Code Four

by Colin Conway

  The detective answered on the first ring. “You’re late.”

  “I had something to do, Ward.”

  “I have things to do. And my name is Wardell. Would you like it if I called you Raymond?”

  Zielinski wouldn’t, but he wasn’t going to tell Clint that. “I don’t care. It’s my name.”

  “My condolences on that.”

  That was a good one, Zielinski had to admit. For a guy who didn’t have much in the way of a sense of humor, Clint surprised him sometimes.

  “Anything?” Zielinski asked.

  “No. But you can see a little bit of the alley entrance from here, so keep an eye on that.”

  Zielinski clenched his jaw. He didn’t need to be told how to watch a goddamn house.

  “I got it, Ward. Take off.”

  Clint severed the connection. A small, grim smile creased Zielinski’s mouth. He half-expected Clint to flip him the bird as he drove away, but instead Clint only made a U-turn and left the neighborhood, already focused on his next task.

  Zielinski nudged his own car forward until he was tucked under the tree branches. He glanced toward the alley entrance to make sure it was visible. It was.

  He leaned back in his car seat and watched.

  Chapter 19

  When Ray Zielinski pulled into the neighborhood, Tyler Garrett froze.

  He thought for sure the man would have made him.

  But Zielinski must have had other things on his mind since his eyes were locked straight ahead. The man rolled right past Garrett and pulled slowly behind a Chevy Impala parked underneath a shade tree.

  Garrett had been standing at a bus stop with a baseball cap pulled low and his hands shoved in his pockets. It would have been difficult for the driver of the Impala to make him out from his position, but Zielinski should have had him cold.

  If he hadn’t been distracted, that is.

  Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good.

  He quickly abandoned the bus stop and moved around the corner to take up a position next to an overgrown arborvitae tree. It provided him better concealment, but still allowed him to see his targets.

  So, two things were official now.

  Wardell Clint was hunting Earl Ellis.

  And Zielinski was in league with Clint.

  Alone, Zielinski was of no concern to Garrett. But if Clint figured out a way to direct the man’s anger, that might mean something.

  For the last hour, Garrett had slowly moved his position about this neighborhood, watching the Chevy Impala parked in front of the house owned by Earl Ellis’s grandmother.

  During this time, he had the time to make two calls.

  The calls really weren’t important. Rather, they were something personal he wanted to set in motion. Now, he wondered if he should let these plans go until a later time.

  Ray Zielinski missed seeing him when he pulled into the neighborhood because he was distracted. Garrett didn’t want to miss something important because he was distracted.

  He spat on the ground.

  “What are you watching?”

  Garrett hadn’t heard her approaching. She was a smaller woman with curly white hair cut close to her head. He thought she was in her late seventies, but her ashy gray skin made it hard to guess.

  She clutched a fluffy white dog to her chest. A thin leash dangled uselessly from her hand to its neck.

  “Is it a drug deal?” the woman asked.

  Garrett glanced around the corner to Clint and Zielinski. “No. Just a couple guys.” Then he added, “White guys,” to hopefully stoke the woman’s fear.

  “What are they doing?” the woman asked.

  He shrugged. “They’re parked.”

  “You think they’re doing…it? Inside the car?”

  Garrett turned back to her. “No,” he said with a smile. It was a funny image, Clint and Zielinski going at it. “They’re watching a house.”

  The woman eyed him then as if considering if he belonged in the neighborhood. Deciding he did, she turned her attention up the street. “They’re probably cops.”

  “Probably.”

  The Impala’s engine started, its brake lights momentarily flashed red, and the car drove away.

  She shook her head. “Used to be a nice neighborhood,” she muttered.

  The woman crossed the street behind Zielinski’s car and continued on her way. The dog never once touched the sidewalk.

  Garrett took a moment to assess the situation. Earl Ellis was missing, and he wasn’t taking Garrett’s calls or responding to his texts. Even the man’s own people didn’t know where Ellis was. Garrett didn’t know what had spooked Ellis so bad to go missing.

  Perhaps it was the killing of Leon Strayer, but Ellis had been part of that plan. He’d known it was coming. Garrett needed to get rid of the rat, Gary Stone, and they needed to sacrifice a man to do it. Earl was the one who offered Strayer up. Getting spooked over his death didn’t make any sense.

  But this—Clint and Zielinski? That could spook a man.

  If Ellis ran because Clint had found him, why wouldn’t he reach out? Maybe Clint had planted a fear in him, and Ellis was considering a play. If that were true, it would be a play the man wouldn’t have contemplated if he was near Garrett.

  His lip curled. The motherfucker was going to talk.

  But his face quickly relaxed.

  No. If he was going to turn, he would have done it by now and there would have been no reason to run. Ellis was hiding because he didn’t want to talk.

  So why hadn’t he reached out to tell Garrett this?

  Because he knew he was being watched. His eyes returned to Zielinski’s car.

  Yeah, Garrett decided that was why.

  Earl may be a lot of things, but a rat wasn’t one of them.

  Chapter 20

  “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me, Captain.”

  Curado stuck out his right hand over the top of Farrell’s desk. Farrell grasped it. The lawyer’s grip was firm but not overbearing, which he thought described the man himself.

  “No problem, Mr. Curado.”

  “Call me Steve.” Curado raised a brow questioningly and motioned to one of the chairs in front of Farrell’s desk.

  “Yes, of course,” Farrell said. “Please have a seat.”

  As Curado settled into his chair, Farrell did the same. Having this interview in his office, on his own turf, had seemed like the best possible option when Curado had called earlier that morning. But now, instead of the familiarity of his surroundings bringing him comfort, the lawyer’s presence here made him feel vulnerable.

  “As I mentioned on the phone,” Curado was saying, “this entire visit is only exploratory in nature. It’s official, but unofficial, if that makes sense.”

  “It seemed pretty official when your boss was hammering away at mine yesterday morning.”

  Curado grinned, a little sheepishly. “Yes, well, Ms. Durand is a bit of a force. She’s used to dealing with people in Washington, D.C. that require a…shall we say a strong front? I realize it doesn’t translate so well away from the capital.”

  Farrell made a noncommittal sound.

  “So,” Curado said, “the chief said you oversaw Investigations?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you’re the senior-most captain?”

  “Yes, by a couple of years.”

  “We noticed that your department has had an open assistant chief position for over a decade now. Do you know the reason for that?”

  “Chief Baumgartner was our last assistant chief,” Farrell replied. “When he was promoted, he didn’t fill the position, so isn’t that question better asked of him?”

  Curado seemed to consider the point. “Perhaps,” he concluded. “And hopefully my colleague will remember to ask about it. But do you know the reason behind the decision?”

  Farrell thought about the question, searching it for any kind of danger lurking unseen in the shadows. He saw nothing, so he ans
wered. “I’d say there were two primary reasons. One was budgetary, the other had to do with leadership development.”

  “The budgetary consideration being…?”

  “The savings from the unfilled position funded another police officer on the street, plus a little extra. That little extra gave us some wiggle room if a training opportunity came along that we hadn’t budgeted for, or if we had an equipment shortfall.”

  “Smart,” Curado said. “And the leadership aspect?”

  “The chief stated he wanted to spread the duties of a number two among the four captains and allow all of us the chance for professional development. If he’d made an assistant chief, those opportunities wouldn’t be available.”

  “But doesn’t that create more work for all of you?”

  “Some. But it’s good for our careers, too.”

  “I see.”

  Something in Curado’s voice sounded off to Farrell. “What is it?”

  “What? Oh, nothing.”

  “It sounded like something.”

  “It’s just that…” Curado appeared a little uncomfortable. “We’ve heard that the chief seems to have relied on you a little bit more than your peers.”

  Farrell thought about it briefly, then shrugged. If this was going to be the nature of the DOJ inquiry, he’d be fine. “Maybe he does. It’s not something I solicit.”

  “I’m not implying that at all. In fact, it would seem to me that it makes sense, you being the most senior captain.”

  “Then why ask about it?”

  Curado smiled. “Captain Farrell…actually, is it all right if I call you Tom? Or do you go by Thomas?”

  “It’s Tom.”

  “Okay. Well, I can’t stress this enough, Tom…these are just information gathering questions. I want to understand the dynamics of your agency, the culture of it, all of this. Those things help apply context to whatever facts we may discover about the incidents in question.”

  A flash of ice cut through Farrell’s lower gut. “What incidents?”

  Curado waved his hand. “We’ll get to that, but I’m really not overly concerned. I mean, it seems like the local media is fairly anti-police.”

  “They hate us,” Farrell agreed.

  “See? So while some high-profile incidents and the ensuing media coverage is what got our attention at Justice, I’m confident that’ll turn out to be all smoke and no fire. Or as my father used to say, all hat and no cattle.”

  “Your father was a rancher?”

  “Yes, sir,” Curado said. “He’s got a nice spread in Texas.”

  Farrell saw an opportunity to direct the conversation away from topics he didn’t want to discuss, if only temporarily. “You didn’t follow in the family business?”

  “No, sir. Neither did my brother.”

  “Was your father disappointed?”

  “On the contrary. He pushed us in other directions. Said that ranch would always be there for us if we needed something to come home to, but that he wanted more for us than branding steers and stringing barbed wire. We took him at his word, too. I attended law school, and my brother went into law enforcement.”

  Farrell looked at him sharply. “Your brother is on the job?”

  “San Antonio Police Department. He’s a sergeant.”

  Farrell wondered how Curado could do the job he did, having a brother who was a cop, but he didn’t dare voice the thought. But he’d run out of idle chit-chat, too, so he fell silent.

  Curado smiled again. “I know what you’re thinking. My brother’s a police officer, and here I am, investigating police officers. That’s some cognitive dissonance there, right?”

  Farrell nodded cautiously. “Seems like it.”

  “I experienced some when I first got the job offer from Justice. But like I told my brother, I know that the overwhelming majority of police officers in this country are like him. They’re honest, they’re dedicated, and they work hard at a crucial job. A job that keeps getting more and more complex and difficult, with fewer people qualified or willing to do it.” Curado paused a moment, as if waiting for his words to sink in. Then he said, “If I investigate police agencies, that’s what I’m going to find most of the time. Only instead of my opinion, there’ll be empirical evidence of it.”

  Farrell watched him, unconvinced. The words Curado spoke were welcome to his ears, but he wondered if they were propaganda, or if the man truly believed them.

  “Even when we find something wrong,” Curado continued, “most of the time it is an issue of awareness or training. Occasionally equipment. We help those agencies out with training or material, and all’s well that ends well.”

  Farrell thought about some of the DOJ grants Spokane had applied for and received over the years. They came from a different division of DOJ than the one investigating them now, but Curado had a point all the same.

  “As for that small percentage we come across who are truly dirty?” Curado shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone want police officers like that caught?”

  “Yes,” Farrell whispered.

  He wished he could tell Curado about Garrett, but he resisted the temptation. All he and Clint had at the moment was circumstantial evidence and speculation about Garrett, but their off-book investigation was a fact. He was sure DOJ wouldn’t be worried about context when they found it out, either.

  “Anyway, now you know where I’m coming from with these questions,” Curado said. “Do you mind if I ask a few more?”

  Farrell cleared his throat. “Sure, go ahead.”

  “Tell me about the Anti-Crime Team.”

  Farrell’s stomach pinged. This was one of several places he did not want them poking around. But Curado was looking at him expectantly, his expression open, so he knew he had to answer. “It was a directed enforcement team created to target high-profile offenders.”

  “Who created it?”

  “Who?” The question caught Farrell off guard. What did it matter? “Uh…it was originally proposed by Captain Hatcher. We modified the plan in command staff, and the chief assigned it to me.”

  Curado made a slight grimace. “Is that the reason for the rift between you and Captain Hatcher?”

  How the hell do they know that?

  “Me and…” Farrell shook his head. “No, we…there’s no problem between us.”

  “I’m sorry, then. I thought I sensed some tension between the two of you yesterday.”

  They noticed that? Farrell cleared his throat again. He wondered what else they knew or had noticed, and his palms started to sweat. “I think we’re all on edge with your visit,” he said.

  “But you haven’t done anything wrong,” Curado said. “Have you?”

  “No. But DOJ has a reputation of finding the one fleck of pepper in the trainload of salt, even if it isn’t there.”

  Curado nodded sympathetically. “I know. It’s not true, though. Really, it isn’t. Those kinds of statements are made by agencies who unfortunately have systemic issues that require our full involvement to fix. Once we’re involved, we try to be thorough and get each and every aspect corrected. We definitely get into every little detail in those cases. I think that’s why that rumor is out there.”

  “Maybe. But it still makes people nervous.”

  “So all is good with you and Captain Hatcher?”

  Farrell forced a smile. “Yes.”

  “Good to hear. So, the Anti-Crime Team?”

  “It was successful, for the brief time we fielded it. But then we lost an officer, and the chief suspended the team.”

  “That would be Officer Gary Stone, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Tom, who selected the team members?”

  Farrell thought for a moment before answering. He knew he could default to the chief as the decision-maker. Ultimately, everything was his say. But the idea of saying that galled him. “I did,” he said. “I chose all six members.”

  “I thought there were four officers.”

  “Plu
s a sergeant, and a detective assigned for investigative support.”

  “What criteria did you use for selection?”

  Farrell swallowed hard. The truth was that he picked Garrett to trap him and the other three to be part of that trap. But he couldn’t tell Curado that, so he started with the sergeant, who seemed the safest one to discuss. “I chose Sergeant McGinn because he had tactical expertise and I knew he’d run a tight ship.”

  “Were you concerned?”

  “No,” Farrell said. “But I’d seen how these kinds of teams can get out of control in other cities. Even good people can start bending the rules to put bad guys in jail.”

  “Noble cause corruption.”

  You mean like running a secret investigation of a murderous police officer for two years?

  “Exactly. I didn’t want to risk that happening, so I put a strong leader in place.”

  “Sounds wise to me.”

  “I thought so. But he had a family tragedy early on and had to be replaced. His replacement was less engaged, but adequate.”

  Curado raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like he did a poor job.”

  “No,” Farrell said. “He just had some additional duties.”

  “All right. What about the detective?”

  “Marty Hill is one of our best. He vetted the targets, did arrest paperwork, and worked up the search warrants for the team.”

  “How about the team members?”

  Now we get to it. Farrell could feel his stomach gurgling nervously and hoped it wasn’t audible to Curado. “Who do you want to know about?”

  Curado shrugged. “Let’s start with why you picked them.”

  “I’d just sent Stone to a surveillance school in Seattle,” Farrell explained. “Yang had military experience. Zielinski is a veteran officer. And Garrett…”

  Garrett was supposed to step into the trap, but instead he walked through it like a ghost.

  “Garrett has significant tactical experience,” Farrell finished.

  “Makes sense.” Curado glanced down at his notes for the first time since the interview had begun. Then he looked up and said, “Things didn’t work out well for this team, though.”