“I took the bus.”
“You took the bus.” Driscoll was ready to explode. He turned his attention to his two detectives, Butler and Vittaggio, “You guys can go. Grab a bite to eat and meet me back at the house.” The two cops did an about-face and walked away. “Now, young lady-”
The crackling of the radio interrupted his tirade. It was car number four.
“Lieutenant, are we good to go?”
“Bring the car over here,” he said.
As the car pulled up in front of Driscoll, he grabbed Moira by both shoulders, opened the sedan’s rear door, and pushed her inside.
“Take this young lady home,” he ordered.
“Will do,” said the detective seated behind the wheel.
Driscoll and Margaret watched as the unmarked police sedan pulled away.
“I’m gonna kill her. What if he had shown up and somehow grabbed her?”
“Let’s be thankful he didn’t.”
Driscoll slowly shook his head.
“I’m hungry,” said Margaret. “And my feet are killing me. Let’s go sit down somewhere and eat.”
The pair climbed in behind Danny. As they made their left turn out of the parking lot, neither of them noticed the slow-moving van that had pulled up behind car number four.
Chapter 60
It had been hours since the failed attempted capture at Toys R Us. A frightening thought occurred to Driscoll. What if the killer could track down Moira through her computer? He reached for his desk phone and punched in Thomlinson’s extension.
“Cedric, contact the Tiernans and arrange to pick up Moira and bring her in. I have some technical questions for the little miss.”
“Consider it done.”
Meanwhile, on the other part of town, Pierce sat patiently behind the wheel of his van. He stretched his back and narrowed his eyes to tiny slits. Waiting was not a favorite pastime. His mind hit upon the details of the day’s activity. The siege at the toy store. The interminable wait. The arrival of the girl, and his following the unmarked police car to her home, outside of which he now sat. It was a quiet, tree-lined street, and his van was not out of place parked where it was, behind a Volkswagen beetle.
Cedric pulled a set of keys from the pegboard, signed out using the log, and walked down the back steps of the station. He began to look for unmarked department auto number 238. The car could be parked anywhere. There were two things detectives never did. One was to put gas in the car, and the second was to leave a note with the keys indicating where the car was parked.
Thomlinson walked north on Yellowstone Boulevard, searching for the car. As he walked he noticed a line outside a local bodega. Curiosity got the better of him, and he made his way over to the store to see what was going on.
“What’s up?” he asked the last man on line.
“Two hundred fifty-two million dollars is what’s up, my brother.”
Of course! The Mega Millions lottery, he thought. One of the biggest payoffs in history, and he’d almost walked right by it. He took his place in line, figuring Driscoll wouldn’t mind. Hell, if he won, he might give Driscoll a million or two. It was the Lieutenant who had stood by him when all the others had turned their backs on him.
As the line slowly shuffled toward the store’s counter, Thomlinson began to dream about what he would do with all that money. It would mean a new life for him. He could finally go home. For good. Home, where it was warm. Home, where he could escape New York City and its cold, relentless winters. He had always longed for the sun and the glistening sand of his native Trinidadian beaches.
It would also take him away from all the stares, the whispers, and the looks. Away from the accusing eyes and the contempt that was directed toward him. Hell, the city could keep its pension. As a big winner he would walk into the Commissioner’s office, throw his shield on the desk, and, without a word, turn and walk out the door. It was every cop’s fantasy. So, why not his?
The line moved forward slowly, and it was twenty minutes before he got to play his numbers. He shoved the tickets into his shirt pocket and resumed his search for the car.
The car was parked in a bus stop 200 feet from the bodega. He got in, started her up, and turned on the radio. Bob Marley’s “I Shot the Sheriff” blared from twin speakers. That’s it. It must be a sign, he thought to himself. Yes, Mr. Lottery Director, I’ll take the full cash payout, no installments for me, thank you.
As he pulled away from the curb, three uniformed cops stopped to stare at the crazy detective who was singing at the top of his lungs.
Chapter 61
Moira slammed the door behind her, bound down the steps, and ran past the hedges onto the sidewalk. She looked up and down the street, but didn’t see the car she was expecting. She paced back and forth. Her thoughts were of Driscoll. He had yelled at her in front of his men and had embarrassed her. And now he needed her help again. This time, it’s gonna cost him big time, she thought.
Pierce couldn’t believe his luck. There she was, right out in the open. He could tell by her actions that she was waiting for a ride. But from whom? Caution flags unfurled in Pierce’s brain. After a couple of minutes of hesitation, he seized the moment and acted.
He waited until she turned her back on him and then eased the van out of its parking spot and slowly made his way down the street. As he pulled up next to Moira, he rolled down the window and smiled. He would follow her lead.
“Driscoll send you?” she asked, visibly puzzled.
“That he did. Hop in.”
“I was expecting Cedric.”
“He got called away, so they sent me instead.”
He was a nice-looking man in a tailored suit. Moira decided he looked the part and got in.
“I’m Detective Sweeney,” Pierce said, as he stuck out his hand.
“Moira,” said the girl as she shook it.
Pierce eased the van away from the curb and stopped at the corner. He turned to face his prize. “Moira, I dropped my cell phone, and I think it slid behind your seat. Could you reach around and grab it for me?”
“Sure,” said Moira, bending her body away from Pierce.
With a rag soaked in Halothane, Pierce smothered the girl’s face. Moira quickly succumbed to the powerful elixir, and a gleeful Colm Pierce now had a new toy to play with.
Chapter 62
By the time Thomlinson got to Moira’s house, the girl was nowhere to be found. He rang Moira’s bell. Her mother told him the last time she saw her daughter was when she was pacing the sidewalk waiting for her ride. That was twenty minutes ago.
Thomlinson used the car’s police radio to contact Driscoll. “Lieutenant, I’m outside Moira’s house, but the girl’s not here. Her mother says she was waiting outside the house for me. She call you?”
“No. I haven’t heard a word from her.” A feeling of dread came over Driscoll. “Cedric, start knocking on doors and see if anyone saw her in the last half hour or so. Get back to me, pronto.”
“OK. Anything else?”
“Yeah. What the hell took you so long? It’s a half hour ride, and it took you close to an hour.”
“I hit construction on the Belt. It was backed up solid,” Thomlinson lied.
“OK. Start knocking on doors and get back to me.”
Within ten minutes Thomlinson was back on the phone to Driscoll. “Lieutenant?”
“What have you got?”
“A lady down the street saw Moira get into a van and leave about a half hour ago. She says she wasn’t really paying attention, but she’s sure it was a van. Nothing else. Just a van. She doesn’t even remember what color it was.”
Driscoll felt sick in the pit of his stomach. He has her. His policeman’s instinct told him so.