ANGEL BLUE [1]

LEAD 25: divide and conquer

      “You bitch!” Helena drops her phone, which Sam retrieves with the help of his hanky. “He’s going to come for you, you just wait Akira. Q will find you!”

      “Well you can tell Q from me,” I knock her legs out from under her and slam the side of Helena’s face against the asphalt and pin her back with my left knee. I lean close so I can whisper the last part of my sentence into her ear, “He can do his worst…see if I give two fucks.”

      • • •

      I don’t attempt to sit in the steel chair across from the cuffed Helena Quinn, the only thing I do want to do with that seat is to throw it in Helena’s face so hard that by the end of my abuse; she’ll look like a candidate for Sculpture By The Sea.

      I toss a mustard NYPD file in front of Helena; she stares at it blankly and pushes it back to my side of the table. Helena’s been oddly quiet since she was detained, perhaps I slammed her skull too hard on the ground and now her limited brain cells have all gone to God. It’s disconcerting, Helena Quinn is never silent nor does she do anything quietly―what’s she up to?

      I don’t think that it crosses Helena’s mind that Dad, DC Grayson and Sam are standing on the other side of the reflective glass window behind me. Dad explained to me, when Sam and I were driven back to the precinct by Mercer, that he found a bug in his office that’s been tapping into his phone conversations. The only person that’s been in his office unsupervised is Helena―confirming Snag’s warning not to trust FBI.

      I try to remain cool and pretend that this situation is a test. If I’m calm throughout the interrogation, then maybe Dad will reconsider letting me bunk back at the apartment. I mean seriously, living with Blake is all kinds of fun, but there’s no connection―we just don’t click.

      “Let’s talk about why you bugged Dad’s office,” I do my best to stimulate conversation.

      I toss the plastic evidence bag onto the steel slab that contains the device used to record Dad’s conversations. It’s a small chip, similar in size to a SIM card but has enough information to cripple the NYPD. I watch as Helena ignores the bugging chip, her glassy swamp-eyes remain fixed on the wall to the side of the window. She’s unmoving, completely stationary.

      I lean forward with my elbows on the table and annunciate slowly, “Why did you bug Robert Stevens’ office?”

      Silence.

      “Okay,” I run a finger around the collar of my shirt and clench my jaw. “Who is your contact that’s supposed to be your salvation?”

      “Who indeed,” murmurs Helena, swaying slightly.

       I do my best not to let the agitation seep into my movements or facial expression but my shoulders tense involuntarily in challenge. Helena’s doing this on purpose; it’s in her nature to be a manipulative slut. I roll my shoulders back, once, twice, three times and the stiffness slowly dissipates and I go back to questioning Helena. 

      “I think I should start from the beginning,” I turn the file to me and flip it open to the start of the investigation regarding Henry Nikita and Dianne Hemming. I’m going to go back to the roots and work my way up the tangled branches of the Angel Blue tree.

      “Before this whole shit storm started, this man was on your radar as a lead suspect in a homicide in Louisiana,” I point to Nikita’s mug-shot. “He went into hiding and while Sam and his colleagues were chasing after him, you did research of your own by shagging my Dad. This consequently led you to Dianne Hemming, whom you saw sneaking into the precinct,” I tap Dianne’s formal shot. “You soon pieced things together from your phone-tapping scandal that Henry was in Manhattan and fell in love.”