Code Four

by Colin Conway

  Ellis shook his head. “Fucking cops,” he muttered. “The same everywhere.”

  “You’ve never been anywhere but Spokane,” Clint said. “So don’t act like you’re all worldly and shit. You’ve got roots here. You’ve got your bullshit neighborhood image. You’ve got family.”

  Ellis narrowed his eyes at him.

  “Yeah,” Clint said. “You better start thinking about that. Because once you’re back out on the street, I will become your absolute worst nightmare. I will shadow you everywhere you go. I will arrest you for every little violation. You’ll have a new arrest warrant every week. Not only that, I’ll bring a horde of cops to your Gram’s house with a search warrant and tear the place apart every three days. I’ll wait until the two of you are in church, sitting in the front row worshipping, and I’ll slap the cuffs on you for one of those pissant warrants right in the middle of a hymn.”

  “That’s harassment,” Ellis said, but his voice lacked conviction. Clint could tell he was envisioning what Clint had described.

  “That’s going to be daily operating procedure for me and you. And it’s just the beginning.” He motioned toward the photographs in front of him. “How solid do you think that crew is? When I snatch every one of them off the street, how many will roll up on you? Half? All of them? Because all I need is one, Earl.” He held up a finger for emphasis. “All I need is one.”

  “You’re crazy,” Ellis said. “My lawyer will sue.”

  Clint scoffed. “Sue me? Get in line.” He shook his head slowly. “Earl, this is the endgame. And you have to decide whether you want to talk or be talked about. I can bury you. It won’t even be difficult. But you’ve been blessed with the opportunity to save yourself and your Grams all of that trouble. And here’s the truly ironic part. All you have to do is tell the truth.”

  Ellis was quiet again. When he opened his mouth to speak, Clint read the denial in his face. He held up his hand to stop him.

  “We’ve talked enough,” Clint said. He removed his business card and reached across the table to tuck it into Ellis’s shirt pocket. “I’ve been nothing but polite to Mrs. Ellis in all my visits to her home, and I’ve been nothing but honest with you here today. I’m going to do one more thing for you, Earl. One last thing. I’m going to let you go home.”

  Ellis gazed back at him, a mixture of suspicion and confusion on his face.

  “You heard me right,” Clint said. “I’m letting you go. I’ll even give you a ride home. You can let your Grams know you’re all right. Eat some of that delicious smelling dinner. Her mother’s recipe, right?” He leaned forward, lowering his voice and putting an edge in it. “But the clock is ticking, Earl. My offer is good until six o’clock tomorrow night. After that, it’s open season.”

  Ellis sniffed slightly. “And if I call?”

  “Then I guarantee you walk.”

  Ellis looked around the empty room. “Where’s the DA saying that? You don’t have the juice to make that happen. You’re just a detective.”

  “I’ve already cleared it with her,” Clint lied. The lie didn’t matter. Any prosecutor with half a clue would jump at the deal. “She’s the one who insisted on the deadline.”

  Ellis considered his words but said nothing.

  “You want to talk now?” Clint asked. “Because I’m ready.”

  “No.” Ellis shook his head. “No, I want to see my Grams.”

  “All right,” Clint said. He’d made his play, and now he had to see it through.

  He stood and Ellis did the same. Ellis held out his wrists for the handcuffs, but Clint shook his head. “No need for that.”

  Ellis dropped his hands to his side.

  “We’ll be talking again real soon, one way or another,” Clint said, reaching for the door. “Whether or not I need my cuffs is up to you.”

  Ellis didn’t respond. He remained silent during the drive back to Aurelia Ellis’s home. When Clint pulled up in front of the house, Ellis got out. Clint let him go without a word. He knew he had just pushed a lion’s share of his chips to the center of the table. It was a bold move, but he believed it was the right one. He’d know soon enough.

  Clint drove away. He turned on the radio and lost himself in the sweet tenor of Coleman Hawkins’s saxophone. It almost made the world go away.

  Chapter 37

  Édelie Durand stood at the edge of the bar and scanned the tables. It didn’t take long to find them, as it was hard to miss Danielle Watson’s wild gesticulations as she spoke. Esteban Curado sat opposite her, leaning back easily with a beer clutched in his hand. They sat at a high table on the north side of the lounge near another bank of windows.

  They’d started drinking without her which was fine. She had planned to be down to the lounge thirty minutes ago, but Roland Skyped her and she wasn’t about to let that moment get cut short.

  “How’s it going?” he’d asked after yet another wet cough that sounded painful.

  “It’s fine,” she said, “but I want to know how you’re doing?”

  “Fine,” he said. “Just fine.”

  Though separated by thousands of miles, they stared at each other with the aid of technology. “Fine” had been a code word throughout their relationship. Whenever either said it, they both knew it to mean the speaker was in fact, the opposite of fine, but did not want to talk about what was truly bothering them. This would allow them to sweep the problem under the proverbial rug and move on with life.

  The few times they actually argued past the initial utterance of fine turned out, well…fine.

  Durand chuckled. This simple act felt good as it had been some time since she’d laughed with Roland. Her chortle soon became full throated. Roland’s face brightened and he joined her in laughter.

  Unfortunately, his face quickly pinched, and he hacked. His features purpled as the cough worsened. This continued for several moments.

  Durand’s fists balled helplessly as she watched her husband struggle.

  When he finally quieted, Roland whispered, “I guess I’m less than fine.”

  She didn’t laugh anymore after that.

  Danielle Watson noticed her at the edge of the bar and waved. Curado lifted his beer.

  As she walked through the lounge, Durand noticed the song playing on the radio was Chicago’s “You’re the Inspiration.” It was a sappy song and she’d always hated it due to that nature, but tonight it hit her. A lump formed in her throat as she walked over to the table where her team sat.

  She didn’t break stride and swallowed down her emotions. This wasn’t a time to let herself wallow. When she arrived at the table, Durand didn’t sit. She stood behind an empty chair with her hands on its back.

  “We were wondering when you—” Watson said, but Durand interrupted her.

  “Did you interview Wardell Clint today?”

  “I tried,” Curado said. “But he blew me off.”

  “How so?”

  Curado put his beer down. “He said he had a suspect to interview.”

  “All day? What about Zielinski?”

  Watson leaned forward. “I texted him and—”

  “Texted?” Durand interrupted.

  “And left a voicemail. But he never responded.”

  Durand sighed and lowered her head.

  That stupid song, Durand thought, as the whiney Chicago tune continued to play.

  “I’m sorry, Edie,” Watson said. “We were able to get most of the files we wanted.” She slid a file in front of Durand. “That’s the Zielinski one from Internal Affairs. It took some negotiating to get it.”

  “Negotiating?”

  “I was joking,” Watson said. “They gave it up pretty easy. I don’t think they have a lot of love for this guy.”

  “We spent some time reviewing that file and the others we requested,” Curado said.

  “You can review those any time,” Durand said. Her finger tapped the Zielinski file. “We’re here now. Interviews are the most important thing.”


  “Can I ask—” Watson said.

  “Who I talked to?” Durand snapped.

  Watson glanced to Curado who lifted his beer to his lips.

  “I talked with Lieutenant Flowers about his recollection of the Garrett ambush. I talked with Marty Hill about the Anti-Crime Team. And I talked with Councilwoman Margaret Patterson.”

  Both of her team looked down. She realized she’d been too hard on them. She was letting her personal life affect her work life.

  And that stupid song was still playing.

  She took a deep breath. “I apologize for snapping at you, Dani. You too, Esteban.”

  “Is everything okay?” Curado asked.

  “Everything is…” Durand wanted to say fine, but instead she let the answer and its question fade. “Lieutenant Flowers didn’t give me anything and Marty Hill is a company man.”

  “What’s that mean?” Watson said.

  “I think he has problems with the way things work, but he wasn’t going to tell me what they were. Maybe he would share more during a formal investigation, but since this was informal, we just talked in circles. Smart man.”

  “And Patterson?” Curado asked.

  “I finally understand the hostile environment that the chief operates within.”

  Watson turned in her seat. “What does that mean?”

  “If the man doesn’t have a friend in higher places, he might be likely to play the game a different way.” Durand shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think on that some.”

  “Aren’t you going to sit, Edie?” Watson asked.

  “Not tonight. I’m going back to my room after this.”

  Watson and Curado glanced guiltily toward their drinks.

  “Here’s the plan for tomorrow,” Durand said. “Dani, I don’t care what you have to do, but you track down Ray Zielinski. If you’ve got to interview the man in his bathtub, you do it. Tomorrow’s our last day, so we’ve got to wrap this up.”

  Watson nodded.

  “And you,” Durand pointed to Curado, “Get Wardell Clint. Same story as Dani. Sit on his desk, if you have to, but get an interview.”

  He nodded and pushed his beer to the side.

  “As for me, I’m going to Seattle first thing.”

  “Seattle?” Watson said.

  “I’ve got the first flight out. Five o’clock. I’ve scheduled an interview with Jun Yang at Fort Lewis.”

  “Is that necessary, boss?” Curado asked.

  “Yeah,” Watson added. “You’re going to waste half a day traveling back and forth. For what? A rookie?”

  “A rookie that several people seemed upset that we asked about. Don’t you want to know what she has to say?”

  Danielle Watson twisted her lips and raised her eyebrows.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Durand said. “And both of you work together on Tyler Garrett. I want him ready for an interview in the afternoon. Start without me, if need be, but get him there by midafternoon. Understand?”

  Both mumbled some form of acknowledgement.

  Durand tapped the back of the chair. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it. See you tomorrow.”

  “Edie,” Watson said.

  “Yes?”

  “You sure everything’s okay?”

  She looked at the open and worried faces of her team.

  Durand wanted to tell them about her dying husband and how she hated herself for leaving him to battle his illness alone. She also wished she could tell them how much she hated the job for sending her to places like Spokane. But that would mean lying to herself rather than admitting the terrible truth: she was also thankful for being sent to places like this so she could avoid watching the man she loved waste away.

  Could they understand that contradiction? Or the guilt that came with it? If she started sharing, where would it end? With the help of a glass of wine, she’d almost surely detail how her family had long ago disowned her for leaving New Orleans to pursue a career in Washington, D.C. And if she did that, honesty dictated that she tell them how she spitefully ignored their repeated requests to reconnect.

  She ached to share with them, with anyone, that she would be alone if…no, when, Roland passes. Doing so would mean finally admitting the selfish nature of her feelings.

  Above all, she wanted to tell her team how afraid she was.

  Instead, she said, “I’m fine,” and headed for her room.

  Chapter 38

  When Tyler Garrett quietly slipped out of bed, Tiana Kennedy did not stir. He stood naked and watched her for a moment in the ambient light of her condo. He then turned and walked toward the windows that overlooked the street. There wasn’t much activity down below. Not many people moving. An occasional car drove by.

  Regardless of what his eyes told him, he knew that something was occurring out there. It involved him. He was sure of it now.

  His gut told him that Earl Ellis was back in town. He wasn’t positive, but it felt like it. And if he was right, the man had not contacted him yet. That was troubling.

  Garrett would have expected the man to reach out immediately.

  Had Clint and Zielinski gotten to him? And how would he know if they had? Clint wouldn’t be stupid enough to have someone transport the man anywhere. Doing so would require a CAD notification, thereby putting Ellis’s name in the system for everyone to see.

  Maybe Clint would do that just to spook Garrett, to mess with his head. He would have to check call histories tomorrow to see if anyone had contact with Ellis.

  But if Ellis was back in town and Clint hadn’t gotten to him yet, why wasn’t the man reaching out to Garrett? What was he up to?

  Was he preparing to turn rat?

  No, it still didn’t seem like Ellis. The man was harder than that.

  But what seemed more likely for Ellis to do would be to make a play for Garrett’s network, the fledgling empire he had built of runners and dealers around town. Everything funneled through Ellis anyway. This was done to protect Garrett’s name. It would also make him an easy target for Ellis.

  The man could easily cut him out, but that would mean making a play to kill him.

  Ellis wouldn’t come at him straight. He was too smart. He’d come at him from the side or the back. Come at an angle that Garrett wouldn’t see or wouldn’t expect.

  Garrett leaned against the window and watched a couple of women walking arm in arm on the sidewalk. He was disappointed they couldn’t look up and see him standing naked high above them. The thought made him smile.

  His grin faded, though, as he realized how Earl Ellis would attack him. He would come from the one angle he would never expect. The one he had repeatedly said wasn’t possible from the man.

  Earl Ellis would turn rat.

  Doing so would get Garrett off the street and leave his network largely intact. If Ellis skated by the cops, he could walk in and keep doing business with Garrett’s network. The suppliers and buyers would never miss a beat.

  But what could he do about it? There wasn’t much to do until he could find the man. He was going to have to make it a full priority now.

  Which caused problems with not only the ever-watchful eyes of Wardell Clint and Ray Zielinski, but the lurking presence of the Department of Justice.

  Garrett had misunderstood why they were here. Talking with Dale Thomas had helped him see some of it, even if the union president hadn’t.

  Everything Justice asked about led back to him in some way.

  The Talbott shooting. It was him who killed the detective in Liberty Lake.

  The Bethany Rabe incident. He was the one who leaked the story to the press.

  And Gary Stone’s death. Garrett had orchestrated that.

  It all led back to him.

  Well, maybe not the thing with the dead seventeen-year-old, but if they dug long enough, they would find he was involved beyond the leak of the story. Sonya Meyer was murdered because of her relationship with a councilman. He had orchestrated that then killed the man respons
ible for her death. No one would care about him, though. Cops don’t care about homeless drunk addicts named Skunk.

  So what should he do now?

  Was it time to consolidate the money he had hidden around town? Should he pool those resources together and run?

  Garrett’s hand rubbed his bare chest. Running away with his tail between his legs was a distasteful proposition. Maybe if it was the only way out.

  There were other ways out—nobler ways that wouldn’t make him look like such a pussy.

  But it all hinged on Earl Ellis.

  If the man was actually in town.

  He was going in circles now.

  Garrett heard her then. She padded across the room until she was behind him. Her hand snaked around his belly and he felt her skin against his back.

  “What are you doing out here?” Tiana asked.

  “Thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Stuff.”

  “Anything important?”

  “Everything’s important.”

  She slowly turned him around and pressed her naked body against his. “Is it anything that can wait?”

  He felt himself reacting to her warmth. A smile crossed his lips. “It can wait,” he whispered.

  THURSDAY

  If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.

  —Ramsay Bolton, Game of Thrones

  Chapter 39

  “I appreciate the driver you sent,” Édelie Durand said.

  “Perks of rank,” Staff Sergeant Jun Yang said. She wore a camouflaged uniform that appeared to have been pressed. Her short dark hair was tucked behind her ears. “Besides, my guy was happy to get off base that early in the morning. Not a lot for us to do at that hour except maybe some traffic enforcement.”

  They were seated in a conference room of the 504th Military Police Battalion. Framed photographs of the unit in action lined the walls. At the far end of the room stood an American flag, an Army flag, and a flag for the brigade.