Never the Crime

by Colin Conway

  He waved to Tiana who slowly walked over, a manila folder in her hand. When she was near the table, she dropped it in front of Davis.

  Garrett stood and put his knuckles on the folder. “You want my recommendation? You don’t reveal that you have these copies yet. Play it out that you have the story but you’re looking for the proof. See what the administration does. If they destroy the report, they hang themselves. If they do come forward, you can verify that nothing was changed.”

  He tapped the report once, then wrapped his arm around Tiana’s waist and pulled her into him.

  The reporter put her hand on the folder and looked up at Garrett. “What do you get out of this?”

  “Justice,” he said. “I can’t get them for what they did, but you can.”

  WEDNESDAY

  The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemy’s.

  —Napoleon Bonaparte, French statesman and military leader

  CHAPTER 61

  Captain Dana Hatcher tossed the folded newspaper onto her desk and set down her Starbucks coffee cup. She’d splurged on a fancy drink this morning after spending a restless night still pissed at Farrell and the chief over how they handled the Zielinski shooting. The whole department seemed upside down to her.

  It was early yet, so she closed her door and sat down to have her coffee in peace.

  When she became a lieutenant, she had to attend a state-certified leadership course. It was an intensive three weeks with a lot of reading on behavioral science, and difficult, brutally honest classroom discussions. At its core, the emphasis of the course had been meeting the needs of your followers. Not long before her promotion to captain, the chief pegged her to attend a command college course. That was the first hint that she was likely to get the nod for the promotion. She spent three full months away from home at Northwestern University’ School of Police Staff and Command, and the curriculum was remarkably similar to what she’d studied in the three-week course. Take care of your people, be honest with them, expect the best from them, and those people will be mostly happy and do great work. While she learned a number of new concepts and ways to approach problems, both courses served to validate what she had always believed and tried to do, even as a sergeant.

  She knew Baumgartner and Farrell had been through command school and had some of the same training. So why did they seem to be doing things that were antithetical to everything she’d learned was good leadership?

  Ray Zielinski might be a mess right now, but he was their mess. And no matter how tough or how experienced a cop might be, getting shot at was a scary experience. Baumgartner barely coming to the scene to check on him was a cardinal sin, as far as she was concerned. Sure, he dropped in to see Zielinski for a little longer at the station, but that was a weak gesture—too little, too late.

  What could be more important than one of your officers being shot at?

  The answer, she knew, was nothing. Absent a dying officer elsewhere, nothing was more important in that moment.

  Hatcher sipped her frothy, sweet coffee, then leaned back and closed her eyes. Despite her frustration, she tried to see the situation from the chief’s perspective. Zielinski had been shot at, and he’d returned fire, but no one was killed. Even the wounded social worker was in stable condition at the hospital. Chief Baumgartner, an old school cop if ever there was one, probably downgraded the priority based on that. Add to that, there was a homicide on the other side of town.

  Her lip curled as she realized she’d probably hit on the truth of it. Although it explained the chief’s behavior, it didn’t excuse it, at least in her mind. This old school thinking was out of step with today’s police officer. They weren’t all rough and tumble ex-military, former football players like when Baumgartner came on. Or hell, when she did. Cops were smarter now, and better at talking to people. They were also allowed to be more human. It wasn’t a donuts and black coffee world anymore. It was a world of bagels and…well, something special from Starbucks.

  She hung around the station yesterday until Zielinski’s interview was finished, checking on him before and after. While the union president guarded Zielinski from her like she was the enemy, she could tell Ray appreciated her being there. He seemed a little rattled by the turn of events, and knowing what else was going on in his life, she was sure he was feeling the stress. Even so, he’d acted admirably, saving the social worker’s life and somehow avoiding a fatal shooting of the suspect. Really, he saved two lives.

  Hatcher’s eyes snapped open. How had that not occurred to her yet? She should put Zielinski in for a life-saving award, at the very least. He deserved that kind of recognition for his actions. Not only that, but an award like that might mitigate some of his other internal affairs issues.

  She made a note on her to-do list. That made her feel a little better. She took another drink of the caramel latte and flipped open the newspaper. The banner blared at her.

  Another Sex Scandal at City Hall!

  Below that, the headline read:

  Suicide and Murder Surround Councilman Hahn’s Affairs; Rumors of Cover-Up by Mayor, Police Chief.

  “Holy shit,” Hatcher muttered, and started reading.

  CHAPTER 62

  The newspaper shook in Officer Gary Stone’s hands.

  There on the front page was the entire story of the Betty Rabe incident. He tried to read the article, but he kept coming back to the headline. He knew who the anonymous source for the article had to be. The only other guy who was involved as much as he was.

  He'd gotten a call last night after Jean left. It was from a phone number he was unfamiliar with, so he let it go to voicemail. He wasn’t in the mood for to deal with another problem, so he didn’t check the message check until he got to his office. It was a reporter asking him to call her in reference to a story the newspaper planned to run the next morning—this morning.

  His office phone rang but he refused to look at it. It had been ringing almost constantly since his arrival. He had also turned off both of his cell phones. There had been a barrage of text messages from guys on the department asking him what was going on. Everyone wanted to get in on the drama.

  When he walked into city hall that morning, no one made eye contact with him. He didn’t understand why until he saw the newspaper headline. Now, people walked by his office and peeked at him. If he caught them looking, they quickly averted their gaze.

  He finally gave up trying to read the paper and folded it. He thought about throwing it away but decided he should keep it to reread it later when he was calm.

  Garrett. He did this to me.

  But, why? Why would he do this? He is supposed to be my friend.

  Stone put his elbows on his desk and put his head in his hands. He tried to picture the bison in the snowstorm, but all he wanted to do was get up and leave. He thought about calling in sick but immediately rejected the idea. The chief would see that for sure. There was no way that would be approved.

  He thought about his last conversation with Councilman Hahn. He had told Stone to remember that exact moment because the councilman threatened to ruin his career. Unfortunately, he was right. Hahn had now destroyed his career, but not by doing anything directly to Stone. Instead, he had done it to himself. He could have avoided all of this by standing up and doing what he thought was right in the first place.

  His phone rang again, but he ignored it, not bothering to look up from his hands.

  “Answer your fucking phone, why don’t you?”

  Stone lifted his head to see Mayor Sikes standing in his doorway. “Sir?”

  “I’ve been calling for you and you’re ignoring me like I’m some chump.”

  “No, sir, I didn’t know—”

  “My office. Now!”

  The mayor spun and stalked away. Stone scrambled from out behind his desk and fell into step behind him. Workers watched with fascination as Si
kes paraded him through the seventh floor like a scolded puppy that had just peed on the carpet.

  Two security guards waited near the mayor’s office. They watched Stone with disappointment.

  When they entered the mayor’s office, Sikes said, “Shut the door.”

  Stone did as the mayor asked, latching it silently. When he turned around, Sikes was already in his chair, behind his desk, yanking at his tie.

  “Where do you get off?” he yelled, his face tomato red.

  Stone opened his mouth to speak, but the mayor cut him off.

  “Why in the fuck would you talk to the newspaper about that girl’s letter?”

  “I didn’t do that.”

  “That’s bullshit.” He repeatedly slapped his desk. “You’re a fucking liar!”

  “No, sir. I didn’t do that.”

  “Who else could have all that information? Hell, I didn’t even know about the latest girl, what was her name?”

  “Sonya Meyer.”

  “See!” Another slap of the desk. “That’s what I mean. You knew everything. You’re the only one who could have talked.”

  “Mr. Mayor—”

  “Don’t gimme that Mister Mayor bullshit, you mealy mouthed sonofabitch. You talked with the enemy of the people. Why would you do that? I was good to you. I was nice to you!”

  “But I didn’t talk with them.”

  “Then who did, Stone? Tell me who did.”

  Stone thought for a moment about the bison standing in the snow. The bison hadn’t been betrayed by a friend. “It was Tyler Garrett.”

  “Garrett! What is wrong with you, Stone? Garrett is a goddamned hero and you blame your bullshit on him? He didn’t even know about this.”

  “Let me explain, sir.”

  “No,” Sikes said, standing. He pointed at Stone as he walked past him. “You are what is wrong with the police. We need ethical men in the department, not opportunistic spineless punks like you.”

  Stone saw it then. This was him getting thrown under the bus. It had started, and Sikes was sharpening his tongue, figuring out the best way to drive home the knife before he stood in front of the cameras.

  The mayor threw open his door and waved. The two security guards appeared. “Escort this man out of the building.”

  “Sir?” Stone said.

  “I no longer want you in my building.”

  “That’s fine,” Stone said, “but I don’t need a couple guys to walk me out.”

  “You think that, huh? That’s what you think? Well, we need them, because we don’t trust you anymore. We escort anyone out that we deem a security risk and guess what, buddy, that’s you.”

  Sikes turned to the seventh floor and yelled. “I don’t want Baumgartner’s spy in city hall anymore!”

  When he looked back at Stone, he smiled. “Get the message?”

  “Can I walk back to my office and get my stuff?”

  “You know what, hotshot? Your stuff is already waiting for you downstairs. That’s what they’ve been doing while we’ve been talking.”

  Stone shook his head and stepped out of the mayor’s office then. One of the security guards reached for his arm.

  “The hell, man?” Stone said, yanking his arm free.

  “Sorry,” the guard said, chagrined.

  Stone walked to the elevator and waited. He turned around and saw the entirety of the seventh-floor staff watching him with a mixture of emotions—curiosity, anger, and disappointment were the easiest to read.

  Jean Carter stood near the stairwell. She looked sad. Stone wondered how much of the mayor’s tirade she had overheard.

  He gave her a slight nod.

  When the elevator dinged its arrival, he entered the cab. When Stone turned around, Jean had vanished into the stairwell, presumably running down to the sixth floor.

  CHAPTER 63

  Councilwoman Margaret Patterson leaned into her computer and watched the news coverage as it was coming in live. It was a bloodbath. And she loved every second of it.

  Earlier, she’d read the article about Denny Hahn and couldn’t believe it. He always seemed like a decent guy, a family man, a crusader for women’s rights. Now, he was outed as some sort of pervert, perhaps a pedophile, maybe he was even involved in a woman’s murder.

  The whole thing was an ugly mess that involved the mayor and the chief of police. She might have to bide her time to take out the mad king, but she felt the prickling excitement around the idea of ruining Fat Boy’s career.

  Would the rest of the council get on board? She frowned. Who knew what the hell the rest of the council would do?

  She replayed her recent conversation with Dennis Hahn about Councilmen Justin Buckner and Patrick Armstrong. No wonder he was reluctant to go after them. That’s when she realized that three councilmen were in trouble.

  That’s right. Men.

  Buckner was in trouble for sleeping with a babysitter. It was legally okay, but it looked bad. The guy was a moron.

  Armstrong was jammed up for being an asshole, for taking money for influence. That was illegal, and he should be removed from office and get some jail time.

  Now, Hahn tossed his hat into the douchebag ring for a series of affairs with barely legal, maybe not even legal aged, young women. The murder accusation seemed muddy and reeked of fake news, but it was still there and would hurt Hahn.

  The more she thought about the three men the more she came to one conclusion—why did she care if any of it was legal?

  This is the kind of opportunity I’ve longed for.

  She didn’t need Hahn to be a reformer along with her; she could lead the charge all by herself. She worked better alone anyway and now she wouldn’t need to share any credit. She could immediately make the call for the removal of all three men from their council seats on the grounds of violating their moral turpitude clause.

  Patterson needed to call the city attorney and talk with her, make sure she clearly understood the moral turpitude clause before she made the announcement. She didn’t want to announce it and then find herself in violation of it as well. She thought about the recent rendezvous with Tanner, the guitar shop owner, and wondered if that would be seen as a violation. She didn’t see how, but better safe than sorry.

  She couldn’t remember if a council member had ever been removed from their seat in the history of the city. If it hadn’t occurred, it could happen three times at once. Her name would be legend in local lore. She grabbed her office phone and dialed the city attorney’s number.

  While it rang, she saw motion in the bullpen and watched Jean Carter hurry back to her desk. She dropped into her chair. The poor woman. She was aces at what she did.

  Her eyes slid to her own assistant, Devan Bollman. He had headphones in while he typed. His head bobbed happily to some music while he worked. He obviously didn’t understand the gravity of today’s events.

  Patterson made a mental note to keep an eye on Carter. If things went south with Denny, and they certainly looked they were headed that way, she wanted to rescue Jean. She could use a smart, solid assistant like her.

  Devan could be collateral damage for all she cared. The idiot probably wouldn’t realize what was happening, anyway.

  CHAPTER 64

  Officer Ray Zielinski had always heard you had to hit rock bottom before things could get better. Sitting at a ritzy South Hill coffee shop with Union President Dale Thomas, he was sure he’d hit that point.

  The scariest part of the whole thing for Zielinski was that Thomas seemed to be the only person who understood what he was going through right now. If that wasn’t rock bottom, Zielinski didn’t know what was.

  “I really wish you’d taken advantage of the three days of paid administrative leave,” Thomas was saying. “Expanding the parameters of what qualifies for that is a benefit we fought hard to get for the union members.”

  Zielinski grunted into his black coffee and took a drink. This was the
downside to using an outside lawyer as union president instead of a rank-and-file cop. Thomas didn’t seem to realize that if he took those three days voluntarily, without having been shot or otherwise injured, most cops would think him weak. Mandatory was one thing, but voluntary looked like he was either gaming the system or was a shrinking violet. Good cops hated both laziness and cowardice. Since Thomas had never worn a badge, Zielinski doubted he could make the union president understand.

  Then Thomas surprised him. “You’re worried that if you go on admin leave, people will think you’re a wimp, right?”

  Zielinski swallowed his coffee. “They would.”

  “Some might,” Thomas admitted. “Mostly your old patrol bulls, but the majority of people would understand.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. Cops are judgmental as hell. I’m already hearing whispers about what I did.”

  “What kind of whispers?”

  “The officer safety kind,” Zielinski said. “That what I did was reckless. Cowboy shit.”

  Thomas sipped his frothy drink, considering. Then he said, “That kind of criticism is probably coming from a different crowd than the ones who might have a problem with you taking some time to recover from the shooting.”

  “See?” Zielinski raised his hands in frustration. “I can’t win, either way.”

  “People are always going to talk. You’re correct about police officers being judgmental, especially when it comes to Monday morning quarterbacking.”

  “Exactly.” He shook his head in disgust. “Remember Tyler Garrett a couple of summers back? He did the exact same thing I did—charge the shooters. Everyone thought what he did was brave, even though his suspects got away. I arrested my shooter, without having to kill him, and yet people are gossiping that my officer safety sucks? It’s bullshit.”

  Thomas nodded along in agreement.

  “What’s the difference?” Zielinski complained. “Is it because he’s black and I’m white?”