And Leah knew well enough that the good old boys club survived. Brad, Richard, Terry Racer in IA, and three or four guys from SWAT were the modern-day incarnation of the club—they called themselves the Hangmen. She couldn’t prove they covered for one another, or even if they had as much power as they thought they did, but she knew that you didn’t get special assignments unless they liked you. It wasn’t something she was supposed to know, but she’d heard Brad and Racer joke about it at a party once. At the time it made her glad she was married to Brad. But lately she thought about how unfair and chauvinistic it was.
Was that what was up with Brad? A mistress? Her body fairly vibrated with the fear of betrayal. But would Richard put up with that? Chambers always struck her as a straight-arrow kind of guy. Yet he followed Brad around like a puppy. His nickname was Shadow.
Leah parked, window open, patrol car motor humming. This had to do with Larry, she was sure, whatever it was. Larry was the problem, not Brad. She waited a few minutes, half-expecting Brad to drive by. She checked his status again and it had not changed. He had to be close in case dispatch asked for him—at least she thought he should be. Now she feared that if she did text, he wouldn’t answer and would claim later that his phone was off because he was working something.
Frowning, she tapped on the steering wheel. Then it hit her. Larry had rental units all over Table Rock and neighboring Medford. There was one not far from here, just inside the city limits. Leah had taken lunch to Brad there one day about a year ago when he was helping Larry refurbish the place.
She made a U-turn and headed for the rental house. It was in a rough section of town, an area she knew Larry wanted designated for redevelopment. He’d make a killing off of his real estate holdings if that happened.
She didn’t drive directly past the property. One block over as she crossed an intersection, she thought she saw Brad’s plain car parked at the curb. Her throat tightened, and even on this warm night her hands felt numb on the steering wheel.
Leah parked a couple of blocks away. On the computer, she put herself out for investigation—but at a location still in her beat—before she got out of the car. She’d spent nine months with narcotics before she and Brad married, so she knew a little about how to make a stealthy approach and do some surveillance.
Leah went over in her mind what she’d say to Brad if he caught her. Fear pulsed through her, her mouth went dry, but she had to know what was going on. There was no way this was police business.
She turned her radio down, crossing her fingers that she didn’t get a call. There was a long travel trailer parked across the street and about two doors down from Larry’s rental. Leah crossed the street and used the large vehicle as cover.
From behind the trailer she peered across the street. She had a clear view of the rental. Parked in front sat the nondescript Ford that had caught her eye in the first place. She couldn’t see the plates, but it was most likely the SAT plain car. The lights were on in the rental, and she recognized Larry’s truck in the driveway. She began to wonder about the wisdom of coming here. Brad and Richard had been “out for investigation” now for nearly an hour. Whatever he was doing, he’d probably already done it or was doing it in the house.
Frustration ratcheted up in her chest. She wanted to go beat the door down and confront her husband, but a thin shred of self-restraint said that wouldn’t happen. She waited around ten minutes watching the house. Nothing happened as time ticked away. Leah was amazed she hadn’t gotten a call.
Just as she was about to give up and admit defeat, headlights swept down the street and reflexively she ducked. A panel van drove past, slowing and stopping right behind the plain car. After a very long minute a thickly built, blond, bearded man climbed out of the driver’s seat.
He stopped at the end of the driveway and made a call on his cell phone. A few seconds later, three men came out of the house and walked to where the bearded man stood. Leah recognized Larry immediately but almost didn’t recognize Brad. He wasn’t in uniform, his clothes were dark, and he had a ball cap on, but the way he moved, turned, and surveyed the street . . . it was Brad, she was certain.
With Richard, like Larry, there was no guessing. Chambers was a big man. He’d played football with Brad in college and had actually gone on to play a year in the pros, for the Chicago Bears, before being cut and joining the PD. He kind of trailed after Brad and Larry, earning his nickname.
Leah’s heart beat faster. This couldn’t be a sting. Larry wasn’t a cop, not anywhere close. The men talked, but she was too far away to hear what was being said. Leah wondered briefly at them being outside in full view of neighbors, but she realized that the houses were dark. The house directly across from Larry’s had a For Sale sign and appeared vacant. The men were next to a hedge, and the only illumination was from the moon, so they probably were cocky enough to think that even if someone did see them, they wouldn’t care.
Suddenly Brad stepped forward forcefully and drew a weapon from behind his back. Leah gasped as he grabbed the bearded man’s shirt and jammed the gun into his face. She put a hand over her mouth, hoping she hadn’t been heard, and then held her breath. What on earth was Brad thinking? What had been said?
After what seemed an eternity but was certainly only a few seconds, Brad stepped back and lowered the gun.
The bearded man then pulled an envelope out of his back pocket and handed it to Brad. Letting out a rush of air, Leah bet the envelope contained money. But she couldn’t tell for sure from this distance.
Brad simply looked inside and nodded once. The bearded man turned, climbed into his van, and drove away.
Her knees felt like water. Looking down, she leaned against the trailer. She’d just seen a payoff, but for what? When she turned back, Brad, Richard, and Larry were gone, and she knew she’d better get back where she belonged.
Anger, fear, bewilderment, betrayal, a sense of being blindsided—so many emotions swirled through Leah as she hurried back to her car and then to her beat. There’d be a confrontation—there had to be. Leah had to know what her husband was up to . . . no matter what.
CHAPTER 6
After Leah returned to her beat, she kept watch on Brad’s status. When she saw it go from out for investigation to back in service, she pulled over to call him—only to be interrupted by a burglary call. Groaning in frustration, she hurried to the burglary, hoping to finish it quickly and have some time to contact her husband.
It was not to be. The burg situation was involved, and she couldn’t reach out to Brad. He texted her when he was EOW, telling her to be safe and that he looked forward to seeing her at home. It was so easy for him to be nice in a text.
Leah struggled to finish her shift, a million different possible scenarios explaining what she’d seen going through her mind. None of them were good. When she pulled into her driveway, tense, worried, angry, and unsure, she sat for a few minutes, chewing on the inside of her cheek, before getting out and walking up the path to the front door.
The light was still low outside, brightening slowly. The house was quiet. Brad should be asleep. She set her kit inside the door, put her gun on the credenza in the entryway, and walked back to the bedroom. He was asleep but he stirred when she stepped into the room. Leah’s resolve became weak-kneed. Did she really want to confront Brad now?
Yes, everything in her screamed. This was too important. Besides, it was too late to turn back now.
Yawning and wiping sleep from his eyes, he sat up on one elbow, blinking when she turned on the light.
“Hey, babe, turn that off and come to bed. I missed you.”
“We need to talk.” Leah swallowed, hoping her courage held.
“Sleep now. Talk later.” He smiled and patted the bed.
“Where were you tonight?”
“Huh?” His face scrunched in bewilderment. “At work, like you. What’s up?” A tinge of anger entered his voice as he came fully awake.
“You weren’t where you said y
ou were. You were at Larry’s rental. What’s going on?” Leah’s heart pounded. Her palms itched with sweat.
His features hardened, eyes narrowed, mouth a thin, taut line. He threw the blanket off and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Are you checking up on me?”
There was danger in his tone, and she could see the muscles in his arms tense, but she forged on.
“I wanted to talk to you. You weren’t where you said you were. I saw you at Larry’s rental on the west side. I want to know what’s going on. You owe me an explanation.”
He stood, wearing only boxers. Though weighing about seventy-five pounds less than his playing weight, he still pumped iron like he had when he played football. His entire body was tense. A vein pulsed at his forehead and another across his deltoid. There was fury in his eyes as he pointed an index finger at her. His anger could be volcanic.
“You followed me?” He stepped forward and she retreated. “How dare you.”
“I—” Leah was fast, but Brad was faster, and the slap caught her full on, causing her to see stars and taste blood, sending her into the wall.
Brad was on her before she could blink away the pain. His thick hands went around her throat. “What did you see?” He didn’t squeeze, but she couldn’t move. Both of Leah’s hands grasped his forearms, which were as hard as iron.
“You’re hurting me.” She could barely speak, and shock slowed her thinking
“This ain’t nothing. I want to know what you think you saw.” His eyes seemed to throw off sparks.
Leah coughed. “It looked like you took a payoff. What—?”
He cursed. “I can’t believe this!” He was fairly foaming at the mouth. Spittle struck her face. “You had no right to stick your nose into my business.”
Now he did squeeze, and as the pressure on her throat increased, Leah scrabbled at his wrists, unable to loosen his grip of iron. She looked into a face she didn’t recognize, and the edges of her sight blurred.
“You saw something you never should have seen,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “What happens now is your own stupid fault.”
The pressure he applied on her neck cut off the airflow completely. Leah couldn’t breathe and felt consciousness ebb. She fought as hard as she could but was weakening. She tried to go for his eyes, but he batted her hands away with one hand, the grip on her neck unbreakable. Then he shifted his weight and she had the briefest of openings. With her last bit of strength, she brought her knee up hard into his groin and connected.
He howled and fell back, releasing his death grip. Leah gasped for air, coughing and choking as if she’d just come up from being held underwater. Her knees crumpled and she fell, knocking the nightstand over. The lamp shattered and Brad’s phone and gun fell to the floor. She scrambled for the phone, but her hand closed around the gun.
He recovered and grabbed her ankle, yanking her toward him, cursing. “You’ll pay for this, all of it!”
Leah turned toward him, gun in her hand. Seeing his face twisted in violence and anger, she realized that if she didn’t pull the trigger now, she would be dead.
So she did.
CHAPTER 7
In short order, Leah found herself on the other side of 911.
The first officers to arrive were Marvin Sapp and his rookie, Vicki Henderson.
“Slow down, Leah. Slow down.” Sapp gripped her shoulders. “Just tell me what happened.”
Haltingly and painfully, voice hoarse, throat burning from being constricted, she did. Marvin held a cop face in place as long as he could, but Leah saw the shock and disbelief move down his features like a shade.
More officers arrived, and paramedics, though there was nothing they could do. The chatter of police radios and whispers filled the house, a disjointed melody she’d heard often at the scene of tragedies. Leah caught snatches of conversation, reminding her of voices from a distant television.
“Sit with her, Henderson. Don’t let her talk to anyone,” Sapp ordered as he guided Leah to the living room couch. Leah let him direct her to sit down.
“What about an official statement?” Henderson whispered.
“Per policy, she only has to give one to the shooting team; she shouldn’t talk to anyone else right now. Not anyone. I’ve got to secure the scene in the bedroom.” Marvin left Leah with Henderson.
The minutes ticked away in a blur of agony, regret, fear, grief, all whipped together as if in a Ninja blender. They hit Leah in changing and shifting degrees, like the colors of a kaleidoscope.
As the police work swirled around her, Leah kept wiping her hands together, rubbing her palms to get the blood off. It was long gone now because of her constant rubbing, but the image of Brad in her mind was indelible. She’d tried CPR on her husband, though recognizing immediately that it was useless.
“Radcliff.”
Leah turned.
“The lab guy is here for photos.”
As her neck, face, and hands were photographed, Leah said nothing. There were no words. The glares of officers who’d loved Brad did not escape her notice. But she felt disconnected from her body and the situation, hoping against hope that this was a bad dream and she would soon wake up.
“We’ll need your clothes,” Sapp said gently.
Leah looked down at the blood drying on her shirt and shorts.
“I’ll get you some clothes to change into,” Henderson said. When she returned, she accompanied Leah to the guest bedroom. Henderson put the soiled clothes in an evidence bag. Once changed, Leah went back to the couch.
Detective Patterson from homicide arrived about the same time the chief and DA Arron Birch did.
“What happened?” Patterson planted himself in front of Leah. He’d been one of Brad’s groomsmen at their wedding.
“I-I told Sapp.”
“Tell me.”
“Sir, I don’t think that’s appropriate right now,” Henderson said.
“What?” Even in her shocky state, Leah heard the fury in his voice and saw his angry, twisted features as he turned on the rookie. “You’ve been on the force since breakfast and you’re telling me how to do my job?”
Henderson didn’t back down. “Policy says that officers involved in shootings will give one statement to the investigative team—”
“That’s for on-duty shootings. Does this look like an on-duty shooting to you?”
“Still, Officer Radcliff needs representation, some protection for her rights.”
“You listen to me, little girl—”
“Patterson, that’s enough,” DA Birch spoke up. “We have a scene in here to look at. Why is she still here?” He looked to Wilcox, who nodded.
“Someone should transport Radcliff to the station,” he said. “Sapp, see to it.”
Leah watched and listened to all of this, eyes going back and forth between each speaker. She was certain it couldn’t possibly apply to her. She took people to the station, not the other way around. A part of her still hoped the nightmare would end. Someone would snap their fingers and her world would return to normal.
Sapp and Henderson led her to their patrol car. She sat in the back, on the hard-plastic bench, looking into the cage. It was broad daylight, but Leah had the sensation of being stuffed into a cave.
Waiting at the station was an attorney who said he was affiliated with the police officers association and, surprisingly, Clint Tanner, in civvies.
“Would you like me to be your peer support officer?” Tanner asked.
Leah could only nod.
Sapp and Henderson left for a cubicle to file their report. Tanner took Leah up to the homicide offices, where they settled into a conference room.
“How about some coffee.” Tanner pulled out a chair at the conference table. “The DA’s team will be a while getting here.”
Leah found her voice, but it was hoarse and her throat sore from where Brad had nearly crushed it. “Thanks. Black please.”
“You sound awful. Maybe medics should take a look a
t you.”
Leah shook her head.
“Leah, it might be a—”
“No.” She did not want to be touched, poked, or prodded. Thankfully Tanner left to get coffee without further comment.
Clint watched Leah for a moment, then went on his way to get the coffee, a thousand unanswered questions roaring through his mind like a blast from a fire hose.
When he’d gotten the call from Marvin, Clint couldn’t process what he heard right away. It was only when he reached the station, saw the anger, sorrow, shock in people’s faces and heard the gossip already flowing, that the full impact of what had happened hit him square in the forehead. Leah Radcliff shot and killed Brad Draper.
And seeing Leah, he knew from the bottom of his heart what the gossip wasn’t saying: this was justified. He poured coffee and tried to quell his own rising anger. Domestic violence was rarely a one-off event. Leah had been a victim long before this night. Why hadn’t she said anything? Why hadn’t anyone noticed?
Why didn’t I notice?
Before he started back to where Leah waited for him, he stopped and prayed. She didn’t need a lot of questions from him; she needed peer support. And anger at Brad was futile at this point. So Clint prayed to be the best support he could be. To help Leah stand up to the questioning she would face and hopefully bring stability to a woman who’d obviously just had the worst night of her life.
When Tanner returned, Leah accepted her cup with a nod. The first sip burned her raw throat.
They waited for about an hour. Neither of them spoke. Leah found the silence, and Tanner’s presence, comforting. She had transitioned from fresh, raw pain to a kind of numbness. The world around her felt nebulous, disconnected, but she knew now it wasn’t a dream she’d wake up from.
Brad was dead.
The comfort shattered when DA Birch and his shooting team arrived, including Patterson and Chief Wilcox, but by then Leah found she could shift to her cop persona and feel some semblance of control return. She was read her rights, and the interview was taped, Leah doing the best she could with her scratchy voice. Wavering between disjointedness and shock, she gave her statement and answered every question the POA attorney allowed.
Breach of Honor Page 4
