Free The Face of Fear: A Powers and Johnson Novel by R.J. Torbert Page A

complaining and figure out how the fuck to handle this.”
    The car pulled out of the spot in front of Starbucks on East Main Street, took a right onto East Broadway as they headed to Belle Terre to the “Pink” mansion. As they passed Danford’s on the way to the Pink Mansion, Paul received a call from the morgue that Tim’s parents wanted to take his body to Florida, where they lived, so they could visit his grave at their convenience. There would be no funeral in New York or Long Island. His share of the business was also financed from his parents, and it was expected it would be sold to his partner.
    They reached the gate to the Pink Mansion, identified themselves, and drove up to the front of the house.
    “ She-Devil ,” Bud said as they walked up to the front.
    “OK,” Paul said, “tell me.”
    Bud started showing his pride in his movie-trivia IQ. “This is the house that was in the 1989 movie She-Devil . Remember that, my partner. You’ll win a million-dollar trivia question one day.”
    “OK,” Paul said, “I’ll try to remember.”
    The door swung open, and true to his job, it was Robert Simpson who opened it.
    “May I help you?” he asked.
    “Yes, Mr. Simpson, we need to speak with you.”
    Paul showed his badge, and as the detectives were about to walk in, the butler stopped them. “I’ll be happy to speak to you outside for a few minutes, but not inside the home. I need to be respectful of the family.”
    “Oh,” Bud said. “Respectful, which is why you were banging your boss’s daughter.”
    “That’s enough!” Simpson yelled. “There will be no discussion. Get a warrant or allow me to go to my attorney, but that’s it.”
    “What do you need an attorney for?” Paul replied. Simpson stopped for a moment before continuing to the door.
    Bud grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear, “Listen, fuckface, if I find out you’re involved in this up to your ass, you won’t be able to shit the regular way for a long time. You understand me?” Simpson pulled away and shut the door.
    “What did you say to him?” Paul asked.
    “I told him he smelled terrible.”
    “Yeah, right,” Paul said as they walked away. Paul got on the phone and called Cronin to get Agent O’Connor’s number.
    “Boss, we need to get together with him again.”
    “You’re seeing him tomorrow,” Cronin replied. “Cover it all then.”
    Paul hung up the phone, and it rang again. This time it was his father asking what was going on and if Paul needed him to visit. He convinced him to stay away until the case was cleaned up, although he wasn’t sure for how long.
    “Where to Detective Powers?” Bud asked.
    “Let’s go back to Timothy’s Bar and Grill and ask CSU if we got anything on Tim’s Mustang. Maybe we got lucky since it happened next to the car. I also want to listen to the tape on the ransom call to the father.” CSU was an acronoym for Crime Scene Unit and it was common for the cops to use it.
    It was what Bud liked a lot about Paul: he wanted to check everything out and rarely forgot anything. They balanced each other out well. Bud had a tendency to take the short cut, while Paul wanted to be certain everything was in order.
    They spoke to everyone at the bar and recorded the names of the people there. Paul knew that Tim’s murder was not about Rachelle’s article. It was about Tim talking too much in reference to the article. He was more concerned about his possible 15 minutes of fame in the local Port Jefferson area than anything else. Paul also felt that the people involved in his murder were at the bar, and the only way they would want him quiet was if they were also involved in the Deborah Lance kidnapping. They left the bar with eight names.
    Paul said, “Let’s get these names run in the system. Call O’Connor. Let’s listen to the tape and let’s go back to the mansion to speak to the father. Tell O’Connor he can meet us there if he wants.” They were halfway back to the