Chapter 16

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"Any news?" John asked as he walked into the library with a steaming paper cup in his hand. Looking up from his monitors, Finch gratefully accepted the hot beverage. He actually couldn't remember the last time he had had something to drink or eat. After Mr. Reese had briefed him on what he had learned about their Number, Finch had returned to the library for full access to his system while John begrudgingly had taken a wobbly Detective Fusco to see a doctor - but not before changing into his customary black-suit-white-shirt-no-tie attire.

After what Finch had seen in the file John had given him, he understood the ex-op's obvious burning desire to get his hands on their Number. But he was not about to let his friend face-off with a man who was capable of such atrocities without knowing everything there was to know about Michael Giardino. Besides, they didn't really have a clue where to start looking for him.

"Actually, I was about to call you," Finch said, after emptying half of his tea. "How is the detective?"

John walked up to the cracked glass board, and studied the collection of pictures taped to it. There was Louis Candrall's sullen looking face from his ID picture on the far left of the board. Taped underneath it, a younger and pre-plastic surgery version of the same man - with the same cold eyes - was staring from a mug shot of Michael Giardino. Finch had also found an official picture of the young version of the former District Attorney, which he had taped on the far right. A.D.A. Richard Sheffield the caption read, and John realized that until now he hadn't even known the man's name.

However Reese's eyes were drawn to the picture in the center. He had seen it before, but knowing what had happened to Sheffield's wife and daughter and looking at their happy faces now made his stomach twist. He tore away his gaze and turned his back on the smiling faces. "He's fine. A few stitches. Maybe a headache for a few days." John shrugged. "Fusco's got a thick skull."

"I'm glad to hear that." Finch could certainly feel for the detective. Every beat of his heart reminded him exactly where their Number's gun had connected with his skull. And by the still more than slightly battered looks of Mr. Reese, Harold figured that aspirin - or something stronger even - was definitely going to be part of his friend's diet for the next couple of days as well. Finch gingerly placed his empty tea cup on the table, fully aware that John was more interested in what he had been able to find out than in the detective's or his own well-being. He cleared his throat. "So far I have been able to verify everything that is in Mr. Sheffield's file."

Reese looked back at the glass board and at Candrall's face, his hands drawing into fists at his side. "He played us," he said in a low, angry voice. "Any idea where he's now?"

"Far away from the city if he's smart," Finch replied dryly. He got up and walked over to the printer to retrieve a print-out.

"There must have been some reason for him to return to the city," John said. "I highly doubt the senior care system was a determining factor."

Finch stepped up beside him. "I checked all of Mr. Giardino's known associates. Most of them are either dead or in prison ... or want him dead themselves." John turned to look at Harold's profile. "He did burn quite a few bridges with the Gambinos when he decided to act without the permission of the Commission," the hacker explained, twisting his upper body to share a look with his partner before returning his focus back to the board.

"But you've found something," John stated, referring the print-out Finch was still clutching in his hands.

Harold reached forward and taped another ID photo on the glassy surface of the board. It showed the timidly smiling face of an elderly gentleman - Reese put him somewhere in his sixties - with sparse, grey hair and a wrinkled, almost too gaunt looking face. John had never seen him before.

"Tony Peralta," Finch said. "He spent the last forty years at Rikers, serving - among others - a life-sentence for the murder of Michael Boles - Giardino's son. He was paroled three months ago."

"About the time Louis moved into the retirement home," John said slowly. He had a feeling that he already knew where Finch was going with this.

Harold nodded. "The Harmony Health Center is actually located only five blocks from Mr. Boles' apartment."

"He was casing his next kill. Revenge for his son. But whatever he was planning, thanks to us and Sheffield's men, he'll have to hustle it along. I bet, wherever he is," Reese tapped the picture on the board, "Giardino won't be far."

"Or he could have left the city," Finch interjected.

John gave the thought a few seconds of consideration. "He could have, but I don't think he did. He didn't strike me as someone who would be dissuaded so easily - not without accomplishing what he came for."

Finch thought about John's reasoning, not entirely convinced. But then again, he'd never understand the reasoning of a sadistic killer. "In any case, it's our best bet. And it puts Peralta right in the crosshairs."

"Do we know where he is right now?"

"He's currently safe, working a late shift at a laundry shop. He'll get off in about an hour."

"Send me the address," John said, already on the move towards the stairs.

"Mr. Reese, wait," Finch called after his partner. "What are you going to do with Mr. Giardino if you find him?"

Reese stopped, raised his head to look at the ceiling and breathed in slowly, and without turning around he said, "I haven't made up my mind yet."

Finch watched John's rigid back as he disappeared through the library's metal lattice gate. Even though he knew that the cold tone to John's voice wasn't directed at him, it still had made a shiver run down his spine. He was quite aware of what the ex-op was capable of; he knew that John did not take kindly to people who hurt women or children. And he also knew that when John made up his mind - no matter how much he'd try to appeal to his conscience - he wasn't going to be able to stop him.

"Oh dear."

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To be continued...