by Colin Conway
“What about it?”
“Do you think they stepped out of line?”
“How so?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m asking you. We’re requesting all their reports so that—”
Baumgartner leaned forward. “What do you think they did?”
“I didn’t say they did anything. I was asking—”
“You can’t go on a fishing expedition.”
“A fishing expedition? An officer was killed, Chief. I’m asking if you or your department did a critical evaluation as to why—”
Anger flared in Baumgartner’s stomach. “How dare you talk to me like that.”
Watson straightened. “Like what?”
“Down to me.” The back of Baumgartner’s neck warmed, and he felt a tightening around his temples.
“I apologize if you think I was talking down to you. I wasn’t. I’m seriously curious if you did an after-action review of the shooting—”
“Of course, we did.”
“—before you disbanded the team.”
Baumgartner remained silent.
“Is there an official report?”
“No.”
The way she spoke to him was getting under his skin. He knew that’s what she wanted, and it was working. It bothered him because of that, and he struggled to control his growing anger.
“Who made the decision to disband the team?” she asked.
“I did.”
“Did you discuss it with anyone else?”
“I’m the final decision-maker. It doesn’t matter who I discussed it with.”
Watson softened her voice. “Chief, I’m not trying to be argumentative. The reason I ask is simple. Are you the type of man who seeks counsel, or do you make decisions on your own?”
Baumgartner inhaled and held the breath for a beat. Then he said, “I spoke with Captain Farrell before taking that course of action.”
Watson made a note on her pad.
“But the ultimate decision was mine to make. Officer Stone’s death is on me. It’s my department. He was my officer.”
Watson’s pen hovered over the pad of paper as she studied him. “We’re not looking to assign blame for Officer Stone’s death.”
“Your line of questioning suggests otherwise.”
She gently laid her pen down. “With teams like that, like the ACT, there tends to be an opportunity for noble cause corruption. I’m not saying there was, nor even suggesting it. However, I’d like to know if you took that into consideration during the formation of the team.”
Baumgartner smirked. “Of course, we did. It was an early concern and we assigned a sergeant to the team as a way—”
Watson interrupted, “That would be Sergeant Ragland, correct?”
He was surprised she didn’t need to consult the files laid out in front of her. So far, she hadn’t looked once toward them. He wondered if spreading the folders about was for appearances. He wouldn’t put it past her. Many things about this DOJ team seemed to be done for the sake of appearance.
“Ragland was our replacement,” the chief said. “The original sergeant had a family emergency. His wife died in childbirth.”
“Did you approve of Ragland’s leadership of the team?”
“Ragland did a fine job. He is an experienced sergeant who knows how to lead men.”
Her eyes narrowed and she lifted her pen. It rolled through her fingers as she thought. An intimidation tactic, Baumgartner thought.
“Jun Yang,” Watson said.
“What about her?”
“She was on the team.”
“I know.”
“She was a rookie.”
Baumgartner nodded.
“Why would you put a rookie with little street experience on a directed enforcement team?”
“She had experience. She was military police before joining the department.”
“Military police is the same as civilian law enforcement?”
“It’s similar.” Baumgartner’s words rang hollow to his own ears. The way Watson cocked her head, he was sure she heard the emptiness in his statement, too.
“Who picked Jun for the team?”
“I did,” Baumgartner said.
Watson shook her head. “I get you want to protect your department, Chief, but whose responsibility was staffing the Anti-Crime Team?”
He stared at Danielle Watson for several moments. Baumgartner then looked at the American and Washington State flags that stood at the head of the room. When he turned back, he said, “I did. I staffed the team.”
She made a note on her pad.
“Following Officer Stone’s shooting—”
“His murder,” Baumgartner insisted.
“—Officer Yang quit the department.”
“Your point?”
“Did she give any reason why?”
“She didn’t have the stomach for the job,” the chief said. “Lots of…” he shouldn’t have paused, but he did it to spite her, “people don’t have the stomach for the job. They go to places where it’s safer. Where they can pretend what they’re doing is law enforcement.”
Baumgartner was disappointed when Watson deftly parried his verbal jab. “But you just said that military police is similar to civilian law enforcement.”
He walked into that one. He went for a cheap shot and she jabbed him in the nose. He thought about saying, Similar, but not the same, but realized the futility of the argument. Instead, he remained silent.
Danielle Watson lifted her eyebrows then made another note on her pad.
As he watched her write, Baumgartner became mad at himself. He hadn’t done anything wrong prior to his interactions with Édelie Durand and Danielle Watson, but both times he’d gone and stepped on himself. He’d told his own officers many times over, less is more in situations like this and here he was violating his advice. He had made his situation worse by talking too much. He should have been quiet, respectful, and just answered the woman’s questions.
Why the hell did I have to take the cheap shot?
When she looked up, Watson asked, “Can I ask you about the ambush of Tyler Garrett?”
He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
At least now, they were into older, safer territory. This was something the county had investigated, Wardell Clint had shadowed, and the whole damn thing was put to bed. If he just kept his cool, he could avoid making any further mistakes.
Baumgartner nodded. “Ask away.”
“How come the department has never found those responsible for the ambush?”
The chief again fell silent. Not because he wanted to, but because he was seriously struggling for an answer.
Had they really not found the shooters?
It took him a split-second to realize they hadn’t. When that hit him, the next thought was, why the hell hadn’t they? Had his department taken their eye off the ball? He definitely had. Why? How did this happen?
Questions continued to flood his thoughts.
What led his investigators to look away from this? This should have been a burning question. A top priority. They shouldn’t have turned away until it was answered or until they exhausted every resource trying to get to the truth.
An officer was ambushed.
A decorated officer, no less, and this was how they treated him? What was that doing for Tyler Garrett’s morale? What had it done to the department’s morale knowing that those responsible for the ambush were still running around unaccounted for?
His eyes darted around the room as he continued to question just what the hell happened.
He would need answers from Tom Farrell. As the head of the Investigative Division, this should have been a priority. It should have been at the top of his list. Any leads might have grown cold after two years, but he didn’t want something as important as this to be overlooked.
Who was investigating the ambush, he wondered? Wasn’t it—
“Chief?”
“Huh?”
Danielle Watson watched him with inquisitive eyes. Her pen hovered over the yellow pad. “The ambush?”
“Yeah.”
She leaned forward. Her eyes searched his when she asked, “Am I missing something or did your department drop the ball?”
Baumgartner’s face warmed.
God damned Goldilocks. She should have been arrested for burglary.
Chapter 18
“Starbucks, huh?” Captain Dana Hatcher sat down at the small corner table.
Zielinski slid back his chair slightly to make room for her legs under the table. He doubted anyone who knew either of them would spot them having coffee, but it didn’t matter. There were plenty of civilians who might interpret the tangle of long legs under the table as something romantic and, since Hatcher was in uniform, inappropriate. He and Hatcher had endured those false rumors in the past, and he had no desire to reignite them.
“You’ve got a problem with Starbucks?”
“The McDonald’s of coffee houses?” Hatcher removed the lid from her cup and blew on her coffee. “Nope, no problem.”
Zielinski liked Starbucks. He always knew what he was getting, and he always got what he wanted. There was some comfort in that. He realized that was probably the same reason people went to the golden arches, as well.
“It’s better than your office,” Zielinski offered. He left out the fact that while on suspension he couldn’t meet her there without an official invitation anyway.
Hatcher glanced around the crowded Starbucks. “It is nice to get out amongst the people. Things are getting nasty inside the department.”
“I’ve got news for you. It ain’t so great outside the department, either.”
Hatcher turned to him for the first time since she’d sat. Her eyes filled with concern. “I’m sorry, Ray. How are you doing?”
“Getting by,” Zielinski said.
“That’s your everybody answer. I need your Ray and Dana answer.”
Zielinski hesitated. He had a long and trusted relationship with Hatcher, dating back to her time as his sergeant. She’d always been a good listener, coupled with giving sound advice. But as she climbed the ladder, it became more difficult for him to confide in her. In addition to that, lately she sometimes misunderstood him entirely. That had been the case when he tried to share his misgivings about Tyler Garrett. She’d been as blinded by Garrett’s public image as everyone else.
Without thinking, he said, “That’s not the easiest thing to do with you sitting here in full uniform, captain’s bars staring me in the face.”
Hatcher nodded slowly. “I know. Rank is scary, huh?” She looked intently at him, feigning meanness.
Zielinski cracked a smile.
She’s still Dana. Sure, she may have changed, but so have I.
“A smile?” Hatcher said. “Careful, your face may get stuck that way.”
Zielinski let the expression fade naturally as thoughts of his current situation filled his mind again. “I’m worried,” he admitted. “I’m losing everything.”
“Like what?”
“My kids, for starters. They skip out on almost every visit now.”
“That’s their age. They’ll come back to you.”
He shook his head. “That’s just something people say. I don’t think it’s true.”
Hatcher shrugged. “I all but froze out my own mother from the time I was seventeen until I was almost thirty.”
Zielinski winced. “That’s not helping, Dana.”
“My point is, I came back.” She thought about her mother for a moment. “For the most part. But my mother was horrible. What you’ve got going with your own kids is just teenage anger along with some divorce blame. They’ll come back, as long as you keep making it clear you want them to.”
“I hope so,” Zielinski whispered, his chest tightening. “But the truth is, I’m going to run into problems supporting them if I lose my job.”
“Who said you’re losing your job?”
“Dale Thomas said it could happen.”
“Dale Thomas is a tool.”
Zielinski didn’t argue, since he mostly agreed. It didn’t matter, anyway. Thomas may have been a tool, but when it came to defenders, he was Zielinski’s best chance.
“I’m surprised Mister President had time for you,” Hatcher continued. “He’s been flitting around ever since DOJ arrived, acting like they’re here to investigate him or something.”
“I know. He cut our interview short because of it.”
Hatcher blew into her coffee and sipped it. She grimaced. “Say what you will about the feds. At least they have good taste in coffee.”
Zielinski looked at her questioningly.
“I met with one of them,” Hatcher explained. “At Indaba.”
“Fancy,” Zielinski commented. He didn’t really care about DOJ. He’d been hoping to talk to Hatcher about his Internal Affairs case, but he could tell she was gearing up to share something. He tried to shift gears into listening mode.
“Fancy coffee for fancy words,” Hatcher said. She took another drink, her eyes hardening. “You know, I used to think of DOJ the same way most cops think about Internal Affairs. Cops investigating cops, you know?”
“That’s what they are.”
“No, they’re not. They’re lawyers investigating cops. And I got a harsh lesson on that, I can tell you.” Zielinski noticed her jaw flexing as she seemed to be reliving some moment from her meeting with DOJ. “They don’t interview you, they interrogate. No, they cross-examine. And this Durand woman, she backed me right into a corner. Had me questioning Baumgartner’s leadership on the record.”
Zielinski was surprised. “I thought you liked the chief.”
“That’s not the point,” she said. “I think he’s been a good leader, in the past. But he’s also screwed up a few things more recently.”
“Just ask Margaret Patterson,” Zielinski said.
Hatcher’s eyes narrowed. “What do you have against Patterson?”
“Me, personally? Nothing. But over the past few months, she’s up the chief’s ass every chance she gets.”
“That’s her job.”
“To mess with the chief over everything?” Zielinski gave her a knowing look. “I realize she’s your friend, but…”
“But what?”
“Well, when she attacks the chief, she’s attacking the entire department, isn’t she?”
“Not necessarily. I’d say she’s trying to make it better by holding its leader accountable.”
“Okay.” Zielinski didn’t want to argue. He had only a rudimentary grasp on city politics anyway. Right now, his concerns were much closer to home. “Can we move on? I want to ask you something.”
Hatcher took a drink of her coffee. “Sure.” Her voice held the slightest tone of disappointment, but he couldn’t worry about that now.
“I know some things are going to take a backseat while DOJ is here, but I was hoping you might know something about my case.”
“Isn’t that a question for Dale Thomas?”
Zielinski frowned. “I already told you how he handled our meeting. And you’ve seen it yourself. You said so.”
“I did.” Hatcher seemed to be thinking something over before she spoke. “Ray, what you’re be asking me is a lot.”
“I know.”
“I’m not sure you do. It doesn’t matter, though, because I would have done it for you. I wouldn’t have broken any policies, but I would have found out enough to at least reduce your stress level while you waited this whole thing out.”
Zielinski nodded along as he listened. He believed her. Hatcher had always focused on taking care of her people at least as much as she did on completing the mission at hand. In his opinion, that’s what made her such a great leader.
“But things are different right now,” she continued. “DOJ being here complicates everything. I can’t risk doing anything that looks the slightest bit out of line. Especially not
with Internal Affairs. That’s one of their favorite places to fish.”
Zielinski stopped nodding and looked down at his hands. “I get it.”
“Don’t pout, Ray.”
He glanced up at her, his gaze narrowing. “I’m not fucking pouting!” Several patrons turned their way. Zielinski lowered his voice and continued, “I’m thinking, okay? My life is unraveling here, so give me a break.”
Hatcher’s eyes flashed with anger. “You want to know the truth about that? It’s unraveling because of bad decisions you made.”
Zielinski stared at her, shocked.
“Yes, Ray,” Hatcher continued. “Those wounds are self-inflicted. For example, why in the hell did you go all Lone Wolf McQuade on that guy Barden?”
“I…” Zielinski stopped. He couldn’t answer her without revealing another bad decision he’d made. More than one.
Shit, she’s right.
Just as quickly as it flared up, Hatcher’s ire seemed to fade. “Look,” she said, “you can’t change the past. I hope this works out for you, but there is nothing I can do to help you right now. Maybe after DOJ has gone, or when the process gets to the review phase, but for now, you’ve just got to hold on and hope for the best.”
“Okay,” Zielinski whispered.
“And for Christ’s sake,” she added, “stay out of any more trouble. That’s crucial. You can’t afford any more springboards for Internal Affairs. Progressive discipline is a real thing.”
“Okay,” Zielinski repeated.
Hatcher gave him a long look, then went back to her coffee. They sat in silence for a long while, and when the conversation renewed, they skirted anything important. Instead, they skimmed along the surface of mundane matters, filling the time with empty words until their coffee cups were empty, too. Then Hatcher made her excuse that she needed to get back to work, and Zielinski thanked her for meeting him.
“Anytime, Ray,” she said, before she left.
But Zielinski knew better.
I’m losing her, too.
He got into his car and headed east. He drove mechanically, his body remembering every turn that he needed to make without him having to think about it. He was a career patrol officer and knew the city like the back of his hand.
He recognized Clint’s Impala half a block away from Aurelia Ellis’s home, parked under a tree that provided some shade and a small measure of camouflage. He pulled in behind, flipped open his cell phone, and dialed Clint’s number.
