Vincent casually pulled back the hem of his leather jacket. There in a holster was a massive.45 auto. ‘Feel free to run.’
‘Why, man? Why you doin’ this?’
‘Because I need your brother, and I need him now.’
‘I don’t — ’
‘Done fucking with you.’ Vincent pulled his weapon, cocked the hammer, put it to Carter’s right kneecap. ‘You’ve now got ten seconds.’
‘Elbow,’ Byrne said.
Vincent looked over. ‘Elbow?’
‘Yeah,’ Byrne said. ‘If you shoot them in the elbow, they can still walk. Hurts like a motherfucker, but we won’t have to carry him down to the river.’
‘The river?’ Carter yelled.
‘Good point,’ Vincent said. He turned back to Carter. ‘You now have two seconds.’
‘Wait!’ Carted said. ‘I page him. Then he texts me back with the place I gotta go.’
Vincent took a moment, then picked up the disposable cell phone. ‘This is the phone he texts you on?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And he doesn’t call, or leave a voicemail?’
‘No,’ Carter said. ‘He don’t want his voice on nothin’.’
‘Who else has this number?’
‘Nobody. Just DeRon.’
‘Page him.’ Hands shaking, Carter did as he was told. Twenty seconds later, as promised, a text message came across the screen. It was an address.
‘See how easy that was?’ Vincent asked.
Carter said nothing.
Vincent tossed the cell phone to Byrne. Carter opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.
‘We can’t have you tipping your brother now, can we?’ Vincent said.
‘I ain’t gonna call him.’
‘Promise?’
‘Yeah.’
Vincent laughed. He turned the man around, muscled him over to the open trunk.
‘Get in,’ Vincent said.
‘What the fuck, man? I tole you where he is.’
‘I know,’ Vincent said. ‘And on behalf of the entire PPD let me say that we really appreciate your cooperation. Now get in the fucking trunk.’
Reluctantly, Carter got in the trunk. Before Vincent slammed it shut, he took the baggie out of his pocket. ‘I’ll just put this in the back seat.’
‘You can’t leave that out like that!’ Carter yelled. ‘What if the cops come by?’
‘If they do you can make them some pancakes,’ Vincent said. ‘It’s Bisquick, asshole.’
Vincent slammed the trunk lid, threw Carter’s keys into a sewer.
Ten seconds later the two detectives headed to North Philly.
FIFTY
The voice on the handset belonged to Josh Bontrager. When Jessica heard it she nearly jumped.
‘Jess,’ Bontrager said. ‘Please tell me you’re on radio.’
Jessica keyed her handset. ‘I’m here,’ she said. ‘What is it, Josh?’
‘I’ve got Mateo on my cell. He’s monitoring the camera behind St Simeon’s.’
Jessica glanced over at Maria Caruso. They had been lulled into that torpor that happens when you stare at something so long you no longer see it. It was a common — and dangerous — malady that occurred on long stakeouts.
‘What about it?’ Jessica asked.
‘He’s got activity behind your church.’
This got Jessica’s undivided attention. She took her phone from her pocket, put it on silent. If there was something coming down, it would be better to do this off police band. ‘Have him call me.’
A few seconds later Jessica’s phone vibrated. ‘What do we have, Mateo?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a shadow on the wall behind the north side of the church. Someone just walked up that alley and stopped.’
‘Shadow?’ Jessica asked. ‘As in one person?’
‘Yes,’ Mateo said. ‘Can you see any of the north side?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m out of position.’
‘Hang on,’ Mateo said. ‘I have more movement. Whoever it is is heading for the north side entrance to the church. I’m going to lose him in a few seconds.’
‘Is Sergeant Westbrook there?’ Jessica asked.
‘I’m here,’ Westbrook said. Mateo had the phone on speaker.
‘Do you want us to check it out?’ Jessica asked.
‘Yes,’ Westbrook said. ‘I’m sending backup. Stay on radio.’
Jessica kept her cell on silent, stuffed it in her jeans pocket. She and Maria got out of the car, circled back to the trunk. Jessica opened it, and both women slipped on Kevlar vests. Simultaneously they unsnapped their holsters, checked the action on their Glock 17s, reholstered.
Jessica looked both ways, up and down the street. There was an older compact car parked a half block away, but she saw no one in it.
She glanced at her watch. It was 10.20.
Detectives Jessica Balzano and Maria Caruso crossed the street, and headed to the alleyway behind St Simeon’s.
FIFTY-ONE
When Byrne arrived at the address he had gotten on Carter’s cell phone, he realized he had not formulated a plan on what he would do when he found DeRon Wilson.
His prayer was that nothing had happened to Gabriel. Byrne knew that, if not for his own involvement with the boy, none of this would be happening. No, he amended. If it wasn’t for Kevin Byrne’s temper, none of this would be happening. He knew it as he was walking down that hallway that night, knew it when Wilson gave him that defiant look — a look he had seen a million times before on the job — knew it when he stupidly drew his weapon. Granted, he didn’t expect it to be splashed all over the nightly news, but that was no excuse.
He had dealt with the DeRon Wilsons of the world for more than twenty-five years. Why did he lose it so completely this time?
Vincent had wanted to come with him, to see this thing through to the end, but Byrne had cut him loose. He had no idea how bad this would get, and there was a good chance things were about to escalate. Vincent Balzano had done him a solid, and Byrne didn’t want to thank him by putting Vincent’s career in jeopardy. There would come a moment — there always did in police work — when Byrne would be there for him.
Before he could enter the building he felt a phone vibrate, a call coming in. Byrne fished the phone out of his pocket. It was not his own cell phone, but rather the cell phone he had gotten from Carter Wilson.
Who else has this number?
Nobody. Just DeRon.
Byrne checked the screen. It was a voicemail. He hit the appropriate buttons.
After a few seconds, the message played. The whispering voice made Kevin Byrne’s blood run cold.
‘One God, detective,’ the disembodied voice on the other end of the line said. ‘Seven churches.’
A second later he got a text on the same phone. It read:
IF YOU ENTER THE BUILDING THE BOYWILL DIE.
For a few seconds Byrne could not move. He drew his weapon, glanced around, overhead. He could be observed from a hundred different vantage points.
He put the phone in his pocket, turned on his heels, and ran.
FIFTY-TWO
When Jessica and Maria rounded the corner, into the alleyway behind St Simeon’s, they saw no one. Weapons drawn, they found a door into the church, the glass in it broken, slightly ajar. Jessica kicked open the door.
The nave of the church was empty. It looked to have been recently cleaned. All the pews were gone, the altar had been dismantled, even the confessionals removed.
Jessica and Maria made their way slowly across the empty space. They passed through the church and found a doorway leading to stairs.
They still-hunted down the steps into the basement, their weapons over their Maglites, one tread at a time. If the killer was waiting for them, he would see the light. It was extremely risky, but there was no choice. The basement was pitch black.