Breach of Honor

by Janice Cantore

  When she was finished, Patterson asked her and Tanner to wait outside the conference room while the team had a discussion.

  “You think I’ll be booked?” she asked Tanner.

  Tanner shook his head. “I don’t see how. It’s self-defense. They might convene a grand jury to determine if filing charges is needed, but that would just be a formality.”

  Leah looked at Tanner—a man she barely knew, yet he’d steadied her. There was none of the shock and disbelief she’d seen on Sapp’s face. Tanner had simply been matter-of-fact and helpful. A thought flashed: Brad would ask what his angle was.

  Sighing, she leaned against the wall. “How’d you get here so quick?” she rasped. Her voice felt stronger to her but it was rough. “Weren’t you off?”

  He nodded. “Sapp called me. I called the POA attorney. Sapp knows I’m a peer counselor and that you’d need one.”

  “He knew no one else would want the job. Brad was, well . . .” Her voice faded.

  “A fellow officer?” Tanner finished for her. “So are you. And whatever Brad was, it’s obvious he hurt you, badly. It’s not your fault.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I tell victims of domestic violence. The only person at fault is the one who does the abusing. Don’t make this your fault, Leah.”

  Victims of domestic violence. Leah gripped her arms tight about her, so tight it hurt. But she couldn’t move because if she did, she’d lose it. She’d break into a million pieces all over the police department floor. She held her breath as the door to the conference room opened.

  “You’re suspended indefinitely,” the attorney said, “but you’ll remain free while a grand jury convenes.” He handed her a card. “Here’s my information, cell phone number. Call me if you need anything.”

  Leah managed to take the card and stuff it in her pocket before giving as much of a nod as she dared.

  “You’ll need to turn in your badge,” he continued. “I’m told they already have your gun.”

  “I’ll see that it gets turned in,” Tanner said.

  “You’re free to go home; just don’t leave Jackson County.”

  The attorney left and Tanner turned to Leah. “I can take you home, unless there’s someone you’d like me to call.”

  Swallowing, barely trusting her voice, Leah said, “Call my dad.”

  “Sure.” Tanner went to do that. Leah knew he could get her father’s phone number from personnel. At the moment, she wished she didn’t have to wait, that she could fly home. She wanted her father, but she dreaded seeing him. They’d been mostly estranged for more than two years. He’d never approved of Brad, always thought he was disingenuous, unfaithful, and wild, so after the wedding she’d mostly cut him out of her life, visiting only occasionally. His words came back to her from the night she’d told him they were engaged.

  “A loose cannon, that one. Leah, please reconsider. I see only problems. He doesn’t even believe in God. Surely there must be a strong believer out there for you if you’ll just wait.”

  “I love him, Dad, and you’re wrong about him. You’ll see.”

  Brad never visited her father when Leah did, and for the entire two years of the marriage, she and her dad had drifted further and further apart. What would he say now?

  When Randy Radcliff arrived to take her home, his face was a study in shock and bewilderment. He looked years older than she remembered.

  As Leah climbed into the front seat of his truck, her father got out, and Tanner gave him a brief explanation of what had happened. Was this an “I told you so” moment? she wondered.

  “Are you okay?” her father asked when he sat back in the driver’s seat. His tone was laced with worry.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad.” Leah couldn’t hold back the tears.

  “What are you sorry about?” He grabbed her in a sideways hug. “I love you, baby, no matter what. From what Tanner said, it was justified. What in the world was going on?” He held her for a long moment, and Leah took comfort in his grip, his presence, and the strong, sure beat of his heart.

  Oh, if only she’d listened to him.

  When he relaxed and let go, she sat back. He gave her some Kleenex and she blew her nose. Dad started the truck, and on the drive home Leah told him what she’d put up with from Brad for the bulk of their two-year marriage. The slaps, the intimidation, the times he’d hold her down just to prove he could, and the threats that no one would believe her if she told anyone. Her dad’s expression went from horrified to angry. But he didn’t say, “I told you so.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I wish you had. Brad and I would have had words. I would have put a stop to it.”

  Leah had no answer. And as she wept in the front seat, her father kissed the top of her head and patted her shoulder and told her he’d be with her and that it would be all right. Time would heal all wounds. The knot of pain in her heart screamed that he was a liar. Nothing would ever be right in her world again.

  CHAPTER 8

  Clint watched Leah and her father drive away. He recognized Randy Radcliff from church, where Randy had a reputation as a man who helped people when they needed it. He decided he would be there to help Randy any way he could.

  With Leah gone and his duty finished for now, he fought his own rising anger about the violence done to her by her husband. He remembered the day of the funeral, how tense Leah had been. At the time he’d chalked it up to grief, but now he wondered. The redness on one side of her face today and the nasty bruising on her neck were proof enough to him. Besides, she could barely talk, Brad had squeezed her throat so hard. He was angry with himself for not seeing a problem, for not being able to rescue her.

  Even as the word crossed his mind, the anger eased somewhat, and a rueful smile creased his lips.

  “You can’t rescue everyone, Clint.” His father’s voice rang in his head. “It’s not your job. God can rescue everyone—that’s his job. You must learn to pick your battles.”

  He’d gotten the lecture after being beaten within an inch of his life trying to rescue a girl from human traffickers in Kyrgyzstan, where his family were missionaries. Unconsciously, he ran a thumb down the knife scar on his face from the wound he’d received that day. At fifteen years old, he’d waded into a group of six men to save the terrified girl. They’d taken the girl and left him bleeding and unconscious in the gutter.

  “But God didn’t do his job,” he’d told his father through swollen lips. “They took that girl. Don’t we have to do more than just pray?”

  His father nodded. “When we’re sure that is what we’re called to do.” He held up an article. Clint could read the Russian headline: Border Confrontation Ends with Two Dead. And below, “Girls freed from trafficking ring. Four in custody, two shot by border police.”

  “She’s safe at home. You can’t run off half-cocked. Prayer is your first, best weapon and defense.”

  Clint had prayed, but he admitted now that at the time he didn’t believe prayer worked. The beating and the aftermath led to major changes in his life. First, he had to leave the mission field. The trafficking network put a bounty on his head, and his parents’ church sponsor wanted him stateside. That brought him to Oregon, where he moved in with his aunt GiGi. That eventually led to the second major change. He went from an angry teenager with no direction to a young man with a goal to become a police officer. A profession where he could be a rescuer when the situation called for it. Most of all, his attitude toward prayer changed, as he came to trust his father’s wisdom: that prayer was a powerful weapon and should be the first one drawn in any fight.

  As his anger ebbed, he hoped that understanding and peace would come as all the facts emerged. Going forward, the road was going to be rocky for Leah and for the police department. From what he’d heard and seen, the shooting was clearly self-defense. Yet some of the whispering he’d heard going on as he waited for Sapp to arrive with Leah worried him. Brad was thought to be a cop’s cop, a macho guy without fault. A
lot of people couldn’t believe Leah had been abused. And with this coming on the heels of the trooper’s death, hearts and emotions were still raw.

  “Whose side are you on, Tanner?”

  Clint turned and saw Erik Forman glaring at him. Forman was off duty and looked as if he’d rolled out of bed and driven to the station in a hurry.

  “What do you mean?”

  Forman spit tobacco juice on the ground. “One of our own was just murdered and you’re playing peer counselor?”

  “From what I saw, it was self-defense. But neither one of us is going to adjudicate it today.”

  Forman jabbed his index finger into Clint’s chest. “Brad was in his underwear. She shot him in his sleep. There’s no way she’d get the best of him in any other situation, and I hope she fries.” He pushed past Clint, brushing his shoulder as he did so.

  The gossip information superhighway traveled code 3, lights and sirens. Forman already knew the details of a crime scene he’d not even been at.

  On the way to his car, Clint called his prayer partner, Deputy Sheriff Jack Kelly, part of a group he belonged to called Iron Sharpens Iron. Leah’s world had just been shattered, and Clint knew all he could do at the moment was pray.

  It took three weeks to impanel a grand jury. In Oregon, the grand jury was made up of individuals from the juror pool and consisted of seven people. At least five were required to make the decision to return an indictment. Since the grand jury only recommended charges be filed—they did not come to a guilty finding—the burden of proof was lower than in a jury trial. All the evidence would be presented by the DA. In this case, DA Arron Birch was a close friend of Brad and his family. Clint heard from Randy that Leah’s lawyer tried to argue the DA should recuse himself from prosecuting the case, but it got nowhere.

  The grand jury would consider the evidence Birch presented. Leah would not testify, nor would her attorney present any evidence. The old adage about how a grand jury could indict a ham sandwich had a ring of truth to it because it really was a one-sided hearing.

  Clint stayed close to Randy, knowing that supporting him was supporting Leah.

  “Randy, even if they vote to indict, remember, they are only hearing one side of the story. At trial, Leah’s attorney will be able to tell her side.”

  “I know you’re right. I just wish I had the money for an attorney with more experience.”

  The POA attorney from the day of the shooting was out of their price range, so Randy had found another. The new criminal defense attorney Leah and her father had hired was young, but he was earnest and, like her father, a Christian.

  Clint stopped by after work one night. It pained him to see Leah looking pale and still a little shocky. Randy had voiced worry about the new attorney’s experience.

  “Are you saying you don’t have confidence in the attorney?” Leah asked.

  “Not at all.” Randy appeared to be mustering up as much confidence as he could.

  Leah caught Clint’s eye, and he wished he saw more light there.

  “What about you? What do you think of the new guy?” she asked.

  “Since I know the shooting was justified, I’m sure he’ll do fine,” he said, smiling and wishing he could reach across and hug her and make all of the sadness, pain, and fear in her eyes disappear.

  “I know the shooting was justified . . .”

  Clint’s words reverberated in Leah’s ears. She could only nod, recognizing at some level that Tanner was being supportive. While the fog had lifted from her mind, it didn’t provide clarity about the situation; it only opened the floodgates of pain, remorse, and guilt. She knew in her head that Brad would have killed her, but her heart was harder to convince. She couldn’t sleep because as soon as she lay down, the incident replayed over and over in her mind. Was there something, anything else she should have done?

  How could she convince a jury she wasn’t guilty when she couldn’t convince herself?

  She believed her life hung on what the grand jury decided. Leah was fatalistic about her chances with a trial jury if the people on it believed that she should have known better, she should have reported the abuse if it had really happened. Somehow, because she’d never said a word to anyone, that made her look guilty. She knew it made her feel guilty.

  Prison looked inevitable.

  “Have faith in the system,” Tanner told her. And she wanted to believe like he did. Something about the way he looked at her, as if he could see right down into her soul, she found comforting.

  Tanner had been a rock for Leah while everyone else kept their distance. She didn’t blame them. She didn’t know how to feel about what had happened, so how could she expect people who had worked around her and Brad for years to know?

  Tanner was different. He went to the same church her dad did, so he was more than willing to help and to pray. Leah had been raised in the church. Her mother sang on the worship team. Leah began to back away from church after her mother died in a car crash. The move accelerated when she went off to college. Then God lost his importance in her life. Church attendance was sporadic, mostly when she was home on weekends to make her father happy. Eventually, when she met Brad, Leah stopped going to church altogether. He’d mocked faith when he saw her Bible. “Where does all that get you? Reading about all the dos and don’ts and all those thees and thous?”

  Chastened, Leah remembered that all she could say was “Peace.”

  His response was typical Brad. “Aw, you can get that from a couple of cold beers.”

  Her father had asked her to go to church with him two weeks after the shooting.

  “No, I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  “You need to get out, a change of scenery.”

  “No.”

  “Well, we’ll be praying for you, sweet pea.”

  When she heard her father’s truck start up and head down the drive, Leah let out an anguished cry and threw her coffee cup across the room. It shattered against a picture frame and knocked the picture off the wall.

  “Why? Why? Why?” Leah clenched and unclenched her fists as waves of anger rolled over her. All the grief and shock from the night of the shooting had morphed into a deep, dark fury. She looked up while the tears fell. “Why am I asking? You won’t answer—you never do!”

  She wasn’t even angry at Brad anymore; she was angry with God. She’d never been a bad person. Why had he let this horrific thing happen to her?

  Ignoring her tears and sniffling, she bent to clean up the mess. Ironically, the picture she’d smashed was her own work. It was a pencil drawing she’d done of her father and mother. She’d presented it to them on the last anniversary her mother was alive. In her preteens and teens, she’d done quite a bit of sketching with pencils. Her mom had always loved her work and once mentioned art school might be in her future. After her mother was killed, Leah put her pencils away.

  What a metaphor for my life, she thought bitterly, always me doing the destroying.

  Her anger festered and only a thread of control kept her from venting all the rage she felt toward God at her father. His presence and his house had become a cocoon of safety. He was the thin lifeline that kept her from opening the door in her mind that said, End it all.

  As much as she fumed and hurt, she couldn’t do that to him. This added to the frustration. She couldn’t get an answer to the why, she couldn’t change what had happened, and she couldn’t see any way forward in her now completely shattered life.

  CHAPTER 9

  Curled up in bed one Monday morning, curtains drawn, room dark though it was almost midday, Leah had her eyes closed, but she was awake when her father knocked on the door.

  “Leah, you up?”

  Resisting the urge to pretend she was sleeping, that she didn’t hear him, she unknotted her hands from the bedsheets and turned her head. “Yeah, Dad, what is it?”

  “Can I come in?”

  Leah bit back a snarky response. “Sure, give me a minute.” She forced herself to sit up
. It seemed as if she were encased in cement. She got out of bed and put on a robe, then opened the door. “What is it?”

  The expression on his face really made Leah wish that she’d consulted a mirror.

  “You were still in bed?”

  She sighed.

  “We have to go get your things today.”

  “That’s today?” Leah didn’t know how she’d forgotten. This was a river she did not want to cross. She wanted to beg off. But she had to face reality.

  Furious from day one because she’d not been arrested, Brad’s parents were clamoring for her head in the newspaper and on TV every day. They’d taken her to court immediately after the shooting, trying to get an emergency restraining order. Their stated purpose was to protect Brad’s estate. They were told that they jumped the gun; Leah had not yet been charged with a crime. For her part, Leah didn’t want Brad’s estate. She had her own bank accounts; she and Brad never comingled money unless they made a purchase together. They’d bought a Jet Ski and a couple of kayaks, but that was about it.

  But the Drapers’ actions forced her to make some decisions, one of them being what to do about the house. It was in Brad’s name; she’d simply moved in when they married and had never given it another thought. He’d not left a will and his parents wanted the house and his life insurance. She didn’t want either. Turned out, Brad hadn’t listed her as beneficiary to anything, not even the small life insurance policy the PD provided. Harden Draper was Brad’s only beneficiary. For the house, the probate judge recommended a third-party mediator.

  In the end, the mediator gave her permission to remove her things while the rest of the estate was in probate. And today was the day she’d return to the house—their house—where Brad had died. Where she’d killed him.