For Everything a Reason (22 page)

Chapter
Forty-Three

Only one person knelt in prayer, head bowed, hands clasped
tightly together. The rows of pews stretched out behind him, empty at this late
hour. Candles burnt on the Alter in front of him, tiny glittering lights which
danced as one synchronised group.  

Footsteps echoed hollowly.

Joseph Ruebins looked up from
his position. He turned to spot Detective Carter making his way between the
rows of empty pews. Carter walked carefully, with measured steps, conscious of
these sacred surroundings. What came out of his mouth was in complete contrast.
“Joseph, what the hell are you doing?”

Joseph turned back, glancing up
at the figure of Christ before him. “Hoping God is listening,” he replied.

“This is insane,” Carter
reprimanded.

“You not a religious man?”
Joseph asked, his attention pinned to the face of Christ.

“What?”

“Am I mad for being here,
looking for guidance?”

“Yes,” Carter replied. Then he
looked about him, and said, “I mean – no.”

Joseph turned back to the
detective. “Which is it?”

Carter hovered over Joseph, his
feet shuffling slightly, uncomfortable about being here at this hour.

“Joseph, we have a small room
for prayer at the precinct. You shouldn’t have come here – it’s too dangerous.
So, yes – I think you’re mad for being here. And no, not for looking towards
God for direction.”

The church, St Andrews, was
situated just half a block from the precinct. Joseph had lain awake as Marianna
lay next to him, sleeping lightly, whimpering like a terrified child. The noise
had sounded too much like the sound of Jake’s terror for Joseph to endure. He’d
climbed out of the single cot, dressed, then left the open cell and gone to
gather his wits. In the cell next to his, Tyler slept, the thick blanket pulled
up under her chin, just her shoes visible underneath the bed.

Joseph had stood on the steps
leading to the precinct for a while, drawing clean, crisp air into his lungs in
an attempt to dispel some of the anxiety that gnawed away at his gut. A slight
scattering of snow fell from the dark skies, barely heavy enough to leave its
mark on the world below. Just a thin layer of white powder marked the streets
and avenues. Tomorrow morning seemed like it would never come, darkness holding
on with an impossible grasp. The city had fallen quiet, as if it was now
holding its breath in anticipation of Joseph’s plight.   

The bright steeple of the
church had cut through the night like a guiding beacon, and Joseph had followed
the light with the same conviction as a lost vessel.

As he made his way towards the
church, he encountered only the occasional passer-by, who looked upon him with
more concern in their eyes than he had in his. There would be no late-night
hits, masked men jumping out of the shadows with silenced weapons. No, the
night held no nightmares now – only morning would bring such horrors. It had
taken a good few minutes to walk the hundred yards or so, his right side
slowing him down considerably.

Inside, Joseph had found the
silence that he sought so desperately. He’d seated himself before allowing his
thoughts to wander. Jake’s face had come to him, happy, bright, loving, and
Joseph had wept silently for a while.

Now, he turned his attention
back to Carter. “How did you find me?” he asked, wondering why the detective
hadn’t used such an ability to track down his son.

“You left footprints in the
snow,” Carter responded.

Joseph sighed heavily. Nothing
quite so obvious was going to lead them to his son. “You don’t need to be here,
no harm will come to me tonight.”

Carter nodded. “I guess you’re
right. Still, the city holds other dangers at these late hours.”

Joseph laughed gently. “Not for
a six-foot-two black man, there ain’t.”

Carter smiled despite the
tension. “I guess.”

“You a religious man,
Detective?”

Carter paused for a moment. He
didn’t want to explain how he cursed God every night for the loss of his son.
That would not help Joseph in this, his time of need. “It’s Thomas,” he
replied, simply.

“Sorry?”

“My name – Thomas.”

“Oh…”

“And yeah – I believe we’re
being watched by someone, something.”

“You think this ‘something’ has
a kind heart? Or enjoys watching us suffer?”

Carter shrugged. “Both –
unfortunately. But even one person’s grief can be another’s gain.”

“At the cost of the innocent,
though.”

“Perhaps,” Carter agreed. “My
son, for instance. He died by taking a bullet. A bullet that might have killed
the storeowner, had Billy not entered. A storeowner who was due to donate bone
marrow to his ailing niece.”

“What are you saying? That some
must die to protect others?”

“Not exactly. What I’m saying
is that there doesn’t always appear to be justice or reasoning to God’s plans.
But everything is connected in one way or another. Something good may come of
tomorrow. Something that could not happen if Jake hadn’t been taken.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

Joseph turned back to the
figure of Christ. “For everything a reason,” he said, praying that the
detective was right, that the return of Jake would lead to something both good
and decent.

He reached inside his pocket to
produce the letter that Edward Jones had given him. “You think there’s
something good in here?” he asked.

Carter took the creased
envelope. “Could be. Maybe.” He turned it over, finding both sides blank.
“Could be nothing. Or a warning to Viktor? Maybe Edward Jones is trying to make
amends?”

“Open it,” Joseph said.

Carter looked back with
curiosity. “What if we don’t like what’s inside?”

Joseph simply shrugged. “I
don’t like anything about any of this. What difference will that make?”

The letter was handed back.
“It’s your call, Joseph. Jones gave it to you.”

Joseph held the unopened
envelope on his lap. He turned towards the statue of Christ again, hoping for
guidance. “What the hell,” he said, pushing his thumb underneath one corner of
the flap.

A sudden hollow boom sounded
from behind them. The church door opened and an icy gust of wind raced along
the pews to douse the sea of lit candles. Some blinked out instantly, releasing
small tendrils of smoke upwards, whereas others flickered and fought to remain
alight. The door behind them swung open again, and another cold draught blew
most of the remaining candles out. Only one remained lit. This one appeared in
the centre of the extinguished group, burnt down almost to its roots. Both men
looked beyond the single light at the face of Christ. From this angle they
witnessed – believed – that the Holy Son’s eyes were actually focused on the
one remaining candle. 

Joseph’s thumb stayed as it
was. He looked first towards the candle, then back to Carter. The detective’s
attention was riveted to the single flicker of white light. Without looking
away, Carter reached out to take Joseph’s wrist. He pulled gently, removing
Joseph’s thumb from the bent flap.

“Maybe we should let Viktor
open that,” he advised, finally breaking away from the strange connection.

Joseph nodded. “Yeah. Perhaps
you’re right.” Gently, he returned the envelope to his pocket.

The detective placed his hand
on Joseph’s shoulder. “We should be getting back now.”

“Yeah,” Joseph agreed. He stood
and moved out of the pew. He took a few steps down the aisle before turning
back to Carter.

“You ready for what tomorrow
brings?”

Carter looked first at the
statue of Christ, then back to Joseph. “I swear on my boy’s soul I’ll do
everything in my power to get Jake back.”

Their eyes locked together.
Both nodded in silent agreement, then Carter joined Joseph ready to make the
trip back, ready for what the morning had to offer.

***

The morning came solemnly. There was no blaze of sunshine
on the horizon, just a slight lightening of the sky, which turned slowly from
black to darkest grey. The thin scattering of snow had cleared, blown away by
the harsh February winds. The sun’s failure to break through the thick clouds
had left the cityscape stark and monochrome.

Like the streets outside, the
Department was quiet, sombre, subdued.

Joseph lay with his head on his
arms, which were crossed over and resting on Carter’s desk, forming a makeshift
pillow. The detective sat opposite, his feet propped up on the desk, snoring
softly.

The few remaining FBI agents
were gathered in Mendoza’s office, resting peacefully, apparently unfazed by
the magnitude of recent events. It seemed as if child abduction and cop
killings were commonplace in their daily routine.

As if on a timer, set to awake
everyone at the stroke of seven, the phone rang at that exact time.

Joseph bolted upwards and
Carter nearly fell out of his seat. One of the FBI agents quickly left the
Captain’s office to rush over and take his place behind the electronic
equipment.

Joseph made his way hastily
towards the phone. He picked it up and pressed the handset to his ear.

“Yes?”

“Big bear?”

“Yes.”

“Nine o’clock at Union Station
– main foyer, and come alone.”

The phone line died instantly.

Joseph simply placed the
handset back, not looking at the agent, already knowing that the call had been
too short for them to trace.

Carter asked, “Okay – what
now?”

“New York Union Station – main
foyer – nine o’clock.”

Carter turned to the clock.
“Gives us two hours to plan.”

“He said come alone,” Joseph
added.

Carter just nodded, his mind
already moving into overdrive. “They always say ‘come alone’.”

“So what do we do?”

“Exactly as they say. You go
alone – or make them think you have.”

“How do we do that?” Joseph
asked.

The detective’s head tilted
somewhat, a slight grin playing across his face. “Union Station at nine o’clock.”

Joseph looked back blankly.
“And?”

“And, the place will be busier
than a parade on the 4
^th
of July. We could hide the entire
Department among the commuters and nobody would be any the wiser.”

“Oh…” Joseph said.

“Yeah – oh. Our killer just
made his first big mistake. He’s not going to try anything in such a busy
place.”

“So why pick it then?”

The detective shrugged.

Joseph had expected to be
ordered to meet in the most remote of places, not somewhere you could hide a
platoon of FBI agents and detectives. He looked towards the detective’s face
and found excitement there. Just for a second, Joseph felt anger and hatred
towards Carter. How dare he gain pleasure from this terrible event. In the next
instant, though, Joseph recognised that it was the pursuit of justice that
drove the detective.

“We’d better go and wake Tyler,”
Carter said. “We’ve got a lot to plan before nine.”

Chapter
Forty-Four

Nothing felt real: Not the usual heavy morning traffic or
the sound of rubber over asphalt, engines purring or revving noisily, or the
hoot and holler of horns and hotheads. The detective’s Sedan moved slowly
through the flow, sandwiched in tightly moving channels of chrome and paint.

“What time do you make it?”
Joseph asked from the passenger side.

“Eight-thirty,” Carter replied.
“Relax, Joseph, we’ll make it with time to spare.”

“And then what?”

“We get Jake back – no matter
what.”

Joseph’s attention returned to
the outside world. The colourless streets and avenues, along with this grizzled
detective, made Joseph feel as if he’d been sucked into a bad Film Noir. With
him as the hapless victim and Carter as the gritty no-nonsense cop. He shook
his head, trying to focus his thoughts away from the bizarre images that his
tired, overstretched mind seemed intent on conjuring up.

Taking a deep breath, he
cleared his head and then asked, “What if the FBI agents are seen, or you, for
that matter?”

Carter pushed his way into the
lane to his right, then left the highway and headed towards Union Station. Once
he’d negotiated his way along the turnpike and onto 5
^th
Avenue, he
answered Joseph’s question.

“They won’t. Why would they?
Nobody knows they’ve even been assigned to the case.”

“Assigned?” Joseph quizzed. To
him, the agents had taken a decidedly backseat role in all of this. They’d
hovered around the Department, looking interested and concerned, but had only
really shown any excitement or commitment once the final call had come through.
Perhaps, thought Joseph, that that was a good sign. Maybe the team were of the
highest calibre, trained only to react when most appropriate.

What had Edward Jones said?
They have their own agenda…

With the exception of Agent
Vitos, now that he thought about it, even if they lined up before him with
suits and ties straight, and shades tucked neatly into breast pockets, Joseph
wouldn’t have been able to identify them. No, they had not only been aloof but
also enigmatic.

“Look,” Carter said. “They’re
professionals – good men. They wouldn’t allow any mistakes to jeopardise Jake’s
safety.”

“What about my mistakes?”
Joseph asked, needing counsel now that the encounter was imminent.

“You won’t make any. All you
got to do is show up, do as you’re told, and we’ll do the rest.”

“This is all too convenient,
too simple, meeting at the station. Why?”

“Safety in numbers,” Carter
replied. “This Yurius may just want to hand Jake back and then slip away in the
crowd.”

“Hardly. He could simply drop
him off anywhere, call it in, and then keep out of view.”

Carter turned towards New York
Union Station, the flow of traffic thickening again, as passengers were dropped
off outside the main foyer, ready to begin their journey.

“Joseph, this Yurius is not
going to try anything on with so many witnesses around. For now, we must take
strength from the fact that Jake is okay, and we still have the element of
surprise. He has no idea we have his identity – remember?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay – let’s stay positive.”

“Yeah…” Joseph repeated, hoping
to God that the next few hours wouldn’t end in tragedy.

Carter pulled the Sedan up at
kerbside. “Okay – this is a far as I dare go.”

Joseph looked at the detective,
his eyes full of need. “What happens if he wants to go elsewhere?”

“Then go. Don’t ask questions,
don’t look too aware, and don’t challenge him – no matter what he says.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning act like the
distraught parent, desperate to get your child back and willing to do whatever
it takes.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult,”
Joseph replied, feeling exactly that. He dug inside his pocket, pulling out the
letter that Edward Jones had given him. “What the hell is in here?”

Carter looked at it with
suspicion. “Don’t pin all your hopes on that. Stay alert, be ready for
anything.”

“Okay.”

The detective held out his
hand. “Good luck, Joseph.”

Joseph took it and replied,
“You think God – or this
‘something’
– will be watching out for us
today?”

The detective nodded. “Yeah – I
do.”

Joseph opened the door. The
wind clawed its way inside the Sedan, instantly freezing both men. With
awkwardness, Joseph climbed outside. He stooped to bring himself level with the
passenger opening. “You got my back, Thomas?”

“You bet.”  

Joseph slammed the door shut
and turned away from the parked Sedan. And, as he made the short trip to the
station entrance, he felt like the loneliest man on the planet.

***

Carter watched as Joseph disappeared into the steady
throng of people. Eventually, even Joseph’s tall figure was taken by the
bustling crowd. The detective clicked on his two-way radio. It came to life
with a sharp crackle.

“Tyler – this is Carter, you
copy?”

A metallic voice came through
the static. “Yeah – reading you loud and clear. Over.”

“Good. He’s coming your way.
Over.”

A short pause followed. Then,
“I’ve got him in sight. Nobody’s making a move on him yet. Over.”

“Stay frosty. Over.”

“Copy that. Over.”

Carter dropped the radio into
his inside pocket. He turned the sound up higher and listened to the unsettling
chatter that filled the airwaves with white noise.

Now, all he could do was wait.

***

Joseph entered the busy terminal. His eyes turned to the
large clock that hung from the arched ceiling.

8:49AM.

His heart beat a little faster.
Was he too early? Was the killer watching him now and wondering why he’d
arrived already? He tried not to focus on any one face in particular, already
deciding that he would act surprised by the face that did eventually challenge
him. Equally, he tried not to look too out of place, which would inevitably
draw suspicion. He had no desire for anyone to recognise him or even
acknowledge his existence.  

He decided to wander over to
one of the benches in the centre of the foyer. Only one seat was unoccupied. He
took it, positioning himself between two businessmen, both engrossed in the
financial section of the New York Times.

The clock now read 8:52AM.

Joseph folded his arms and then
closed his eyes, understanding that he had no other option but to wait it out.

***

The sidewalk was full of pedestrians, flowing around the
parked Sedan like a stream running about a stone. Carter tried to remain
focused on the map spread out on his lap. Still, the wish to observe forced him
to use every ounce of will to keep his attention on the map. He kept his head
down, hoping that his presence would not alert any curious eyes that may be out
there, watching and waiting.

***

The second hand ran towards the hour. Joseph watched as
it climbed past
9
, moved towards
10
, then on to
11
.
The last five seconds felt like an age. Eventually the second hand disappeared
behind the long arm of the clock.

9AM.

Nothing happened. No Russian
hit-men jumped out of the crowd. No alarms went off to cause mass panic,
allowing the killer a clear path to Joseph. No nearby telephones rang with
orders to jump on the next train available, ready to take him to an undisclosed
location.

Nothing.

Panic hit Joseph instantly.

Why hadn’t Yurius shown?    

Where was his son?

The businessman to his left
coughed slightly, forcing Joseph to look toward him. They made eye contact.
Joseph’s breath caught in his chest. Had Yurius sent another in his place? The
guy looked worried; possibly by the battered, bruised and desperate-looking
black man who sat beside him. He closed his newspaper quickly, made a show of
checking his wristwatch, realising that time had slipped by him, and then
stood, before disappearing into the crowd. Joseph tried to follow the guy’s
progress, but a multitude of similarly tailored suits camouflaged his movements
almost instantly.

He took a deep breath and
forced his heart to steady. He reached up to wipe away the cold sweat that had
broken out along his forehead. Thirty-three seconds had ticked by since he last
looked.

The remaining businessman,
sitting to his right, looked towards Joseph and then quickly turned his
attention away. Understanding that his body language was drawing unwanted
attention, Joseph picked up the discarded newspaper and opened it in an attempt
to look normal, composed. He rested it against this thigh, the words swimming
before his eyes, his mind unable to steady itself long enough for him to read
anything of significance.

Then, suddenly, a bold headline
came into focus.

Joseph squinted, forcing the
words to take shape. He blinked once, twice, not fully comprehending what they
said. He read the headline again, then for a third time. “Oh, dear God…” he
breathed, understanding coming to him in a flash. He jumped to unsteady feet,
the newspaper slipping from his fingers. Now, he spun full circle, looking for
a familiar face – an agent, or undercover detective. Nobody. Just strangers in
a strange world: a world that had just been knocked out of kilter and tipped
towards absolute madness.

***

Carter’s radio crackled to life. Tyler’s voice filled the
interior of the small Sedan. “This is Detective Tyler. Something’s happening.
Ruebins is on the move. Over.”

Carter hit the communications
switch. “He made contact with anyone? Over.”

“No. Not that I can see. Over.”

“Wait. I-I think he’s…” – the
reception faltered and Tyler’s voice became a squeal of static.

“Tyler?” the detective called.
“Tyler. You copy? Over.”

Just the hiss of airwaves.

“Tyler?” Carter was momentarily
frozen by indecision. What should he do? His orders had been to remain here,
ready to pursue any fleeing vehicles. If he left now and Joseph was taken
elsewhere, then the chase would prove more difficult.

“Tyler?” he barked again.

The radio just hissed with
contempt.

“What the hell,” he said,
reaching out to open his door. His hand froze. Someone in the crowd had just
gone by. Clean and tidy, and whistling a tuneless melody, as if he cared not
about the world around him.

***

Presley Perkins strutted boldly down Broadway, oblivious
to the man whose child he had so recently murdered.