Blind to Sin Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Also by Dave White

  Dedication

  Quote

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  PART II

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Part III

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright Notice

  Available from Polis Books

  The Jackson Donne series

  An Empty Hell

  Witness To Death

  When One Man Dies

  The Evil That Men Do

  Not Even Past

  An Empty Hell

  Witness to Death

  To

  Duane Swierczynski

  Great writer, friend and mentor

  “One great power of sin is that it blinds men so that they do not recognize its true character.”

  Andrew Murray

  The Man with the Getaway Face

  2006

  THE ALARM sounded at a volume somewhere north of ear shattering. What ever happened to a good old silent alarm? There was only one other time she could remember an alarm this loud.

  The tellers had never been involved in a bank heist before. They scattered and filled the bag with cash, all while crying and screaming.

  Tammy clearly hadn’t yelled shut up enough. She tried again, but the two tellers kept weeping.

  To her left, three patrons were on the ground, fingers laced together and resting on the back of their heads. She’d taken all their cell phones and put them on top of the table where people could fill out deposit slips. No one touched them. But that didn’t surprise Tammy.

  Few people needed their phones when an AR-15 was pointed in their faces. Today was no different.

  The alarm continued to ring.

  “What is taking them so long?” Kenneth screamed.

  Tammy looked in his direction. His ski mask was tight on his face, and a line of spittle soaked into the fabric near his lip. He aimed his own automatic weapon at the skull of the bank manager.

  Tammy winked at him. The man she married was panicking.

  “We’ve got three minutes,” she said. “I can finish a cigarette before they get here.”

  Kenneth nodded.

  Walking over to the tellers, she tapped the barrel of the gun on the bulletproof glass.

  “If you don’t hurry the hell up, we’ll find out if this works.”

  One of them—her nametag said Arlene—nodded through her tears. She zipped the duffel bag and nodded toward the emergency door. Tammy met her there. The door opened, and Tammy took the duffel bag and aimed the gun. Arlene screamed and fell to the floor.

  Tammy shot out the two security cameras. The room screamed. Kenneth took care of the other ones.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

  Tammy handed him her gun, slung the bag over her shoulder and pulled her ski mask off. Kenneth pulled her close and kissed her deep on the lips.

  “I’ve missed this,” he whispered when he broke the kiss.

  “We’re getting too old for this,” she said. “We have a son.”

  “Don’t tell Elliot that.”

  “See you on the other side.”

  Kenneth emptied the clip of one of the AR-15s into the ceiling, making sure everyone kept their heads down. The tellers ducked behind the counter. He dropped the gun, wrapped his free arm around Tammy and guided her forward toward the door.

  “I think we’re going to be clear,” she said.

  “That took longer than three minutes,” he said. “We have to be sure. You stay safe.”

  They exited into the winter day; the snow flurries of ten minutes earlier had turned into a full-on storm. The getaway car was across the street, Elliot revving the engine. The alarm gave way to police sirens.

  Someone on the corner was snapping pictures with one of those flip phones. Tammy’s stomach went sour. In the old days, no one ever had a camera.

  “Back off,” Kenneth shouted. “Or I’ll shoot her.”

  The phone man took two steps back. Two squad cars, CLIFTON emblazoned on their side doors, rounded the corner. One of them had a speaker on the car and screamed for Kenneth to stop where he was.

  He did. Tammy took a breath. Elliot was supposed to pull a U-turn, get them in the car and get the hell out of there.

  But that wasn’t what happened. As the police cars screamed to a stop in front of them, Elliot burst from the driver’s seat and barreled across the street.

  “What the hell?” Kenneth whispered.

  Rushing up to them, Elliot pulled Tammy free from Kenneth’s grip, duffel bag and all. He dragged her across the street and she screamed. The cops poured out of their cars, guns trained on Kenneth.

  Tammy took one last look at him. He shrugged, dropped the gun and raised his hands.

  Elliot forced her into the backseat. He got in the driver’s seat and peeled out.

  “No!” she screamed. “What about Kenneth?”

  “This was always part of the plan. That guy with the phone. He’s got your face. We’ve got to hide you.”

  Tammy looked out the back window. The cops already had her husband down on the ground in cuffs.

  “We’re going away for a while, Tammy. We have to.”

  Tammy turned back toward the front of the car and watched Elliot navigate the road. The world came back into focus. Elliot pulled onto Route 21 and headed toward Newark. Toward the airport.

  “Where are you going?”

  “We are taking a vacation. It’s okay. Kenneth will understand. This is an emergency situation.”

  “They got him,” she said.

  “They did.”

  “And we are going to hide.” She didn’t need time to figure out what was happening, but she did f
eel the need to vocalize it.

  “Your face is going to be in a bunch of papers tomorrow. You’re going to be portrayed as a hostage.”

  “And you a hero.” Tammy shook her head.

  “They’re going to be looking for us. We’re going to disappear for a while.”

  The road wasn’t slick yet, and Elliot was pushing seventy. There were traffic lights coming up and she prayed he didn’t run them.

  “Disappear? We can’t do that.”

  “We have to.”

  “You’re panicking.”

  “No. I’m not. This has always been a contingency.”

  Tammy blinked. “But what about Matt?”

  Elliot’s eye flicked up to the rearview mirror. “Matt?”

  “Matt. My son?” Tammy gritted her teeth. “Matt Herrick. What is wrong with you?”

  “Me? Stop worrying. He’ll be fine. He’s eighteen.” Elliot slowed for a red light. “He’ll figure things out.”

  Tammy pulled the duffel bag close and bit back tears. Forty-eight hours later, they were in Kansas. A quiet town with one restaurant. She hadn’t heard from Matt and didn’t try to contact him.

  On the news, they talked about the hostage who got away. Her picture was plastered everywhere, a blurry cellphone image. Her mouth was wide open in a scream. They thought she was calling for help. But Tammy knew she was telling Elliot to wait. Elliot’s arm was wrapped around her, pulling her from Kenneth. His face was obscured from the camera. Only his dark hair was visible, black against the pale shade of her skin.

  Perfect for an iconic image.

  And an escape.

  The news anchors wondered about the man whose face was out of the photo. The one who, the reporters said, saved the unknown woman in a daring rescue.

  Elliot had saved her. And now, in that podunk Kansas town, he felt like she owed him.

  “We’ll go back to New Jersey soon,” Elliot would say. “When it’s safe.”

  “And find Matt?”

  The Hunter

  LUCA CARMINE couldn’t believe his luck.

  Of course, in prison, luck was relative, but today he felt really fortunate. He’d only been transferred into North Jersey State Penitentiary yesterday, and already he was seeing the benefits. The man who’d walked by him in the gym was the one who’d caused all of Luca’s problems years ago.

  Jackson Donne didn’t look like he used to. Not the way Luca remembered him. He was leaner, and much more cut. There were lines on his face, and he’d started to go gray. Must be a tough life in this prison for him to turn that way. Donne was talking to some other man, an older white guy, probably in his sixties. There were sitting on the bench press Luca wanted to use.

  Sniffling, then straightening his pants, Luca strolled up to them. If Donne recognized Luca, it didn’t show on his face when Luca cleared his throat.

  “Yo, I want to use that.”

  Donne didn’t say anything, but his pal said, “Sorry. Taken.”

  Luca wiped his nose.

  “My turn.”

  The man shook his head. “Taken.”

  Luca pressed his lips together, trying to think of the right words to say. Nothing came. He turned on his heel and headed toward a different machine. Donne didn’t recognize him?

  A fire started to burn in his stomach.

  SHARPENING A toothbrush was easy, if you had patience. It wasn’t that it took a long time, really only five minutes, but with constant guard surveillance, you had to make sure someone was covering for you. Luca’s cellmate was willing to do just that. Not that the cellmate knew what he was doing for Luca. But screaming, yelling and slamming your hands on the prison door made the guards have to deal with the psychopath instead of Luca.

  He used the edge of his cot to sharpen the brush. The plastic peeled away from the brush and landed on the floor in a dusty pile. Luca kept spinning the brush, giving the tip of the handle a sharp point. When he was finished, he tested it with his finger and drew blood.

  The next morning, he tucked the toothbrush into his pants just before gym time.

  REVENGE.

  When the moment came for Luca, his heart didn’t pump harder. He skin was cool and his muscles were loose. This was fate.

  Donne was by himself in the corner. He wasn’t working out or talking to anyone. He leaned on the wall, eyes flicking back and forth from bench to barbells to whatever the fuck. Luca walked toward him at top speed, making sure as he did, the guards were watching other things. Donne and Luca made eye contact.

  Luca was five feet away when Donne stopped leaning and stood up straight. Luca reached into his own waistband and gripped the shank. He pulled it free. If Donne saw it, he didn’t react.

  “Hello, Luca,” Donne said.

  The bastard did recognize him. Oh well. It’d be the last thing Donne would say.

  Donne’s eyes flicked away again as Luca pulled back his arm. What was Donne looking at? Something over his shoulder.

  Then he felt a forearm around his throat and a hand on his chin. Tight. The shank slipped from his hand and clattered against the ground. Someone screamed.

  The hand on his chin pulled, and Luca heard a snap.

  His own neck.

  Then, as the lights dimmed, he heard Donne’s voice.

  “Thank you.”

  HIGH SCHOOL basketball never ended.

  It was April, the season had been over for more than a month, but the court still smelled of sweat. The odor intensified due to the humidity and heat trapped in the walls of the brick oven-like building.

  Matt Herrick sat in the St. Paul’s High School gym, watching Kyrie James take jumper after jumper. Herrick would interrupt his rhythm occasionally, telling him to square his shoulders, or get his feet set. Once, he walked over to James and modeled perfect form: shoulders and feet facing the basket, releasing the ball at the apex of his jump.

  The ball hit the back rim. James chuckled.

  The missed shot was rebounded by a guy in a black suit. A badge was pinned to his lapel. Herrick couldn’t make out what it said. The man had a shaved head. He had to be six-five, but James towered over him.

  “Two more, Kyrie.” Herrick nodded toward the suit. “Give him the ball.”

  The suit delivered a bounce pass to James, who squared up and swished the ball from twenty feet. He retrieved it, went back to the foul line and nailed another jumper.

  Herrick said, “Ten a.m. Saturday. Don’t be late. Lots of coaches are going to be there.”

  James thanked him and jogged back to the locker room. Herrick turned to the suit, who had unbuttoned his jacket.

  “You can put the air on now,” the suit said. He held up an ID. It read John Mack, Corrections.

  “We don’t have air conditioning. Been a while since you’ve been in a school?”

  Mack shook his head. “Damn, I thought you were just trying to sweat the kid out. What my coach used to do to me.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Matt Herrick? I’ve seen you on the news.”

  “That’s me. What can I do for you?”

  Corrections didn’t just saunter in any old day. The knot in Herrick’s gut told him it was about something he wasn’t in the mood to discuss. Mack strolled over to the bleachers and had a seat. Herrick took a breath and then followed him.

  “Your dad is Kenneth Herrick, right?”

  Herrick nodded, the knot in his stomach tightening and confirming his suspicions.

  Mack pursed his lips and scrunched his nose. Herrick waited.

  “Your dad killed somebody last week.”

  Herrick blinked. “My father’s in prison.”

  Mack adjusted in his seat. Beads of sweat formed on his shaved head. He wiped at his nose.

  “He snapped a guy’s neck. Luca Carmine. Ever heard of him?”

  Herrick shook his head.

  “Used to be a bodyguard for Henry Stern, the senator who got shot. They put Carmine away after he killed a woman—”

  “Ka
te Ellison,” Herrick said. The story was familiar to him. Jackson Donne’s girl. “Wait, my dad killed the guy you arrested for shooting Kate Ellison?”

  Mack said, “Well, I didn’t ar—”

  “You know what I mean. Was Jackson Donne involved?”

  Mack pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did you know that?”

  James popped out of the locker room in new shorts and a different T-shirt. He walked across the gym floor, Beats headphones covering his ears. He gave Herrick a nod. Herrick waved. When James was gone Herrick turned back to Mack.

  “What happened in there?”

  “Your dad came up behind Carmine in the gym. Snapped Carmine’s neck in one move. Our guards surrounded him and dragged him away. He’s in solitary.”

  “You know I don’t really talk to my dad or visit him, right? He and I, we’re not on the greatest terms, being that he’s a master criminal and all.”

  Mack adjusted his position on the bleachers. The wood was warm, and the suit couldn’t be all that comfortable in this weather. Herrick didn’t want to gloat about his shorts and T-shirt. After all, how much could you gloat when you were wearing a whistle?

  “That’s the thing, we’re hoping you could help us out.”

  “With what?”

  “What do you know about Elliot Cole?”

  The knot in Herrick’s stomach loosened. Unfortunately, it was replaced by thousands of needles pricking the lining.

  “My dad’s old partner. The one he—” Herrick shut up.

  Mack waited. Herrick didn’t continue.

  “Your dad’s old partner is trying to buy your dad’s way out of jail.”

  The gym went cold.

  “Can he do it?” Herrick pictured Cole, someone he hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years. Back when he lived in Newark. Back when he thought life was normal. “You just said my dad killed a guy.”

  Mack shrugged. “Money can do wonders if you put it in the hands of the right people.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I figured you’d want to know about your dad. And, maybe you want to talk to Cole. Figure out what his deal is.”

  “Me?” Herrick sniffled. The smell of old gym sweat was brutal. “Isn’t that your job?”

  Mack leaned in and whispered, “When you’re playing with that kind of money, I don’t trust a lot of people I work with. Sometimes going the quiet route helps. If I have something to go on, even off the record, maybe I can play this right.”