True to his word, Paul delivered Peter to the 101st. Unlike the heartfelt welcome Peter received the day before, everyone nodded just their good mornings at the visitor.
Peter felt a twinge of jealousy and fear as he made his way to Kermit's office, passing the front desk with its multitude of complainants, lawyers, and prisoners.
His jealousy was because others were doing his job. They had all gone on with their lives, seeming to forget about him.
His fear was not of the people, but of the possibility of making the wrong decisions. Peter's insecurity came to mind as he suggested to himself, "Maybe I should have just stayed out of this and kept to Chinatown."
"Why the solemn face?"
Looking up, Peter tried to hide his frown. Kermit stood in his doorway with two cups of coffee. The ceramic mugs were each labeled, one reading "genius" and the other "I'm with genius."
"Come on in and let's see what we can find, partner."
The metal-framed chair did nothing to comfort Peter's aching leg. After sitting in it for an hour, it started serving as a torture device. The pins that held his femur together protruded out just far enough to clink against the chair each time he readjusted his position.
Kermit looked up from the monitor screen when Peter let out a hiss as, once again, the chair assaulted his leg. Pulling down his sunglasses, Kermit thought of a way to get the young priest out of the office.
"Well, I think we've done all the web searching we can do. Looks like it is up to old fashioned footwork. You think you can handle it?"
"Yeah, anything to get me away from this chair. I think they used it back in the Middle Ages." Peter stood. His strength was returning, not as quickly as he wanted, but with physical therapy every afternoon and support from friends and family, he was improving.
"Why don't we go to the courthouse and look at the records they haven't archived yet? One day, I hope they will get out of the Dark Ages and start putting them on computer quicker so I can hack into the files instead of having to do it the mundane way."
Peter smiled, knowing his friend's penchant for modern ways and the World-Wide-Web.
Kermit wrote a note and handed it to Broderick as he and Peter left the building. "Maybe we should get you one of those scooters, Peter," Kermit teased as they slowly made their way down the steps.
"Ha ha, very funny. Let's see you try and get around with these things." Peter indicated the crutches.
"Well, I just thought that you had enough experience with them in the past." Having made it to the car, Kermit held the door open for Peter.
***
Courthouse records proved to be a great resource. Hanson Basket Company had obtained a license for business over nine months ago. Thanks to a backlog of applications and a shortage of personnel, the transaction had never made it into the computer.
"What do you know? Our friend, Benson, was one of the stockholders," Kermit mused as Peter flipped through licenses that had been granted for fireworks.
"I think we have a winner," Peter announced as he showed what he had found. "Hanson Basket Company applied the same day as McCord's Entertainment. They even have the same address, but a different name for the application, an A.J. Wilson. Isn't that Benson's lawyer?"
"By jove, I think we've got it. What do you say to a little lunch, then maybe a nice quiet chat with Mr. Wilson, Esquire?" Kermit barely contained the smirk that played at his lips. He could feel that they were getting closer. Looking at Peter, he knew that the kid felt something and they were on the right path.
Slipping into the Laurel and Hardy role easily, Peter pretended to pat his derby tighter onto his head. "By jove, I think you're right. Let's do that." Remembering the officers in charge of the case, Peter offered, "Reckon we need to tell Dakota and Skalany?"
Kermit nodded. "Sure, we'll call them and invite them to lunch and a little afternoon entertainment. I want to question Benson. We can let them have the lawyer."
Agreeing on their plan, the two mimicked the characters from long ago vaudeville days, ignoring the stares and smiles from those around them.
***
Mary Margaret pulled the old blue four-door sedan into the drive of Mrs. Thornberry's home. A black Lincoln Continental already occupied space at the brick walkway leading to the three-storied mansion Sue Anderson had called home.
Dakota was the first to exit the car when it came to a stand-still behind the luxury car. "Sure she was expecting us at 10?"
Coming around to her partner, Mary Margaret brushed her hair back after putting her keys in her small pocketbook. "Yes, she said to be here at 10 sharp."
The two proceeded up the walkway. As they approached the massive oak door, it slowly swung open to reveal an elderly woman in a modest uniform.
"Mrs. Thornberry was expecting you at 10, Ms. Skalany. It is now 10:02. She has another appointment at 10:15 and I am sure the visitor will be on time," the woman said curtly, turning her back on the couple.
She walked away, leading them to the study.
Voices could be heard through the partially opened doors where the woman had led them.
"Aunt Sarah, I promised you I would take care of the problem and I did. Now, you only need to forget about all the trouble…" a male voice said before being interrupted by the maid's knock on the door.
"Mrs. Thornberry, the detectives have finally arrived," she announced.
The detectives listened to the man tell his aunt that he had to leave, but would be back later in the evening. He met them in the hallway, smiling.
"And what department do you belong to?" he asked.
"We are from the 101st, sir," Mary Margaret replied, feeling there was something evil about him.
"Are Detectives Griffin and Caine still there?" The man continued to smile, reminding Dakota of a mountain lion sizing up its next meal.
Unwilling to give this stranger any information, Mary Margaret looked at her watch. "You'll have to excuse us, we are already late for out meeting with your aunt, Mister…uh?"
"Straker. Charles Straker. Please tell Griffin I asked about him." Straker then walked off, allowing the two officers to continue on their business, the looks on their faces satisfying him that neither recognized his name.
***
The green Corvair pulled into the parking space beside the precinct. Its passengers continued to talk about their finds and hopes in bringing down Benson and his group of mercenaries. It was only a matter of time, they were sure.
A flash of light from a car pulling into a parking space across the street caught their attention.
"Paul's back," Peter commented, feeling an odd sense of wrongness settling about them.
"Well, let's go in and see what he's found. Mary Margaret and Dakota should be back soon."
Waving to Paul as he balanced on one crutch and one good leg, Peter watched in horror as a car's tires squealed on pavement in response to its driver's stomp on the gas pedal. The large metal car had become a weapon of death instead of a method of transportation in just a few moments as it aimed toward the gray haired man who had started across the street to get to the precinct.
Using the training he had learned, trusting only in instinct, Peter closed his eyes as he pushed his hands out in front of him, locking both arms in the direction of his father.
A crunch of metal on metal broke his concentration and he opened his eyes, thinking that the carnage he'd see was Paul mounted on the hood of the car. Instead, Paul was being helped up from the street, feet from the retreating car that had plowed into a parked vehicle. The driver put the car in reverse and took off, but not before several officers took note of the tag number.
His mind back in the present, Peter realized how unsteady he was on just one leg. Both crutches lay on the ground where he had mindlessly tossed them during his rescue of Paul.
Kermit caught Peter as he started losing his balance. "Whoa there, kid." Handing Peter his crutches, Kermit walked next to the worried son as he maneuvered himself to where Paul stood, talking with officers.
"Paul! Are you all right?" Peter queried, wishing he could do more than just ask questions, briefly remembering the dream he had awaken to last night.
Looking at Peter, Paul smiled. "It's the oddest thing. A stiff breeze pushed me out of the way of that car." Paul winked at his son to signal he knew the truth, then walked into the precinct, requesting to interview one of the prisoners.
***
"Took you long enough," Benson grumbled between clenched teeth. His rapid pace down the sidewalk made it hard for Wilson to keep up with him.
"I came as soon as I could get the securities up for your bond," Wilson huffed, his breath short and rapid. "I could have had you out last week."
Benson stopped. He turned with a fist raised, then, deciding against hitting the man with so many witnesses around, pointed a finger at him instead. "Let me let you in on a secret, Wilson. I don't give a damn about your opinion. Blaisdell came to visit me today." Seeing a look of confusion on his lawyer's face, Benson continued, "Yes. The man I told you to get rid of. I'll assume you screwed up on getting rid of Caine also."
Wilson looked away from the cold glare Benson gave him. Sweat began to pop up on Wilson's forehead. "Blaisdell was supposed to be taken out today. Something went wrong. I don't know how, but somehow Caine pushed Blaisdell out of the way. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes…Caine was across the street and did something with his hands and pushed Blaisdell out of the way."
"Blaisdell knows about Straker and his deal with the Iraqis. Somehow he also found out about the - contract - on him and his son. I would guess it was from today's botched attempt." The last words were whispered so passersby couldn't hear. "I want them out of the picture. Got that?"
"S-sure. Some cops came to the office today. They've had it staked out." Wilson forced himself not to stutter in hopes of not making Benson madder.
"Was anyone followed to the new meeting area? Or did you manage to screw that up too?"
"N-n-n-o. No one w-was followed. I-I bet m-my life on it." Damn the stuttering, Wilson berated himself.
"Don't worry, you did," Benson threatened, then he turned and walked off.
***
The meeting in the Captain's office was once again crowded and, this time, full of answers to the questions from the day before.
"OK, people, tell me what we have and where we are going." Captain Simms put down the glass of water she had used to wash down the sandwich she had just eaten.
Each member of the task force looked at the others, wondering who would go first. Paul took the initiative. "A man named Straker was hired to make sure certain diplomats maintained certain secrets. If the person in question didn't, then a family member was executed."
"I guess he found having live hostages was more expensive after the last time," Peter put in.
"Yes, and this morning, there was an explosion in Sydney, Australia. It killed 134 people, including the wife of one of the members of the Iraq Weapons Inspection Team. My contacts told me only bits of a shell were retrieved from the bombing. No witnesses, seems it happened at night."
"Peter and I went to the courthouse and found that Hanson Basket Company and McCord Entertainment applied for and were granted licenses in the city at the same time. They both are registered with the same address, with Benson and A.J. Wilson listed as the heads of the companies." Kermit picked up at the end of Paul's tale.
Mary Margaret was the spokesman for her team and was ready for her report. Hearing the name Straker, she had pulled out her notebook and flipped to the page where they had interviewed Mrs. Thornberry. "Dakota and I went to see Sue Anderson's grandmother. While we were there, a man named Charles Straker was there. He called Mrs. Thornberry aunt."
Kermit's fist clenching and unclenching was his silent response to the name she mentioned. Paul and Peter both remained calm, though Kermit recognized Paul's calm as a facade. Behind the unemotional face, a war raged.
"The building where they had held Peter and Capt…Mr. Blaisdell, has been staked out. Officers report that Wilson left around 9 p.m., along with another guy. They think that we stopped tailing them, but we had planted one of Blake's bugs on Wilson's car. An unmarked car followed them to an old building that is owned by Benson. Wilson met with several men who happened to meet Peter and Mr. Blaisdell's description from when they were being held captive." Dakota gave his information. "Also, guess who is in partnership with Wilson?" Not waiting for anyone to answer, assuming no one else knew it, he went on. "Grandmother Thornberry's lawyer is Mr. Wilson's junior partner."
"So, Straker has his niece killed?" Strenlich asked, knowing that it was possible. "For what?"
"For the two million dollars she is set to inherit next year. She was planning on marrying a man who may have had two dollars to his name. Had she done that, then he would have received the money if she died, so they had to take her out." Dakota was not surprised at the look he received from his Captain, a look of contempt for people who would kill their own family for the lust of money. It matched his own feelings. Life is sacred, his grandparents had always told him.
Karen Simms nodded, then turned her attention to another. "Paul, I understand you paid a visit to Mr. Benson today after your near accident. Would you tell us what the two of you discussed?"
"I went to Benson with some of the information that I knew, enough to make sure that he posted bail and went either to destroy the evidence or to move it. I also told him that I would give the team bad information if he cancelled the contract he has taken out on Peter," Paul answered. He didn't, however, tell her that, had Benson taken him up on the offer, he might have gone through with the deal. "He told me that he'd think about it."
"He thought about it well. Wilson came and bailed him out this afternoon. Now all we have to do is find him. Any ideas?" Simms looked across her desk.
"He owns several plants. The gunpowder has to be stored in a building away from any moisture, so that leaves out any that he owns near the harbor. It also has to be big enough to house the baskets and the balloons. I went through both city and county records to find what properties he owns and here's what I got." Peter laid a piece of paper on the desk. One address was circled. "That's the one where I think he is."
"Gut feeling?" Kermit questioned, sliding his glasses down on the bridge of his nose.
Smiling, Peter said, "Oh, yeah."
"OK, Dakota, Skalany, go to Judge Montgomery and get a search warrant. I'll get some units to go with us and we'll see what they have there. Let's say 6 p.m.?"
Everyone agreed, then left. Mary Margaret and her partner departed for the courthouse. Kermit stayed in Karen's office while Paul drove Peter back home. A line of tension had developed between the two when Paul admitted to the deal he had made with Benson.
Father and son didn't speak until they were heading back home. "I guess you'll want me to sit this one out?" Peter's voice was edged like a razor ready to cut into whatever Paul said.
Looking over and meeting Peter's eyes, Paul shook his head. "No. I will need you there. We will need you there. You have special skills, Peter. Skills that we can use. I didn't ask you to be my partner to baby sit and coddle you."
"No, but you would make a deal with the devil to protect me," Peter mumbled, remembering how close he came to losing Paul today. "I seem to recall that car was after you, not me. So, Benson has a contract out on both of us?"
Bowing his head for just a second, Paul then looked at his son, grateful for the red light that had stopped traffic. "To answer your question - yes. He does. As for protecting you, any parent would do the same, son. I met with Benson to do two things. Try and keep you safe and find out more on him. I'm sorry if you feel I went too far, but let me tell you, I'd do it again."