Chapter Twenty-Eight

Marty leaned against the wall, waiting. He thought he must feel the same way Jim had, those thirty seconds waiting on the curb for him to show with the car. Thirty seconds when nothing was happening, before all hell was going to break loose. The calm before the storm—some people might relish it, but to people like Marty and Jim, this was the hell. What was to come, maybe they could control it, figure it out, solve the case, save some lives. But until something happened, they were helpless.

Jim was sitting at the table, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip, obviously thinking. Marty envied him for a second, knowing Jim would have something to say by the time Michael got in there. He'd get the ball rolling and he'd take it as far as he could.

And Marty, though he often couldn't control his mouth and what came out of it, he didn't have the faintest idea what to say to the kid. If Michael'd really just been threatened, that was tough; he'd killed people himself and confessed to the crimes. Did he deserve mercy? Marty wanted to ask him that, but he knew that wasn't the best way to go about questioning him, not if they wanted answers.

Then again, Jim had already tried the relax-and-let-go method. They'd thought it had worked, but if it had, why were they back already talking to this kid?

"Hey, Dunbar, think out loud for once. What do you think, is he telling the truth about anything?"

Jim turned toward the dog, who jumped up to get his ears scratched. Jim was quiet a minute, petting the dog. "I was thinking over what Artez told us when he pin pointed Michael as the one who killed Samantha."

"Do you trust him?"

"I thought so. I mean, he seemed sincere about Michael being Pipsqueak. Like it never occurred to him that Josiah could be a bad guy."

"The only reason we were looking at Josiah in the first place was because Michael was leaving all sorts of clues to point us in that direction, right?"

"I'd bet the guy who jumped off the roof, I bet he was working with Michael."

"Yeah…" Marty leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling since Jim wasn't even attempting eye contact. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not sure of anything, Marty."

"You met this Uncle Josiah guy. Would he kill someone?" He looked down at Jim for a reaction to the question, watching carefully as Jim's facial features remained immoble and he blinked a couple times behind the sunglasses.

The door opened and an officer led Michael in.

"What are you doing here? I told you I didn't have anything to say to you," Michael said, looking over at Jim.

Jim looked closely at Michael as if he could see the kid. "Have a seat. We're getting that priest for you." Jim waited for Michael to comply, sitting across from Jim. The officer left and Jim kept his gaze trained on the boy. "Obviously we can't do anything to help you and you're screwed, so what's it going to hurt to tell us what this is about?"

"It won't do anything for me," Michael said, "but I'd hate to get you involved. If you know too much…"

Jim nodded. "Tell me anyway."

"Won't your wife have something to say about it if you get killed by Uncle Josiah? Or worse, if he takes a liking to you and decides to adopt you?"

"I'll take my chances."

"But will she?"

"If she doesn't like it, she's free to leave," Jim said blandly.

"You wouldn't care?"

"Not if I was already dead or brainwashed, right?"

"You really live on the edge, don't you?"

Jim laughed. "See, Michael, you have a sense of humor. I like that."

"I'm not joking."

"I like that even more."

"Can you find something to hate about me?"

"Tons."

"I'd rather you dwell on the negative."

"Why? Because of what you told us about trying your hardest to do something you'll eventually regret in life?"

"Everyone's always liked me. They shelter me, they're nice to me. It makes me sick."

"Have you managed yet to regret something?"

"If your lady friend gets killed because of me, I think I'd regret that. She's really pretty. I think Uncle Josiah would really like her."

Marty pulled out the chair next to Michael and sat down. He wanted a better view of the kid, up close, in his space. Michael turned, blue eyes rimmed with red, veins standing out. Marty narrowed his eyes as he looked him up and down.

"What do you want?" Michael asked.

"Nothing," Marty said.

"Then you won't be disappointed."

"Ha, ha." Marty set his lips and stared at the kid. "What makes you think Detectives Bettancourt and Dunbar are in danger?"

"Everyone's expendable when they get too close. Me, I thought I was safe, 'cause Josiah likes me, and he doesn't know I've been staging a coup, but here I am. He just sent me a message that I'm next. Which means nothing I did went unnoticed. He knows where I am and what I'm doing and he can get to me." Michael's eyes were wide, his face drawn, paler than before. His eyes darted one way, then the other, up to the ceiling, as if someone was all around, ready to strike, but unseen as of yet.

Marty nodded. "Who's he got in here? Can you tell us that?"

"No one I've recognized. But for all I know, you're his and you're just playing along."

"What was the message?"

"I was sleeping in the cell, my cell, and I heard a voice. It told me to start praying." Michael faked a yawn. His hand went to his mouth, but it was shaking. Marty wondered what the gesture was meant to cover.

Marty was quiet. He glanced up at Dunbar to get his reaction. Jim was chewing on his lip again, rubbing one hand over his chin.

"What sort of voice?" Jim asked after a moment. "Earthly? Human?"

"Duh."

Jim smiled. "That's right, you don't believe in an afterlife."

"Then why ask for a priest?" Marty asked.

"You can never be too careful," Michael said.

"Cover all the bases."

"Precisely. I was raised Catholic. I was baptized. I took communion. I asked for forgiveness of my sins. I'm about to die. So yeah, I'm falling back on old habits, all that stuff that was drummed into me. Just in case there is a god, and just in case his name's not Josiah."

"You want your last rites?" Father Baker asked. The big man eased himself down into the chair Jim had vacated, across the table from Michael. "Are you ill?"

"Would that I were, Father," Michael said. "Or would that I were insane."

"You could always plead insanity," Marty put in.

"Marty," Jim said quietly, "we're not here, remember?" They were just there to make sure Michael didn't try anything stupid. Other than that, they were supposed to pretend they didn't hear anything Michael said.

"I'm just trying to be helpful," Marty said unhelpfully.

Jim shushed him and turned his back on the kid and the priest.

"Would you like to do confession?" Father Baker asked.

"Not really. I don't think I have that much time."

"Take all the time you need. Perhaps the threat will pass?"

Marty sighed and Jim shot him a look, but he wasn't sure how Marty took it, or if he even saw it, since he couldn't get any feedback if Marty and him weren't allowed to say anything.

Jim knew he wasn't supposed to listen to Michael, and definitely wasn't supposed to take anything into account in terms of the case, but he knew that if Michael said anything of importance, he'd listen.

"My parents liked me," Michael said quietly. "They wouldn't have said anything even if they knew I was helping poison them. That makes me a bad person."

"Are you going to repent?" the priest asked.

"No. Samantha, my girlfriend, she was more than happy to die for me. She even asked me to kill her. So I did." He took a deep breath that Jim could hear from across the room. "Is there a Heaven?"

"You want reassurance?"

"No. I just want to know. Yes or no. Is there a Heaven? Because I know I'm not going there, no matter what. I want to know if it exists."

"Do you admit that what you've done is wrong?"

"No."

"Then how can I help?"

"I want a priest here at the end; is that so wrong? Even for a sinner?"

"If you don't repent—"

"Repenting means I've sinned. And I still don't believe I've done anything really wrong."

"Then why do you say you aren't going to Heaven?"

"Because," Michael said. "Just because. That's something you learn as you go through life. Like when you find out there is no Santa Claus."

"God isn't like Santa Claus."

Michael pushed his chair back and threw himself on his knees. "Oh, dear Lord, I've sinned! How can you forgive me?" he wailed.

The priest snorted disapprovingly.

"Michael, if you're just going to play with us, we're going home and you're going back to your cell, threats or no," Marty said.

Michael stood up. "What makes you think I'm playing? This is the way it works, right? I prostrate myself. I get on my knees. I lower myself before God and his men and I admit I've sinned?"

"It doesn't work if it's just words," Baker said. "You can say the Our Father over and over and have it mean nothing. Or you can say it once and really feel it and live it."

Michael laughed loudly. "Priests. I'd like to see you go up against Josiah."

"Michael, do you have something to say or not?" Jim asked, turning back to them.

"You're not on your death bed, and if someone does come to kill you in the night, I'm sure you deserve it," Father Baker said coldly and pushed his chair back. "Have a good night."

"Hey!" Michael said. "You can't talk to me that way."

"I can't tell a sinner he's doing something wrong? If you want help, I can help. But if all you want is to make a mockery of my religion, you're on your own."

"The Lord isn't going to carry me in my time of need?"

"You? No, not you."

"You're not even going to talk to Josiah, are you?" Michael asked when Jim stood up to leave.

"What makes you say that?" Jim turned back toward the kid.

"Because you have me. You're done. It's over."

"Actually, I was still going to talk to Josiah."

"Why?"

Jim laughed. "Michael, what are we going to do with you? Why'd you call us back? Why'd you want the priest? You're just playing with us, right?"

"If you leave me alone, that's the end. If there are no witnesses…"

Jim sat back down. "How about this. Detective Russo leaves and it's just me and you. And I'm not much of a witness. So whoever's out to get you won't hesitate to try to take you out, right? Because I can't ID them. But you can let me know who it is and maybe, just maybe, I'll save your life. How's that sound?"

Michael laughed. "I think you're crazy. Because if you did know who it was, they'd just kill you, too."

"Why? Who's out to kill you and why?"

"Because I have all the information to bring down Uncle Josiah. And I almost did. And if they find out that I gave you all the files, they'll definitely be after you anyway. As for who it is, all I know is that they're here. And that's enough to make me scared."

"So you're saying we're all in danger?" Jim leaned forward. "What's he going to do, take out the whole New York police department?"

Marty snickered and plopped down on the table next to Jim. "I like that. I'd definitely like to see him try."

"Don't laugh," Michael said.

"What's his goal? World domination?"

"Basically. Power doesn't end with just a city. He likes to travel."

Marty laughed.

"Marty," Jim reprimanded. "Let the kid talk. Come on, Michael. What's Josiah gonna do? Really?"

"No, he's not going to take out the police department. But those files are important. And incriminating. In order to get them back? I doubt he'd hesitate if someone got in his way."

"You told us earlier he wouldn't kill someone."

"Not himself. But that doesn't mean the people he hires won't have the same qualms, you know? When Josiah wants something done, it gets done."

"He's a pacifist," Marty said.

"Look, I don't know," Michael said. He stood up and pushed his chair into the table hard. "What I know is, he's bad. Bad things happen around him. He makes bad things happen. People die, people become homeless and sick—"

"You said Samantha was the one in charge of finances," Jim said.

"Josiah's not naïve. I know he knew about it. He probably taught her how, so if it came right down to it, she'd be the only one incriminated."

"Okay, so Josiah creates people to take the fall, right?"

"Yeah."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you taking the fall for something? So it won't go back to Josiah?"

"I'm in here for killing Samantha and Glenn. I did it. You have my statement."

"So there's nothing in there that's covering for Josiah?"

"No. I killed them to cover for myself. So I could take his place as the next messiah. But if they'd gotten loose, I would have been in way more trouble than I am now."

"So you're grateful," Marty said. "For us arresting you."

"Yeah." Michael moved around the small room. "The only problem is that you can't keep me safe and I don't want you to leave me alone."

There was a knock on the door.

"It's the lieutenant," Marty said.

Jim followed Marty to the door and into the hallway.

"What's up, boss?" Marty said.

"We did a sweep of the people working tonight to see who might have threatened him," Fisk said.

"Anyone?" Jim asked.

Fisk laughed. "It wasn't one of us. It was the prisoner in the cell next to him."

Jim shook his head. "Come on, seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Wouldn't Michael have noticed?"

"He seems pretty scared, Jim," Marty said. "I don't think he's thinking straight."

There was a pounding on the door to the interview room. "Come back!" Michael yelled. "I'll be nice!"

"How long are we going to baby-sit?" Marty said.

"I have a couple guys taking care of the guy in the cell next to Michael's. As soon as we're sure it's safe, we'll leave," Fisk told them.

"Do we know who it was?" Jim asked. "In the cell?"

"It doesn't seem he's related to this case. The guy's claiming he found this note in his cell telling him what to say and he said it. Chances are it was just meant to scare our guy."

"But… the other guy has a record? He was honestly arrested for something by a cop we know?"

"Yeah. Really. He didn't just appear out of nowhere."

"That's a relief."

"Well, that was fun," Marty said as he slammed the car door.

"Loads," Jim agreed, pulling on the seatbelt. He leaned back and checked his watch.

"What time is it?" Marty asked as he pulled into traffic.

"About three."

"Nice. And we didn't even need to be there. We didn't learn anything new."

"But maybe we saved a life."

"Come on, the guy was in the other cell. What could he have done?"

"I'm not going to underestimate anyone who makes threats in this case."

"He was just trying to scare the kid. It worked. Good for him."

"Marty! Don't you ever do anything just to make someone feel better? Michael feels a lot safer now. He trusts us. If we need him to testify—"

"You think we'll actually be able to pin anything on Josiah Wilkins?"

Jim was quiet. He turned his face toward the side window.

"That's what I thought," Marty said.

Jim sighed and checked his phone for messages.

"Tom called," Marty said. "I told him not to come. He didn't miss anything."

"Karen didn't call…"

"Still? That's not like her."

"I know…" Jim screwed up his face. For some reason he couldn't think of anything but Michael saying he hoped nothing happened to Karen. "You think she's okay?"

"It's Karen. Of course she's okay."

"Yeah…"

"Why?"

"It's just, she didn't call," Jim said. He dialed her number and let it ring until her voice mail came on. "Still nothing."

Marty was quiet a second. "Look, we're only a few miles from her place…"

"Okay," Jim agreed decisively.

"You want to stop?"

"Yeah, I do. She's my partner."

Marty laughed. "I'll sleep better knowing she's okay, too."

Jim nodded.

Jim laughed as he got out of Marty's car. "Karen's going to kill us if she's sleeping." The air was quiet and almost unnatural. Jim was reminded of the last time he was up this way, checking out the church down the street and meeting Josiah for the first time. Yet he still laughed. The only spook he felt in the air was the coming of Halloween. Other than that, he felt safe. Even if he was alone with Marty. He smiled to himself.

"You wanna leave?"

"No. I just think maybe I should have brought her a pumpkin or something to make up for it."

"I have the one your wife gave me."

"Nah, that's yours." Jim waved off the offer. He turned away from the car, but stopped. "Well, we do have several more at home…"

"I don't even need one."

"We have plenty."

"Just make sure you keep the one with the knife in the head."

"Why?"

"Your wife said it had sentimental value." Marty opened the car door and reached into the back seat.

Jim stared up at the sky, thinking. Christie… Had she changed her mind about the pumpkin? He'd thought she was mad, what he'd done.

"Ready?"

Jim picked up Hank's harness. "Let's go." He followed Marty and waited for Marty to find the right button to call up.

"What?" a female voice asked a moment later.

"We're looking for Karen Bettancourt," Marty said.

"Is there a problem?" the voice asked.

"No problem. My name's Marty Russo. I'm on the squad with her."

Jim heard the buzz of the door as the girl let them up.

"I'm Amy, Karen's roommate," the girl introduced herself. "Karen's sleeping."

"But she's home?" Jim asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Here," Marty said, and handed over the jack-o'-lantern. "Happy Halloween."

"Is this a joke?" Amy asked.

"We were just checking in," Jim said.

"Amy?" Karen asked, sounding still half-asleep. "What's going on? Who's buzzing at this hour?"

Amy laughed. "You should ask."

"Jim? Marty?" Karen squeaked. "What are you doing here? I can't—" And she rushed back out of the room.

Jim turned to Marty. "What?"

"Pajamas with little monkeys on them. And really bad hair. Take your pick." Marty laughed. "She didn't look overly thrilled to see us."

"What's going on?" Karen asked a moment later. It sounded like she was pulling on a robe or something.

"You didn't answer your phone," Jim said.

"I—It's around here somewhere… I came home and fell asleep. Is everything okay?"

"We just got back from the precinct. Michael was freaking out."

"Not him, too."

"He seems okay now."

"Everything's okay? Oh, come on in. The living room's this way. Sorry. You want something to drink?"

"You don't have to play hostess, Karen," Marty said.

"They came bearing gifts," Amy said. "But I'm going to bed. 'Night." She walked off.

"Couch is on your right, Jim," Karen said.

Jim reached forward a little and to his right and felt the back of a couch. He followed it around and carefully sat, pulling a soft fleece blanket out from under him. He heard Karen sit to his right and Marty somewhere across the room. They filled her in.

"So what are you doing here?" Karen asked when they were done.

"You didn't answer your phone," Jim said.

"And you got worried?" She laughed. "That's kinda sweet, Jim."

"Karen," he complained.

"It's okay. I know how this case can make you feel." She pulled the blanket over toward her. "Nice pumpkin," she said to change the subject.

"Jim did it," Marty jumped in.

"Really?" She sounded surprised. Karen was quiet a second and Jim could only imagine her scrutinizing the pumpkin even harder than she would have if Marty said he'd done it, or Tom, or some kid. "I didn't know you were artistic," she finally said.

Jim felt himself blushing a little. "I'm not. Christie and I were just messing around."

"You should have seen the one I tried to make a couple years ago. When I moved out I thought I should do up all the holidays, but wow, it was a big mess. I don't even put up a tree anymore. Amy and I just decorate a wreath."

Jim smiled a little.

"You thought I was going to give you a hard time?" Karen asked and pushed him a little playfully in the shoulder. She laughed.

"No—No." Jim shook his head emphatically. "Of course not."

"You should have seen the lovely one he made for his wife. You can just see the love oozing out of it," Marty teased.