Trick Turn Page 2

  The tour had been there for almost a week, but like many of their counterparts, were set to hit the road again in the morning in search of more profit. ‘We got dawgs, burgers and BBQ chicken!’ a food truck vendor barked, smoke hissing from the grill behind him as he and another employee took dollars from customers and passed down food. ‘Come get ‘em before someone else does! Ain’t got many left!’ Adults, teenagers and children were milling around everywhere, enjoying the attractions, going on rides, parents of younger kids hoping all the excitement and activity would tire the youngsters out.

  Six girls aged between ten and twelve were in the thick of the crowds having fun, monitored by several sets of adults; two of the kids were doing battle at the water gun stand, being egged on by a carnival worker, while another ate cotton candy as she watched, pulling tufts of the sugary pink confection from the stick and stuffing it into her mouth, her eyes on the game but her brain on the sugar. Another two were talking to a group of boys the same age, most of it revolving around teasing each other, the kids in the last year or so before puberty kicked in and these light-hearted conversations became far more charged and awkward.

  The park was filled with lights and noise, a flashing, loud, sugar-and-salt laden assault on the senses. Among the kids being watched in that six-girl group, eleven year old Isabel Vargas felt the stirrings of a headache, and looked away from the blinking bright lights on one of the rides. At the same time, she felt her recently-acquired cell phone start ringing in her pocket and answered, seeing the name of the caller. She’d had the smartphone for a couple of weeks, on the understanding its usage was going to be strictly monitored; it was her new favourite possession.

  ‘Hey Mama,’ she said with a smile. ‘Don’t worry. I’m still alive.’

  ‘Very funny,’ NYPD Detective Alice Vargas replied. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘We’re having a good time.’

  ‘Dana’s parents?’

  ‘They’re here with Monica’s and Jane’s,’ she said, looking at their chaperones for the evening, the husbands looking as if they’d pulled jury duty. ‘Don’t worry, we’re all together. Load of kids from Astoria are here.’

  ‘Any headaches?’

  ‘Nothin’ serious.’ She paused. ‘I took my pill.’

  ‘I get off work in an hour or so. I’ll meet you at Dana’s after they drive you all back.’

  ‘OK,’ Isabel replied, catching eye contact with one of the boys from school across the park. She could see he was with his parents but looked as if he’d much rather be with his friends. ‘Talk later, Mama. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too, kiddo.’

  Isabel Vargas had grown out of a lot of things in the past year, but the fair wasn’t one of them and she’d told her adoptive mother the truth; she was having a good time. It brought memories back from her birthday three years before. That day, her father had paid for a circus to perform for an afternoon in the back of their luxurious home, one of the only times she’d felt he’d actually acknowledged her existence. She’d been too young and naïve at the time to appreciate how much the whole day would have cost, entranced by the performers, petting the animals, staring in shock when a woman was sawn in half inside a box then put back together again while never losing her smile. There hadn’t been any clowns either, which even then she’d appreciated. She didn’t trust anyone with an expression painted on their face.

  The fair this afternoon was a big public event but she was enjoying it just as much, partly because of some newly-allowed freedom. With what had happened to her entire family less than a year after that birthday celebration, she never liked to stray too far from her adoptive mother Vargas’ side, but lately had found herself getting angry and upset at feeling hemmed in. She knew why she was at risk and why Vargas kept such a watchful eye on her, but she badly wanted to just be one of the girls.

  Even though she had a history unlike any other child she’d ever met.

  She sensed the boy from school she’d exchanged looks with, called Brett, looking at her again and was just going to head over to talk to him when she saw the other girls had moved off while she’d been on the phone. Isabel looked around the crowd but couldn’t see them or their parents.

  With that headache still not dissipating, she suddenly caught a bright flash in her peripheral vision. The glint produced an immediate reaction to look away as fast as possible, an automatic reflex to prevent it triggering one of her sudden epileptic fits, which were severe.

  She snapped her head to the side away from the light, and in that moment, something hissed past so close it almost clipped her eyelashes.

  The edge of it did graze the side of her face with what seemed like the gentlest of kisses, but it produced a hot sting of pain, followed by a thud from the wooden wall behind her, the rear of a stall for horses.

  The whole sequence happened in less than a second, but nearby, a clown entertaining some of the crowd paused mid act. The balls he’d been juggling fell to the floor.

  His daubed-on smile remained fixed as he stared at something behind her.

  Seeing his reaction, Isabel turned and saw the object that had almost hit her.

  It was a knife.

  The hilt was still quivering, the blade buried two inches deep into the wood of the stall. Putting her hand to her face, she felt blood leaking from where the knife had grazed her, and she turned back to look where the flash of light had originated, realising it must’ve been from the blade when it was thrown.

  Suddenly, she felt terrified, and stared at the people around her at the fair. Another glinting flash came from a forty five degree angle to her right and she screamed, dropping down, but it was the last sunlight of the day bouncing off the shape-altering mirrors of an attraction.

  ‘Issy?’ her friend Monica’s father called, quickly moving over when he saw the girl cowering on the ground.

  It wasn’t until he got closer that he saw the blood leaking down the side of her face under her hand.

  Two hours later, in the Queens borough of New York City, Detective Sam Archer used his electronic tag to buzz himself through the door of the NYPD’s Counter-Terrorism headquarters. He didn’t slow, striding quickly around the corner, and found a tearful-looking Isabel sitting on a chair beside a police desk. She was with a Department doctor and Lisa Marquez, Vargas’ NYPD detective partner, but when Issy saw Archer, she leapt off her chair and ran over to hug him which elicited another bout of tears.

  Archer wasn’t related to her, and had only met the child just over three years ago, but they shared one hell of a history. To Isabel, he was a perfect being and after Vargas, the most important person in her life. He returned her hug then eased her back gently and looked at the girl’s cheek. The cut had been cleaned and stitched, but even so, he saw it was a severe diagonal gash that was deep enough to have required needle and thread. She caught her breath as salt from her tears stung the wound; Archer used his thumb to clear them away carefully.

  ‘She’s in partial shock,’ Marquez told Archer quietly. ‘And we gave her a tetanus shot, just in case.’

  ‘She’s epileptic,’ he informed the doc in reply, who was about to use his flashlight, presumably to check her pupils.

  ‘Detective Marquez told me. But this won’t trigger anything. Just want to make sure everything’s normal.’

  ‘You take your pill?’ Archer asked her.

  ‘Yeah.’ Isabel said, sniffing after a brief pause. Marquez used the opportunity to look from Archer to upstairs, making a motion with her head; he took the prompt and reassuring Issy he’d be back in a few moments, headed up the stairs.

  When he got to the 1st floor, he found one of the private conference rooms had a group of people inside, all but two of them members of the police investigation team Archer belonged to. Nearest to the door, a quiet detective called Harry Ledger was sitting alone with his arms folded. The squad had previously been five, but increased by one when Ledger covered for Archer’s partner on an op and he’d been retained
in the team ever since. He was the first to notice Archer and nodded to his friend and colleague as he entered.

  ‘You pass her on the way in?’ the team leader, Sergeant Matt Shepherd, asked Archer when he spotted him.

  ‘Yeah, just left her with Marquez and a doc. It was a knife?’

  ‘Take a look,’ Archer’s detective partner, Josh Blake said, passing his colleague a sealed evidence bag. Josh was a married father of two, formerly three, and a proud Louisianan from New Orleans. He was African American and built like he could rip a phonebook in two with his bare hands. Archer had seen him do it once, taking a bet after too many drinks.

  The blade in the bag was six or seven inches long, the hilt wrapped with a layer of tape. Archer felt the weight of the knife, which was considerable. ‘Someone threw this at her?’

  ‘Pulled straight from the wall behind her,’ Shepherd told Archer. ‘It’s print clean. Whoever slung it had their hands covered.’

  ‘And no-one in the crowd saw who threw it? How could people miss that?’ Vargas asked, looking extremely anxious. Archer guessed she was up here instead of downstairs with her adopted daughter to hear the briefing, yet wouldn’t want to be parted from Issy for long. Like Archer, she’d just turned thirty one; this time of year always darkened her half-Brazilian skin-tone, her jet black hair framing a face with large mahogany brown eyes. Those eyes shared a look with Archer, knowing he’d be as concerned about this as she was. She’d been involved in Sam’s history just as long as Isabel; they’d also dated for almost two years but had now been apart for a while.

  ‘No-one’s come forward yet with any new eyewitness info,’ Marquez said, walking into the room and easing the door closed behind her. She saw the question on Vargas’s face. ‘We’re good, Al. Bridge, Mikey and Hendricks just arrived and are down there with her. Doc says apart from the cut and scare, she’s OK.’

  ‘A crowd of people and no witnesses?’ Archer said, echoing Vargas’ question. ‘What about cameras at the carnival?’

  ‘It’s a pop-up shop,’ a man Archer didn’t recognise replied. ‘Eisenhower Park’s got them in certain places, but not near where this knife was thrown. And there were hundreds of people out there when it happened.’

  ‘You work there?’ Archer asked.

  ‘It’s my family’s business,’ the stranger said. ‘Newton Shows. Oldest family-owned and operated carnival company on Long Island. I drove straight over here to explain our operation when Sergeant Shepherd called.’

  ‘Any knife-throwing acts on your roster?’ Marquez asked.

  ‘No way,’ he said, drawing out the second letter of the first word to emphasise his point. ‘Too dangerous. I like being able to insure our show.’

  ‘It’s a skill someone on your payroll could have picked up though?’ Vargas replied.

  ‘I guess. More talents a performer has, the more work they can find. Our contracts run until the end of September, and our people need to eat, so they’re free to find employment elsewhere out of season. But I don’t know anyone on our tour who could throw a knife like what happened out there.’ He paused. ‘Or why they’d want to.’

  ‘Nassau PD are interviewing workers and people who were near her when it happened,’ Josh told Archer, knowing what he was about to ask.

  ‘Tonight was the last of this year’s stint at the park for the summer, right?’ Ledger asked from the door.

  The Newton man nodded. ‘For our show, at least. Moving on to Northport tomorrow.’ He coughed. ‘Mind me askin’ something?’

  ‘What is it?’ Shepherd asked.

  ‘Why exactly would someone throw a knife at this kid? No-one’s explained that to me yet.’

  None of the NYPD team answered immediately; Issy’s past wasn’t a topic of conversation any of them liked to talk about. ‘Not at liberty to share, right now,’ Shepherd replied after a moment. As he went on to respond to a less contentious question, Archer looked at the knife that had almost killed the girl tonight. He didn’t know much about the art, but was pretty sure that lighter blades would be easier to throw than this heavier one.

  Someone had wanted to bury this thing to the hilt in Issy’s head.

  Vargas rose. ‘I’m taking her home,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll come with you, if that’s OK,’ Archer said, going out the door with her. ‘Make sure she settles.’

  She nodded. As Shepherd followed with the Newton show man, telling him to stay near his phone in case they needed more information, Ledger remained behind, looking at Josh.

  ‘What is the story behind the girl?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘No-one ever told you?’

  ‘Not in detail. Just that she comes from a mob family.’

  ‘She was the youngest of six kids,’ Josh told him, now the Newton man had left the room. ‘Her immediate family circle consisted of twenty-ish people as of March several years ago.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Nineteen of them died in East Hampton at a party that month. Machine-gunned by three men who came in via the bay. Isabel was the only survivor. She hid in the bathroom.’

  Ledger stared at Josh in surprise. ‘Her entire family? Why?’

  Josh picked up the knife in the evidence bag again, examining it, his face set. ‘Like you said, her father was in the mob.’

  ‘High ranking?’

  ‘Yeah. He was a boss.’

  THREE

  ‘You think it could’ve been some sort of accident?’ Vargas asked Archer quietly. ‘Someone practicing for a knife-throwing show?’

  He looked at her. ‘Do you?’

  She didn’t reply, but glanced towards the bathroom as the sound of the running shower came through the closed door. Archer was leaning against the kitchen counter, Vargas sitting on the armrest of a chair. They’d both lived in this apartment in the Astoria section of Queens when they were together, but Sam had his own place now, four streets south on the same avenue. His father had rented in this area, which meant he knew every inch of it, especially the potential attack points. The front door had been reinforced after he’d been jumped by a group in the apartment almost two years ago, so he was comfortable that was secure; Archer had also just carried out a double-check walkaround for his own peace of mind and was satisfied the place was as protected as it could be.

  ‘There were a lot of people in the crowd,’ he told her. ‘Someone must’ve seen who threw that thing. Nassau police will get a description before morning.’ He knew how worried she was, so did his best to sound as reassuring as possible. ‘And we’re not trapped, like last time. Shep and the others are on it, with us. We’ve got all the back-up we need.’

  She nodded, seemingly slightly comforted, but he couldn’t fault her for feeling tense. He was as concerned about all this as she was.

  The toilet flushed in the bathroom, and a few moments later the door opened. Issy stepped out, dressed in a long Mets t-shirt, her long dark hair towelled dry. The stitches were still intact on her cheek, the skin around them red and inflamed, and she looked understandably tired.

  They both gave her a smile. ‘I’m gonna go lie down,’ Isabel said.

  ‘OK, kiddo,’ Vargas said. ‘We’re gonna keep talking for a little while. But we’ll be right here.’

  ‘Was the building safe?’ Issy asked Archer.

  He nodded. ‘Department’s keeping people posted outside all night. Don’t worry. No-one can get in.’

  She hugged them in turn, clinging on with a strength that indicated how scared and unsettled she was. ‘Night, sweetheart,’ Archer said, watching her go towards her room. Vargas walked over and picked up a towel the girl had dropped on the floor in the bathroom.

  ‘You think we can divert our ops to Hendricks for the mom-’ she started, looking back at Archer.

  But then he did something that took both Vargas and Isabel by surprise.

  He snapped away from the kitchen counter and snatched up a mop Vargas had resting by a closet as he passed, before slamming back the door to Isabel’s room.


  ‘Stay off the bed!’ he shouted, just as Isabel was about to climb in.

  From where she was standing outside the room, Vargas spun then saw why Archer had reacted the way he did.

  There was something under the frame.

  Isabel swung round at Archer’s shout but lost her balance, falling backwards onto the mattress. As she landed there was a snapping sound, and the bed whiplashed up from both ends.

  Archer jammed the wooden mop into the gap, enough to stop the bed completely closing and protect Isabel trapped in the middle. However, the mattress had been punctured from both sides and Issy screamed in pain, the tips of several blades nicking her. As Vargas ran into the room, Archer lifted Isabel out carefully but quickly to avoid her being cut any further, just before the mop gave way under the pressure.

  The bed snapped shut with a whump.

  As Isabel started to cry from pain and fear, Archer kept tight hold of her as he and Vargas both stared in shock at the closed bed.

  A load of what looked like strong springs were fastened under each side of the mattress with long sharp knives impaling it from each side.

  Someone had turned the bed into a giant Venus flytrap.

  *

  ‘You get cut?’ Archer’s best friend, Danny ‘Chalky’ White, asked later that night.

  ‘Just grazed,’ Archer said, as his cell started to ring. He tilted his arm so Chalky could see the shallow red line running across the underside. ‘I’ll take that over what should have happened.’

  As he answered the call, he glanced at his best friend; Archer knew he had the reputation of possessing the nine lives of a cat, but having Chalky as a cohort and former colleague meant more to him than any other piece of so-called luck. If you could count on one hand the number of true friends you had, you were lucky, but if one of those friends was someone who’d put their life on the line for you, you were truly blessed. Chalky had done that more than once for his friend, as Archer had for him; their friendship went back over ten years, and despite the fact they worked in the US and UK respectively, were still very close and met up whenever they could.