled her briefcase at her attacker and dropped to the ground. Everything began to happen in slow motion. Hank stood petrified at the far end of the garage after bellowing his warning as she tucked and rolled and simultaneously grappled for her service weapon. The window of the sedan next to her exploded in a shower of glass inches from where her head had been a moment earlier. As she watched the careening briefcase bounce harmlessly off her attacker’s shoulder, her fingers found her Glock’s grip. She pulled the gun loose just as her assailant’s eyes narrowed in preparation for another shot, then rolled through the broken safety glass, raised her pistol in front of her, and squeezed off three rounds.

An orange bloom of flame erupted from his gun and a burning pain shot across her left buttock, but she continued rapid firing and was rewarded as the shooter’s chest erupted with smoking red wounds. He tried one more shot as he stumbled forward and crumpled, but the slug went wide. A burbled groan sounded from him when he hit the concrete, his gun clattering beside him onto the floor of the garage.

Silver held her position on the ground, weapon trained on the man’s form, and watched as his body heaved, struggling for breath, and then shuddered and lay still. Her ears were ringing from her Glock’s detonations in the confined space. She shook her head to clear it and wiped sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand. It took a few moments for her to stop shaking from the adrenaline, even as she fought to maintain calm and kept her gun pointed at her would-be killer.

After what seemed like an hour, Hank hesitantly approached. She heard her voice, sounding distant and eerily foreign.

“Stay back. Do not approach. Hank. Stay back. Stay where you are!”

Her eyes instinctively roamed over the other vehicles, searching for any additional threat. It appeared that it was just Hank in the immediate vicinity. She rose unsteadily to her feet, gun clenched in front of her with both hands as she’d been taught, muzzle still locked on the inert attacker. Hank had frozen twenty yards from the carnage, eyes glued to the spectacle.

She took several cautious steps towards the body, and after detecting no danger, closed the distance, kicking the assailant’s pistol five feet further from his outstretched hand. He wasn’t moving, so she sidled behind him, and she saw three exit wounds in his back. A small voice in her head noted that it was a nice grouping considering the circumstances — rolling through glass while trying for an erratically moving target with no real time to aim.

The pain from where she’d been hit flared into her consciousness. She lowered her pistol, changing from a two-handed grip to single so she could probe her injury. Her left hand came away shining with bright red blood, which she wiped on her jacket before reaching for her phone. She thumbed the speed dial and got Seth on the third ring.

“Seth. I’m in the garage by the office. Shots fired. I’ve been hit. I got the shooter — he’s down, but I need backup and an ambulance.” Silver was surprised how calm her voice sounded, still as if from a distance due to the gunfire-induced tinnitus.

“How badly are you hurt?” Seth asked.

“I’ll live. But get me some backup and an EMT. I’m bleeding and don’t know how long I’ll be conscious…”

“Done. I’ll call right back. Keep the line open once you answer.” Seth hung up.

She registered the wail of distant sirens competing with the ringing in her ears.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, and then her knees gave out, and she slumped against a nearby car, Glock still pointed at the man’s bulk, her hand clutching the telephone as she sank to the floor. She laid the handset on the ground, pulled out her badge and slipped the nylon cord that dangled from it over her head, smearing blood on her face in the process.

When the first squad cars arrived, followed by a group of FBI at a run from the building, they found her still alert, weapon steadily pointed at the shooter’s corpse, sitting in a small puddle of her own blood and looking like she’d fought her way through hell.

It took three tries to get her to lower her weapon.

She blacked out a few seconds later.