Code Four

by Colin Conway

  Anderson looked at the proffered hand for a long moment. Then he took it and shook glumly. “Good luck, Wardell.”

  Clint left the building and headed to his car. Despite Anderson’s misgivings, his visit had been a success. He’d convinced Rogers to submit the bullet and managed to aggravate him just enough to avoid having to share any details about his own case. This was an instance in which his reputation had worked to his advantage.

  He wondered if he needed to worry about the state patrol getting involved but doubted it. Rogers was right about the new chief’s policy of a kinder, gentler approach to assisting agencies. Plus, hadn’t he read in the news that the WSP was embroiled in some sort of a jurisdictional pissing match with the Seattle-area municipalities? He doubted the agency had the time or inclination to ride herd over a small town like Liberty Lake. They probably saw Eastern Washington as the beginning of flyover country, anyway.

  As he got into his car, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the text. It was from Lieutenant Flowers.

  DOJ Investigator Curado wants to interview you. Contact him.

  Flowers had included Curado’s cell phone number.

  Clint put the phone down and headed toward Interstate 90. He didn’t have time to talk to those crooked jokers just yet. He had more important things to do. With his actions today, he had started a timer. When the bullet analysis was completed, the results would ping both Detective Alan Rogers and Detective Marty Hill that their cases were related. From there, it would be a short road to Tyler Garrett.

  He didn’t have much time left.

  Chapter 33

  Captain Tom Farrell changed hurriedly back into his uniform. He was still damp from his shower, and his black dress socks stuck to his skin as he pulled them on. He managed to get fully dressed and run a comb through his short hair.

  He’d tried to bleed off some of the nervous energy he’d been feeling by hitting the treadmill during his lunchtime. Midway through his workout, the chief had texted him, asking him to come to his office. Baumgartner didn’t like to be kept waiting, and Farrell didn’t need one more thing hanging over his head right now, so he cut his exercise short, showered quickly, and got dressed.

  As he walked out of the locker room and down the stairs to the main floor, he wondered what the chief wanted. How could things get worse? He’d bungled his interview with Curado, he knew. Maybe that was what the chief wanted to talk to him about. Or had DOJ discovered the off-book investigation he and Clint had been orchestrating for the past two years? This could be his moment of truth.

  A terrible thought struck him. What if DOJ interviewed Clint and he told them everything?

  Farrell had never considered Clint to be untrustworthy, and the man had no love for authority in general and the federal government in particular. But if the detective were faced with a him or me situation, how would he respond?

  A second thought came to him. Clint might not even require an ultimatum. His single-minded goal of bringing down Garrett was what informed his every decision. If he became convinced that DOJ could help him accomplish that objective, he might be willing to tell them everything, repercussions be damned.

  Farrell’s stomach gurgled. He knew that would follow shortly with a need for him to go to the bathroom. In the past, he had jokingly used the term “shitting water” to describe someone who was terminally nervous about a situation. He never thought he’d experience it himself.

  The worst part so far had been Karen, though. He could deal with the stomachache or the embarrassing trips to the restroom. He could even deal with the fallout of a ruined career, if it came to that. Bringing down Garrett was worth all that. But he didn’t want to lose her, too.

  When he reached the chief’s outer office, Marilyn saw him and waved him through. “He’s waiting for you.”

  Great.

  He tapped once on the door and walked in. Chief Robert Baumgartner was seated at his large wooden desk, staring at his monitor. He looked over at Farrell when the captain entered.

  “Where have you been? I texted you twenty minutes ago.”

  “I was upstairs on the treadmill,” Farrell explained.

  Baumgartner grunted. Then he pointed to the screen. “Have you seen this?”

  All Farrell could see was the back of a computer monitor. “Seen what?”

  Baumgartner frowned and spun the monitor sideways so that they could both see it. A video player filled most of the screen. Baumgartner adjusted the time slider at the bottom and hit play.

  The program was a popular local talk show that fancied itself as Spokane’s answer to Meet the Press. Baumgartner had appeared multiple times, and even Farrell had gone on once to discuss the realignment of the Investigative Division a few years ago. The host was a local institution who was well respected by most people in the city, though Farrell always thought he was a little on the pompous side.

  “DOJ is in the house,” the host intoned gravely. “The Department of Justice is here in Spokane, investigating the police department. This is something that many have clamored for in the face of the questionable shooting of Todd Trotter, the mystifying arrest and then exoneration of Officer Tyler Garrett, the police handling of the city hall scandal earlier this year, and most recently, the shooting death of Officer Gary Stone. At the same time, there are others who claim this inquiry is entirely unnecessary and represents nothing more than continued federal meddling.” The host paused a moment to let his monologue resonate with the listener, then continued. “I have with me today guests from all sides of this question. First up, retired police sergeant Sam Gallico. Good afternoon, Sam. Nice to have you on again.”

  Gallico was a lanky man who wore a light blue button-down shirt and a bolo tie. “Thank you. Nice to be here.”

  “Great,” Farrell muttered. “What does Sergeant Judas have to say?”

  “Just watch,” Baumgartner said. “He’s not even the worst of it.”

  On the video, the host continue to address Gallico. “You’ve long been a vocal critic of the police department, Sam. Why is that?”

  Gallico smiled bitterly. “I spent twenty years in the belly of the beast. That gives a man some perspective.”

  “To be fair, your perspective has often skewed toward the negative.”

  “And to be fair,” Gallico responded, “so have the actions of the Spokane Police Department. I mean, just look at the events of the past two years. The Todd Trotter shooting is still a mystery, as far as I’m concerned. An unarmed civilian was shot in the back, but somehow that’s ruled as a justified shooting? Then you’ve got the arrest of Tyler Garrett for drug possession, a charge that conveniently went away when the city decided the man was a hero for some reason. After that—”

  “Can I jump in here for a moment?” The camera shifted to an elderly white male seated on the other side of the host. A graphic quickly appeared under the man, giving his name as Bernard Stewart.

  “Please do,” said the host. Then, for the benefit of the viewers, he added, “Mr. Stewart represents a civic group based out of the Greenwood Retirement Home.”

  “Community,” Stewart corrected. “Greenwood Retirement Community.”

  The host smiled indulgently. “My mistake. You wanted to comment, sir?”

  Stewart nodded his head. He fixed Gallico with a hard stare. “I know you once worked for the police department, Sergeant, and I respect that. But have you ever met Officer Tyler Garrett?”

  “No,” Gallico admitted. “But I’ve seen what—”

  “I have met him,” Stewart interrupted. “I’ve broken bread with the man, and I’ve looked into his eyes. And I can tell you that what I saw was a good man doing a hard job for us. A job you don’t do anymore, I might add.”

  “I’m retired,” Gallico said. “As I assume you are. I did my time, believe me. But I’m not the point of this discussion, the department is. And for years now, the chief has repeatedly shown a lack of leadership. In addition to the debacles I already mentioned, he was suspended ov
er the city hall scandal earlier this year. And worst of all, another police officer died on his watch—Officer Gary Stone.”

  “Did you know that the police department is severely understaffed for a department its size?” Stewart asked. “Maybe some of these problems are the result of too few cops on the street.”

  Gallico shook his head. “They’ve been beating that tired drum for years now. Too few cops might be a legitimate challenge, but it doesn’t cause corruption, and corruption is why DOJ is here. As they should be.”

  The host turned away from Gallico and addressed his third guest. “Police department staffing is a budgetary matter, and the city council is responsible for the city budget. Joining us is Councilwoman Margaret Patterson. Thanks for coming on the show, Councilor.”

  Margaret Patterson wore a cream-colored business blouse with a long, thin gold chain. She smiled at the host. “Always a pleasure.”

  “What do you say to Mr. Stewart’s point that the police department is understaffed?”

  “I’d point out that the police department is the largest budgetary item for the city after public works. It takes up a significant chunk of our revenue, eclipsing the fire department, parks and recreation, and all of our social programs.”

  “I heard that Spokane has something like one-point-two officers per thousand citizens,” Stewart said. “Portland is over two per thousand, and Seattle closer to two and a half.”

  “I’d like to see the source for those numbers,” Patterson replied.

  “They’re public record.”

  “All right.” Patterson smiled. “I’m not saying that we couldn’t use more police, but there are other concerns that also affect our citizens. We don’t have the luxury of staffing at the same levels that Seattle or Portland does. Not if we want to maintain our infrastructure.”

  Bernard Stewart waggled a finger at the councilwoman. “Based on the potholes I had to deal with on my way down here, I’d say you’re not doing that anyway. It’s like driving through Iraq or something.”

  Patterson’s smile remained. “Our road crews are working hard to patch those up, Mr. Stewart. But that’s my point—we need some balance in the budget. It can’t all be police. Frankly, with the size of the police department budget, it falls to leadership to be a good steward of the people’s money.”

  “You don’t believe Chief Baumgartner has done so?” the host asked.

  Sam Gallico snorted.

  Patterson smirked slightly. “My criticism of the chief is as publicly known as Mr. Gallico’s. In addition to his colossal failures in leadership on these large incidents, there is the question of how wisely he has spent the funds allotted to him by city council.”

  “Then find a way to give him more,” Stewart asserted.

  Patterson and Gallico both shook their heads.

  “When someone mismanages resources,” Patterson said, “you don’t solve the problem by giving him more resources to mismanage.”

  “Exactly,” Gallico agreed. “And let’s not lose sight of the reason we’re here today. It isn’t because Robert Baumgartner might have trouble balancing a checkbook. DOJ doesn’t care about that. They’re here because of concerns about corruption. And I think their concerns are valid.”

  “Councilwoman Patterson, do you agree?”

  Patterson kept her expression neutral. “I also have concerns. If the Department of Justice is the right vehicle to resolve those concerns, then I am in support of that.”

  The host nodded sagely. “That brings us to our final guest, Councilman Cody Lofton. Welcome, Councilor.”

  Lofton looked ten years younger than he actually was. He was impeccably dressed in a stylish suit and appeared relaxed when he smiled slightly at the host. “Thanks for having me.”

  “Your stance on this, sir?”

  “Simple,” Lofton said. “I think we should withhold judgment until we see what DOJ finds during their inquiry.” He opened his hands and held them up. “Unless you have an agenda, what other stance is there at this point in the process?”

  The host seemed to sense conflict brewing and stirred the pot. “We’ve heard three other stances from my other guests. Are you saying that they all have an agenda?”

  “No,” Lofton said smoothly. “All I am saying is that the most reasonable thing we can do is allow this inquiry to run its course. If DOJ determines there is a need for further investigation, our stance should be to cooperate—no, to facilitate that investigation. If, on the other hand, they determine that there is nothing to be concerned about, then that is a nice reassurance to have about one’s own police department, isn’t it?”

  The host seemed mildly disappointed at Lofton’s answer. He tried a different tactic. “Do you agree with Mr. Stewart that SPD is understaffed?”

  “Yes,” Lofton said without hesitation. “But I also agree with my colleague that our budgetary considerations can’t be single-minded. We have to balance the varied needs of our citizens. I’d love to put another dozen cops on the street tomorrow, but not if it means shutting down city-subsidized daycare for single moms who need that service to be able to work. It’s a difficult balancing act. When you come right down it, I think the real answer is fostering economic growth that increases our city revenues so that everyone benefits.”

  “So you want to raise taxes?” Stewart accused.

  “Not necessarily, but—”

  Baumgartner hit the pause button. “It goes off the rails for a while after that, with a bunch of tax and spend versus free market bullshit. They eventually get back on track, but then it’s mostly Gallico and Patterson taking potshots at me.” He spun his monitor back into place. “That woman hates my guts.”

  “Dana’s friendly with her. Maybe she could talk Patterson into easing off a little.”

  Baumgartner considered. “Maybe. It’s possible that it’s not personal with Patterson, only political.”

  “Speaking of politics,” Farrell said, shaking his head, “Lofton was chief of staff to Mayor Sikes during the Garrett shooting. How does he get away with not answering questions about that? From what you’ve told me, he was behind all of the flip-flopping the mayor did.”

  “He claims Sikes has executive privilege and won’t discuss any specifics concerning his time as chief of staff.”

  “Is that true?”

  “It is.”

  “Then the mayor should make a public statement releasing him from it. Then Lofton would have to answer a few hard questions of his own.”

  Baumgartner stared at him in disbelief. “Tom, what are you thinking?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The mayor can’t relinquish executive privilege piecemeal. It’s an all or nothing thing, like pleading the Fifth Amendment.”

  “Oh.” Farrell hadn’t realized that.

  “There’s no way Sikes wants to give Lofton free rein to spill all his dirty little secrets. Especially not while he’s trying to get term limits rescinded.” Baumgartner looked more closely at Farrell. “Did that not occur to you?”

  “I guess not.”

  Baumgartner watched him for a moment longer. Then he asked, “How’d your interview with DOJ go?”

  “Fine,” Farrell said immediately, his stomach tightening.

  “Who interviewed you?”

  “The Hispanic guy. Curado.”

  “I got the snippety blonde,” Baumgartner said. “What did they dig away at?”

  “Garrett’s shooting,” Farrell answered. “And the Anti-Crime Team, of course.”

  Baumgartner scratched his chin. “That’s pretty much what they came at me with, too.”

  “It makes sense that they would focus on that,” Farrell said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “A cop was killed.”

  Baumgartner made a vague sound of agreement. Then he gave Farrell an odd look. Farrell couldn’t be sure, but he thought there was a hint of suspicion in the chief’s gaze. “They hit on something else that had to do with Garrett, too.”

  “What�
��s that?”

  “His other shooting. Trotter.”

  Farrell felt sweat prickling under his arms and beneath his hair. “Why? The county investigators did that investigation, and the DA ruled it justified.”

  “I know that. We were both at the meeting in the mayor’s office, remember?”

  Farrell did. That had been his only true chance to come forward with what he believed about Garrett at the time, but it was swept away almost immediately as the mayor orchestrated the outcome he desired most. Butch Talbott became a fallen officer instead of a crooked cop, and Tyler Garrett was enshrined as the hero of an apologetic city.

  “It’s not the justification of the shooting they were curious about,” Baumgartner continued. “They asked me about the ambush.”

  Farrell swallowed. Sweat ran down his sides. “What about it?”

  “That smartass little millennial investigator asked me a question I didn’t know the answer to, and that’s never a position you want to be in as chief.” He kept his eyes on Farrell. “She asked about the status of our investigation into who the shooters were in that ambush.”

  “It was the county’s case,” Farrell said weakly.

  “So it’s still open? They’re still looking for the shooters?”

  “I don’t believe so. They ran down every investigative avenue on that angle, but the results were inconclusive.”

  “Inconclusive? Yet they closed the case?”

  “They were focused on the shooting and the death of Trotter, and whether there was any criminality in that. Who tried to kill Garrett was secondary, and in the end, there just wasn’t an answer.”

  “Which means that those shooters are still out there.” Baumgartner tapped the desktop with a thick finger for emphasis. “They tried to assassinate a police officer and they are still out there.”

  No they’re not. Because Garrett shot Talbott in Liberty Lake and according to Clint’s theory, he also forced Justin Pomeroy to kill himself in his own kitchen.

  “Tom?”

  Farrell cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”