David Rosenfelt - Airtight

People like Carlton did not react to physical danger well. Things like that happened to other people, not them. So they overreacted, spending whatever it might take to shield themselves from that world.

Yet Carlton didn’t even have his curtains drawn; Gallagher could see him sitting serenely in what looked like his study, on the main floor, reading.

So the question answered itself beyond any doubt in Gallagher’s mind. Carlton was not afraid, because Carlton was behind the violence. It was why he knew that he had nothing to be afraid of.

But he was about to find out otherwise.

Gallagher could only see one other person in the house; he looked like he could be a security guard, but there was no way to be sure of that. The challenge was going to be putting him out of commission while not giving Carlton enough warning or time to call 911.

So he walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

Carlton didn’t move, showing no concern whatsoever. Through the glass window at the top of the door, Gallagher could see the other man in the house walk towards the front door. As he approached, while his momentum was still going forward, Gallagher kicked in the door. It was a sudden, violent move that he had perfected long ago.

The door smashed the man in the face, probably rendering Gallagher’s blow to his head unnecessary. He was not dead, Gallagher saw no reason to go that far, but he would not be waking up for a while.

For Gallagher, it represented the final crossing of a line. His life was essentially over; he recognized that and was comfortable with it. After tonight he would either soon be dead or live on as a fugitive. But he was positive that the answer to Steven’s death was in this house, and he wasn’t leaving until he had it.

Gallagher raced to the study, just as Carlton was getting to his feet in response to the crashing noise. When he saw Gallagher coming towards him, he looked towards the phone, but even in his panicked state he knew there was no chance of that.

Gallagher grabbed him at the front of his throat and pushed him against the wall. Choking, Carlton tried to strain upwards and away, but Gallagher just pushed him higher, cutting off his air supply. But Gallagher was not there to kill; he was there to get information.

Maybe fifteen seconds before Carlton would have passed out, Gallagher released his grip and pushed him into a chair. He waited until Carlton could speak his first words: “Who are you?”

“I am Steven Gallagher’s brother.”

“Who is that?”

“He is the person you framed after you had Judge Brennan killed.”

“No, no, no.”

“You don’t know me, but I am telling you this. Right now I control you, I control your pain, and I control your life. Do not lie to me.”

“I swear, I had nothing to do with that.”

Gallagher was surprised by the statement. Carlton was petrified; there was no question about that. Gallagher would have guessed he would have caved by then; perhaps the man was tougher than he thought.

So Gallagher tried another approach.

He broke Carlton’s arm.

He did it like one would snap a twig, only arms make a louder cracking noise than twigs. Carlton screamed in agony, an appropriate response considering the circumstance, and then started to mix in sobs with the screams.

“Why did you kill Brennan?” asked Gallagher in a calm voice, stepping back.

“NO, NO…”

“Why did you frame my brother?”

“NO, PLEASE … I DIDN’T … I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THAT.”

Gallagher started walking back towards him, and saw the total panic in his eyes. The fact that Carlton was not caving was a major surprise to him, and he was not often surprised.

It was a dilemma, in that inflicting more pain would get Carlton to confess to anything; Gallagher could have him admit to killing Kennedy. But Gallagher didn’t want a confession that way; he wanted the truth.

“You’re lying.”

By now Carlton was whimpering. “I swear, I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know anything about that.”

“Then tell me what you do know.”

And Carlton did exactly that.

I should have done it long ago, even though it had little chance of success.

I hadn’t wanted to spook Gallagher in the process, but I could no longer worry about that. I hadn’t spoken to him in almost thirty-six hours, and in any event I couldn’t be confident that I would be able to convince him to give Bryan more time.

I needed Barone’s help, and wasn’t positive I could get it, at least not on my terms. But I was waiting in his office to make my pitch when he got in.

“Uh-oh,” he said, when he saw me. Then, “Let’s hear it, fast. Like pulling off a Band-Aid.”

“I need your help.”

“I thought that’s what you’ve been getting.”

I nodded. “And I continue to appreciate it. But we’ve got to elevate it a notch.”

“I’m listening. Reluctantly, but I’m listening.”

“We’ve got to go wide with this.” In our parlance, that meant I was saying that so far the investigation had been limited to the officers in our precinct. Going wide would mean bringing in other precincts.

“How would that help?” he asked.

“I believe he’s in a bomb shelter in one of three counties. I need every cop that can walk going door-to-door, asking people if they know of bomb shelters in their area, so we can check them out. I also got a list of abandoned missile silos from the Defense Department, which we can do as a follow-up if this doesn’t pay off.”

“You know what the odds are of this working?”

“Very slim,” I said.

“What about Gallagher?”

“I want to leave him out of this, for now. I can’t afford to burn that bridge, not while there’s a chance of him seeing the light and letting Bryan go. Or at least extending the deadline.”

“So I’m going to call in the troops, sending them on a wild-goose chase, and conceal information crucial to the investigation? When the commissioner finds out he’ll turn me into a school crossing guard, with a defective whistle.”

“It’s on me,” I said. “If it goes south, you only knew what your people told you, and I withheld the crucial facts. I’ll take the bullet.”

What I was saying was true to a point, but much was left unsaid. Barone would look bad in the process, and he had to know that.

“This is a big ask,” he said.

“Captain, my brother is going to die if we don’t do this, and maybe even if we do. I am asking you to do whatever you can to prevent that from happening, whatever the blowback might be.”

“You know which precincts we’re talking about?”

“I do.” I took a piece of paper out of my jacket pocket, and handed it to him.

He looked at it, and said, “This has to go through the chief.”

I nodded. “He’ll go with your recommendation, as long as you tell him it’s life-and-death.”

“Which is what you’re telling me,” he said, pointedly.

I nodded again. “Which is what I’m telling you.”

He thought for a moment, then went to his desk and picked up the phone, asking his assistant to get the chief on the phone for him. “If he’s not there, find him,” Barone said. “This is Grade One.”

Within twenty minutes we had the authorization we needed and I was on the way out there to organize the operation, which had almost no chance for success.

I was almost there when my cell phone rang. It showed up as “caller unknown,” which gave me hope that it was Gallagher.

It was.

“Stay near this phone,” Gallagher said, instead of “hello.”

“Of course. Why?”

“I may have information you’ll want to hear.”

“Good, but when?” I asked. “Time is running out.”