More police were arriving now, and the occupants of the growing lines of vehicles snarled up in every direction were out, taking pictures and filming the scene on their phones.
“Citizen’s arrest or whatever,” she suggested.
“You mean, abduct him?”
“I mean hand him over to people who might be able to do more than NYPD.”
Salazar hesitated. “What kind of people?”
“Government people. Guys who deal with this kind of thing day in, day out.”
Salazar nodded slowly. “You know these people?”
“Yeah,” Justine replied.
“You are full of surprises.” The detective surveyed the scene and came to a decision. “This site isn’t secure,” he said to the two cops checking Angel. “We need to take him in.”
“There’s an ambulance en route, detective,” the officer who’d deployed the Stinger said.
“We can’t wait,” Salazar countered.
“I need medical attention,” Angel said groggily.
“Officers, I want you to secure the perimeter until forensics get here to check this vehicle. Divert traffic away from this intersection and keep the scene as uncontaminated as possible,” Salazar instructed.
Justine could see the doubt on the men’s faces. There was nothing of value to be gleaned from a stolen vehicle but they didn’t voice this. Instead, they stepped away and allowed Salazar to take Angel by the arm.
“Hey! No! I need medical attention,” he protested.
“You are under arrest for the theft of an automobile, reckless endangerment, and resisting arrest,” Salazar said. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand those rights?”
“Diplomatic immunity,” Angel said.
He put up a weak struggle as Salazar pulled him out and handcuffed him. The man looked genuinely injured and kept lurching to the left, wincing in pain.
Salazar frogmarched him to the Dodge Charger and forced him onto the back seat. Justine got into the passenger seat as Salazar slid behind the wheel.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” the detective said as he started the engine.
Justine made a phone call as they were waved through the cordon. She dialed the special number Jack had been given for if he ever needed anything.
“Yes?” a man said.
“I need to speak with your boss,” she replied, taking care not to use any names within earshot of Angel. “It’s a message from the man who saved him.”
“Hold, please.”
The line went silent.
“You can’t do this,” Angel remarked. “I have rights. You must follow the proper procedure.”
“You killed one of my colleagues,” Justine said. “You tried to kill many more of them. Was that proper procedure?”
“This woman is delusional, detective. Hysterical even. Do not listen to her. Take me to your precinct. Do your job.”
“Play your games on someone else, pal. I’m not listening,” Salazar responded.
“Hello, Miss Smith,” Secretary Carver said when he came on the line. Justine was impressed because she hadn’t announced herself. “What’s the message?”
“There is no message, sir. I’m with an NYPD detective and we have in our custody a Chinese national who is claiming diplomatic immunity. We suspect he was responsible for the murder of at least one of our colleagues, planting a bomb in our offices and the abduction of the wife of another of our colleagues.”
“Lies,” Angel said.
“Open your mouth again and I’ll shut it for you,” Salazar said, and the prisoner glowered at him.
“The detective believes if we take him in, he will lawyer up and be sprung within the day. I was wondering if there was another way.”
“Another way?” Carver asked.
“Another way,” Justine repeated.
“I don’t know anything about that. I’d recommend following due process,” he replied. Justine’s heart sank. There was a brief pause. “Do you have an address? I’d like to send some of our people over to ensure the gentleman gets to the right place.”
Justine smiled. His earlier remark had been for the benefit of anyone who was intercepting the call.
“Of course, sir. I apologize for suggesting otherwise.”
She gave him the address of the property where they’d found Angel trying to escape.
“Thank you,” Carver said. “They won’t be long.”
“Thank you, sir,” Justine said before she hung up.
“What did he say?” Salazar asked.
“We’re to take him to the house he was using,” Justine replied.
“You’re going to regret this,” Angel said. “I have a long memory.”
“The psychopath rarely feels fear,” Justine remarked, “but he does experience humiliation. Is this bravado because you’ve just been humiliated? If so, you’re only humiliating yourself further. I’ve been threatened by men who make you look like the Tooth Fairy. You’re not scaring anyone here, so you might as well shut up.”
Angel seethed but fell silent.
Justine’s phone rang and she saw Mo-bot’s name flash on-screen.
“Mo,” she said.
“Justine, thank goodness you’re okay. Where are you?”
“On our way back to the bungalow. You still there?”
“Yeah,” Mo-bot replied. “Your way back?”
“I’m with a certain NYPD detective and we’re bringing you a gift. We’ll see you soon.”
Chapter 55
Angel fell silent for the remainder of the short journey back to the bungalow where they’d found him.
Sci and Mo-bot had pushed both damaged vehicles, the Nissan Rogue Private staff vehicle and Angel’s utility, into the driveway. Salazar parked his Dodge Charger beside them. He grabbed the handcuffed Angel and manhandled him into the building where they found Sci and Mo-bot waiting with Alison. Justine could have kicked herself for not warning Mo-bot to make sure Alison was kept away from Angel. She could see the trauma writ large on the woman’s face.
“What’s he doing here?” she asked. “Get him away from me. Get him away!”
“Alison, I’m sorry. It was thoughtless,” Justine said, going to the distressed woman.
Her hair was lank, face dirty, dress crumpled from days of wear.
“Come with me. Let’s get you out of here.” Justine put her arm around Alison and ushered her toward the bedrooms.
“You are all dead people,” Angel said.
Justine didn’t see the blow but she heard it. When she turned around she saw Salazar stepping back and Angel hunched over, cradling his jaw.
“Ignore him,” Justine told Alison. “He’s overcompensating. He won’t be in any position to hurt anyone.”
Alison nodded. She was a beautiful woman with delicate features, but looked tired and drawn, which was hardly surprising given her ordeal.
Justine took her along a short corridor that led away from the living room. She stayed clear of the door that had an open padlock on it, and when she saw Alison’s reaction was glad she had.
“That’s where he kept me,” the other woman said, as tears filled her eyes.
“It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Justine assured her, leading her into a small bedroom that was completely empty.
“Where’s Rafael?” Alison asked, the moment Justine shut the door.
How could she answer without crushing Alison’s spirit?
“That’s the same look Maureen and Seymour gave me,” she remarked. “They wouldn’t say anything about him. What’s going on? Is Rafael dead?”
“No,” Justine replied, and Alison sagged with relief. “He made a bad decision. Angel used you to blackmail him into betraying his colleagues.”