As they sped down the street Reese was frantically checking his phone for a map of the area. Time seemed to be slowing, the way it did for him sometimes when the adrenaline started pumping. He was aware of Joss slowing for a red light, cautiously checking for traffic before she accelerated again and ran it.
"Take the next right, Joss. Then drop me three blocks along, take the next left and go one block. Stop there, but stay in the car. You weaponed up?"
Her only reply was a snort. Okay, stupid question.
"I mean it, Joss, stay in the car," he said as he got out. She shot away without replying. He turned and sprinted down the darkened street.
xxxxxx
Skidding around the corner to the service lane where the camera blind spot was, he drew his weapon and felt in his pocket for a flashlight as the power went out again to the block. That trick's not going to work this time, you bastard. Time stretched endlessly; he felt as though he had hours to examine every detail of the scene before him. A dark, narrow thoroughfare, all rear entrances and overflowing trash cans. His flashlight picked out the edge of an overloaded dumpster. A car appeared at the other end, maybe a hundred yards away. Joss was in position. Sounds from behind the dumpster. He loped, half crouching, towards it. A red trickle on the ground coming from underneath...
"NYPD, freeze!" He bellowed, and lunged around the dumpster, training his flashlight on the area behind it.
Trent was on top of his victim like some squalid vampire. He scrambled to his feet, trousers open. His eyes glittered at Reese in the beam of the flashlight. He turned and ran. Reese took aim at his legs, but then shifted and very deliberately put two rounds into his centre mass. The Gingerbread Man dropped like a sack of potatoes. Ignoring him for the moment, Reese turned to the nurse. No pulse, and a glance at the huge pool of blood told him there was nothing left to save.
A car door slammed at the other end of the street. Joss approached, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. She stopped and crouched over the crumpled mound of Trent's body. He was apparently still alive. Reese heard him mutter something to Carter, but then his body twitched, went rigid and then sagged as the life left it.
"That your service weapon?" asked Carter as she approached him.
"No, I used one from the refuge."
"Good, 'cause we're going to find this scene a little hard to explain without blowing your cover, or at the very least landing you in a world of trouble."
He could hear approaching sirens now. Carter was pulling a cloth from her jacket pocket. "Here, wipe down your gun and put it in her hand," she instructed.
"What?" He was slightly bewildered, but complied.
"The Gingerbread Man's last victim took him with her," Carter explained. She was patting down the nurse's body. "Look for her bag, John. If she's got a gun in there, grab it."
Understanding, he quickly located the bag on a pile of flattened cardboard next to the dumpster. "No gun in here," he reported to Carter.
"Good, now let's get gone," she replied.
They killed their lights and hurried down the street towards her car. "Huh, that trick with the power going out worked in our favour this time," Joss remarked as they slid into their seats. "No-one's going to be able to make either of us out on the security cam footage." She pulled away just as the flashing blue lights of the first police car appeared at the other end of the service lane.
"I thought I told you to stay in the car," he said, glancing across at her.
She looked unrepentant. "I did. Then I heard shots fired, so I came down to back you up. Sorry, John, it's what I do."
"Maybe I'll leave you at home next time," he grumbled.
She smiled. "I don't believe you."
"What did he say to you?" he asked her. His limbs were relaxing now, going rubbery as he came down off his adrenaline high.
"Trent?" A line appeared between her brows as she drove. "I don't think he was talking to me," she said pensively. "He said, 'You said you'd protect me.'"
xxxxxx
When he woke the next morning the sun was shining, Joss was beautiful, his morning coffee smelt delicious, and he was even able to indulge in a bit of schadenfreude as he rode the subway and then walked the last part to work – the traffic lights were short phasing all over Manhattan, and the streets were in gridlock.
It was very hard to walk into the precinct as though for an ordinary day. Fusco flagged him down as soon as he arrived and they retreated to an empty interview room.
"So you popped the bastard," he said with an air of great satisfaction.
Riley raised his brows. "If you say so, Lionel."
"You left a nice little scene there. I don't think anyone's gonna look very closely. The nurse apparently had an unregistered firearm, but given the climate of the last week I bet she's not the only nurse who got weaponed up. It's a mystery how she was able to retain consciousness long enough to hit him, and a miracle she got him so cleanly, but hey. The human body's capable of amazing things, huh? And it's not like anyone's shedding tears over that pervert."
Riley nodded. "Though I'm still wondering who he was working with," he said thoughtfully.
"Yeah. The power went out again, right? And you know, on our way over there every single traffic light we hit was red. Not that it slowed us much. Shaw was driving like a crazy woman." Fusco paused and shook his head, then suddenly grinned at Riley. "C'mon, Wonderboy. Let's get back to work."
Back at his desk, he began the process of tidying up. As he dug down through the geological strata of files, memos and random bits of paper which had built up over the past week, he found a series of post-it notes from the previous two days. "Phone Alex Campbell, 555-3092," he muttered to himself. "What does my landlord want from me?"
He pulled out his cell and made the call.
"Detective Riley," said the voice at the other end. "I can understand you've been busy the last week or so, but you need to know your last rent payment bounced. I need you to make a payment as soon as possible."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Mr Campbell, I'll get right on it." He tried to make a transfer from his phone as soon as he finished the call, but when he accessed his account he found a negative balance. Huh? He dug further, and found he hadn't been paid.
"Lionel, was there anything wrong with your paycheck a couple of nights ago?"
"Don't think so, Riley. Why, somethin' happened to yours?"
"Yeah, I haven't been paid."
"Call Personnel, maybe they can fix it."
When he did so they were apologetic. The week's pay run had had more than its normal share of errors, and a correction would be made on his next pay. "But my landlord wants his rent," Riley snarled. "How am I supposed to pay him, just send him an IOU?" The clerk on the end of the phone had no answer for this, but remained adamant. The next pay run would correct the problem, but the system would not allow one-off payments midway through the cycle.
Fusco had listened to the conversation with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. When Riley rang off, staring at his phone as though it had personally insulted him, Fusco grinned. "Real life sucks sometimes, doesn't it, Wonderboy?"
Riley glared at him. Fusco threw up his hands. "Hey, just bustin' your balls. I can slip you a hundred till payday if you need it."
He was about to refuse, but thought of his landlord and sighed. "I'd be grateful, Lionel."
xxxxxxx
The day went downhill from that point onward. He spent the afternoon tying up the last loose ends from the investigations into the murders of Veronica Stevens, Patti Sloane and Dominique Riviera, and the assault on Karen Smith. It was sobering work, a reminder that even though they'd finally stopped Trent there were still three families who would never see their loved one again. He tried to tell himself that they'd saved God knew how many other women from the same fate, but somehow those theoretical saves were more than outweighed by three, now four, real deaths. Too late. You missed. You failed...
He made it home to the brownstone, showered and rang Joss. Her phone went for a long time and then went to voice mail. Frowning, he gave it a moment and then hit her number again. Still no reply. He began to feel alarmed, and called Finch.
"Finch, has Joss been in contact with you today? She's not picking her phone up."
"No, Mr Reese, she hasn't," Finch responded. "Just a moment." There was a pause, and the keyboard clattered in the background. "The GPS shows her phone still at her apartment. Maybe you should go over and check on her." He sounded a little worried.
"I'm on it, Finch."
He drove over, as quickly as he could manage through the evening traffic. Apparently the traffic light problem of the morning had been fixed, but tempers among drivers were seemingly running high. He was feeling jumpy and frazzled as he pulled up on Carter's street. He buzzed her apartment and waited impatiently. Finally, just as he was becoming seriously worried, she answered.
"Hi, John." There was something wrong, he could tell instantly.
"Joss, are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just tired. It's been a long day." There was a pause, and she said "Do you want to come up?"
"Of course I do, Joss. What's wrong?"
The door clicked open, and he ran up the stairs without waiting for it to close behind him. When he got to her apartment she was standing in the doorway waiting for him.
"Joss, what's wrong?" He took one look at her face and folded her in his arms. She began to cry as they made their way in out of the hallway. Reese kicked the door shut behind them and sat her down on the sofa. He pulled her close and simply held her as she sobbed. Gradually she regained some control. The sobs died away into sniffles, and at last she was still. He smoothed her hair back and kissed it. "Tell me."
She took a shuddering breath. "Yesterday was Taylor's birthday. I didn't know what to get him since we haven't spoken in so long. So I got him a new iPhone and posted it to him. I was too scared to go around there and try to give it to him. But, John, he sent it back. Didn't even unwrap it." She gestured blindly at the kitchen counter as tears started again. There was a brightly wrapped gift sitting there amongst the brown paper it had arrived in. It had "NO THANKS" scrawled across it in black marker pen.
She began to sob again, and all he could do was sit with her and hold her. It was hard not to hate the stupid, hurting boy who had done this to her. But he tamped down his anger, and held her close, and tried to comfort her. It took a long time before she was calm enough make ready for bed. She made it at last, and he turned out the light and curled himself protectively around her. At last she drifted off to sleep, but he lay awake much longer. How do I protect her from this? What can I do when it's someone she loves who is hurting her?
To be continued...