by Frank Zafiro
Almost immediately, the sounds of human shrieks and deep, canine growls filled the air.
“Ah! Jesus! Get him off me!”
Čert’s guttural growl signified his opposition to that idea.
Gomez charged into the room, his flashlight and his gun ahead of him. Katie followed. As soon as she entered, she used her light to illuminate the black dog, who was astride a thin male. The male on the ground tried to pull his right forearm from the dog’s jaws.
“Make him stop! Oh, please! Oh, God!”
Čert gave a low growl and shook his head from side to side. The man screeched.
“Revere!” Gomez commanded.
Čert gave the man another half-shake for good measure and let go, returning to Gomez’s side. The man rolled away, holding his forearm and crying loudly.
“Cuff him!” Gomez ordered.
Katie and Sully sprung forward and took control of the man. Blood streamed from his forearms.
“Glove up,” Sully told Katie. He put his knee on the man’s back and his palm pressed the man’s head into the pavement. The man kept crying out and flopping his arms, but he remained pinned. “I’ll hold him ‘till you can cuff him.”
Katie removed a pair of surgeon’s gloves from her back pocket and pulled them on, snapping each one over her wrists. Then she removed her secondary pair of handcuffs. If she was going to get blood on her equipment, she didn’t want it to be her primary set of cuffs.
The man cried out in pain when she drew his wrists together and cuffed them. His crying faded to a whimper when they stood him up and walked him out of the warehouse and to her car. While Katie searched his pockets, Gomez and Sully returned to the warehouse to double search, just in case the man had accomplices.
She found an intricate set of lock picks in one of his back pockets and a thin canvas bag in the other. He was definitely not a low rent burglar.
“What’s your name?” she asked as she checked his waistband.
“Fucking Alpo,” he said, his voice full of whiny indignation, “and I’m suing all of your asses.”
She ran her hand down his leg and checked his pant cuffs. “Why didn’t you just give up?”
“Because I didn’t think you’d let the fucking dog bite me.”
Katie just shook her head.
Sully and Gomez returned from the secondary search. Gomez threw a tennis ball for Čert and told him what a good boy he was. Katie popped her trunk and found some gauze pads and tape in the first aid kit. She made a quick bandage on the suspect’s arm for the trip to the hospital emergency room.
Gomez put Čert back in the K-9 car and walked up to Katie just as she was putting her prisoner in the back of the car.
“You going to Sacred Heart?”
Katie nodded.
“I’ll just follow you up then and get his info. Can you call for a corporal to meet us up there? I need some photos of the bite marks.”
“Sure.”
“That fucking dog is crazy!” the man yelled from the backseat of Katie’s patrol car.
“No, he’s not,” Gomez told him. He winked at Katie. “But he is a devil.”
Katie smiled at the inside joke.
“He’s out of control and that shit is illegal!” the man shouted. “I’m calling the ACLU and I’m suing, you fucking beaner cop!”
“Have a nice trip to the Heart,” Gomez said to Katie and returned to his car.
Katie turned to Sully and Battaglia. “Would you guys be willing to wait for a responsible party to respond to lock up the warehouse?”
“Like we have any choice,” Battaglia said.
Katie shrugged and got into her patrol car.
0102 hours
Amy Dugger sobbed quietly into her pillow. A cup of cocoa rested on the table next to her futon, cold and untouched. Grandpa Fred put it there after their “game,” telling her it was a reward for how well she played.
She tried to push the thoughts and memories from her head, but the sharp stinging and the burning sensations brought the images of Grandpa Fred back every time.
“Mommy’s safe,” she whispered into the pillow in between sobs. “She’s safe.”
The stairs creaked. A shot of fear blasted through her. She stopped crying and strained her ears.
No more creaks.
He wasn’t coming back.
Not yet.
Amy let out another long, warbling cry into her pillow and fought back the horror show in her mind.
0213 hours
“Man, you got to be kidding me!”
Connor O’Sullivan looked askance at the van’s driver. “No,” he said. “I really do need your license, registration and proof of insurance, sir.”
The man was black and in his late twenties. O’Sullivan noticed specks of white on his face and in his hair. After a moment, he realized that it was paint. A quick glance at the man’s shirt with streaks and spots of paint confirmed it.
“You’re a painter?” he asked.
The driver gave him a hard look. “What, you’re surprised a black man has a job?”
“No,” Sully said. He looked through the vehicle and caught Battaglia’s eye at the passenger door. “Just asking.”
The driver reached into his wallet and withdrew his license, then pulled the registration and insurance card from the visor. He handed them to Sully.
“You guys oughta have those memorized by now,” he said in irritation.
Sully took the documents. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The driver snorted. “This is only the fifth time you cops have stopped me in the last two days.”
Sully looked at the man’s driver’s license. “Ben?”
“Yeah,” the driver said. “Benjamin Franklin DuBois. It ain’t like there’s fifteen of us here in River City. Just me, the one you guys keep stopping for no reason.”
Sully felt a tickle of anger in the pit of his stomach at the insinuation. He tried to ignore it.
“Can you step out of the vehicle, Mr. DuBois?” he asked. “We’ll talk back at my car.”
DuBois rolled his eyes. “The last cop yelled at me for getting out of the car.”
“I won’t yell. I promise.”
DuBois shot him an angry look, then grasped the handled and exited the van. Sully walked with him back to the nose of the patrol car. He handed the paperwork to Battaglia, who returned to the passenger seat to check the man’s name. Sully turned off his portable radio so that DuBois wouldn’t overhear the check. The patrol car’s overhead flashers clicked loudly as they flashed red. The color splashed across DuBois’s paint-flecked clothing. The engine hummed and spilled out heat as the two men stood in silence for a few moments.
DuBois thrust his hands in his pockets and scowled.
“Sir?” Sully said.
“What?”
“I have to ask you to keep your hands out of your pockets.”
“Why?”
“Officer safety, sir.”
DuBois rolled his eyes. “You all are some paranoid people. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
“I believe you,” Sully said. “But if I don’t stay safe with everyone, then I’ll get lax and the one time someone does try to hurt me, I won’t be prepared. You can understand that, right?”
DuBois pursed his lips, thinking. After a moment, he sighed and removed his hands from his pockets. “Whatever,” he said. “Just finish your business so I can get on my way.”
“Have you really been stopped four times in the last two days?” Sully asked.
DuBois shook his head and held up his hand. “Five.”
“Counting this time?”
He looked at Sully and his eyes narrowed. “You some kind of smart ass?”
“No. Do you know the reason for the other stops?”
DuBois snorted. “You want the reason they said they stopped me or the real reason?”
“Whichever. Both.”
DuBois pointed to his van and the broken tail light. The red lens was cracke
d and most of it was missing. White light shone to the rear. “Defective equipment,” he pronounced.
Sully shrugged. It was a valid stop, and a frequent one made by patrol officers.
“’Course the real reason is Dee Double-U Bee,” DuBois said.
“Huh?”
“DWB,” DuBois repeated. “Driving While Black.”
The tickle in the pit of Sully’s stomach returned, but he held his tongue. “Anyone tell you something about a little girl that’s missing?”
DuBois looked at him with suspicious interest. “What little girl?”
Battaglia stepped out of the passenger side of the car and walked around to the front of the car. “Status zero,” he told Sully, meaning that DuBois had no warrants. “And Dispatch says this is the third time he’s been stopped.”
“It’s the fifth time,” DuBois corrected Battaglia.
Battaglia shrugged. “Dispatch only went back to midnight yesterday.”
DuBois turned his attention back to Sully. “What are you talking about with this little girl?”
“You watch the news, Mr. DuBois?”
“Man, I hardly have time to eat and sleep. I don’t even own a TV right now. All I do is work.”
“A little girl was kidnapped a couple of days ago,” Sully said.
“No kidding? She okay?”
“She’s still missing.”
“What’s that have to do with me getting stopped?”
“The men who took her were driving a blue or brown van,” Sully told him matter-of-factly. “The driver of the van was black.”
DuBois was nodding his head as they spoke. He stopped at the word “black” and looked from Sully to Battaglia.
“You guys think I—“
“No,” Sully said. “But we have to check out everyone.”
“Everyone’s who’s black,” DuBois countered.
“What good would it do for us to stop people who didn’t match the suspect description, Mr. DuBois?” Sully asked.
DuBois didn’t answer right away. Then he lowered his eyes and muttered, “I see your point. But I don’t know…it just feels wrong.”
“I know how you feel,” Battaglia said, nodding his head ruefully.
DuBois looked up at him. “How the hell do you know how I feel?”
Battaglia gave him a surprised look and spread his arm, palms up. “C’mon. I’m Italian.”
DuBois burst out in laughter and Sully chuckled along. Battaglia stood looking at both of them with a contrived expression of confusion.
“You guys making fun of the plights of Italians in America?”
DuBois laughed even louder. “I’m with you, brother.” He held out hand and Battaglia took it. Sully tried and failed to follow the quick, shifting handshake as it flowed through different grips and ended with a fist-to-fist tap.
“You can put some red tape over that taillight,” Battaglia told him. “It’ll work until you get the chance to go to the parts shop to fix it.”
“All right.”
“One more thing, Mr. DuBois,” Sully said.
“What’s that?”
“You mind if I take a look in your van real quick?”
0647 hours
Katie MacLeod rubbed her sleepy eyes. It had been a long shift. Almost as long as the previous shift she’d spent at the Dugger home.
She’d spent most of her shift tonight in the Emergency Room at Sacred Heart Hospital, babysitting the burglar that the K-9 Čert bit inside the tire warehouse. He turned out to be a real gem, ragging on her non-stop all the way up to the ER. He continued his tirade from his hospital bed while she sat working on her report outside the door.
“I’m poor,” he said to her repeatedly. “You fucking cops are prejudiced against poor people, so you set that dog on me.”
Katie did her best to ignore him. She was grateful when K-9 Officer Gomez showed up to make sure the corporal got some good photographs of the bite marks on the burglar’s arm.
“What if that dog had got me by the throat?” he yelled at Gomez.
“Then I wouldn’t have to listen to your mouth right now,” Gomez said to him in a low voice and both Katie and the corporal smiled at that.
“Fucking wetback,” the burglar shot back.
Gomez’s lips pressed together slightly, but he showed no other reaction. Once the pictures were taken, he and the corporal left. Katie returned to ignoring the burglar, going through his property to find some identification. There was none and he refused to give the admitting nurse his name, either.
The nurse had looked at Katie, who shrugged. “Call him John Doe. We’re paying for it, whatever his name is.”
The nurse didn’t like that answer, but proceeded to treat the burglar. An hour later, the doctor came and spent fifteen minutes stitching his arm. Then, for reasons Katie couldn’t exactly discern, it was another two hours before the nurse discharged him.
At jail, she finally got the burglar’s name when one of the jailers in the booking area recognized him.
“Petey! Thought you weren’t coming back,” the jailer said.
The burglar gave him a withering look.
After that, booking went smoothly. Now, a cup of coffee and a light breakfast later, Katie stared into her open locker. She wanted nothing more than to sleep away the morning and then maybe get in a light workout in the afternoon before meeting Kopriva when he got off work.
She smiled mischievously to herself when she thought of what would happen next.
But instead, she had to appear in court at nine. That meant she had to find a way to stay awake for another hour and a half. It also meant she had to go home and change for court, resisting the urge to just flop onto her bed and sleep.
She pulled off her boots and put them in the bottom of her locker. At least she got paid overtime for court. Chisolm told her once that the first year or two he was on the job, they didn’t get OT. She couldn’t imagine that, especially given the snail’s pace that most court proceedings went.
As Katie shed the rest of her uniform, she glanced at her watch. She could afford the time to swing by and say hello to Kopriva on her way out.
Her mischievous smile returned.
TWELVE
Day Shift
0703 hours
“Yes, sir,” Kopriva said. “The tip you called in.”
“You joking me?”
“No, sir. This is the police.”
“No lie? Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Sir,” Kopriva said, “the tip sheet says you saw a black male with a white girl near Friendship Park?”
“Yeah. That nigger was playing with the little white girl.”
Kopriva cringed at the harsh word. “Was there a van anywhere nearby?”
“Van? No, I don’t think so. I think he was driving one of those pimp-mobiles.”
“Anyone else with them?”
“Yeah. Some mud shark that musta been her mother.”
Kopriva ignored the epithet. “The girl’s mother was with her?”
“Yeah.”
So much for that tip, Kopriva thought. “Thanks for your help, sir,” he said.
“You don’t think it’s the girl you’re looking for?”
“No,” Kopriva said.
“You’re not even going to check it out?”
“I’ll have a car go up to the park, just in case,” Kopriva lied.
“Poor little girl. It’s too bad, you know?”
Kopriva thought the man was talking about Amy and maybe a little decency was finally shining through, so he answered. “Yeah. It’s a shame.”
“The mother don’t have the sense to stick with her own people,” he said. “At least she’s got a white father, though. Even if her mom’s a mud shark, at least she’s not a half-breed.”
Kopriva set the receiver down on the cradle in weary disgustand rubbed his eyes. Then he balled up the tip sheet and threw it into the garbage.
“Two points, Stef,” came a familiar voice.
/> He looked over to see Katie standing in the doorway of the Missing Persons/Sexual Assault unit. She smiled at him and the warmth of her smile pushed the phone call he’d just taken a little further away.
“Maybe I missed my calling.”
“Oh, really? Let’s not make more out of it than it is.” She walked over to his desk. “How’re the calls coming?”
He shrugged. “Most are boring. A few are a pain in the…”
Katie looked around the room, saw that it was empty. She bent down and interrupted him with a short kiss. As always the softness of her lips and her scent combined to wash over him. The effect was calming and exhilarating at the same time.
Katie smiled again. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
“It’s all right,” Kopriva said, blushing slightly.
Katie noticed and was about to tease him about it when the unit secretary came into the office.
“Morning, Stef,” Georgina said and nodded toward Katie.
Kopriva returned the greeting and watched as the older woman settled into her chair near the entrance to the office. He knew there would be no more talking about anything that the whole department wouldn’t hear within half an hour, so he said, “You have court today?”
Katie knew about Georgina’s gossiping, so she played it straight. “Yeah, downtown.” She glanced at her watch. “In fact, I have to head out and get ready. I’m supposed to testify at nine.”
“Okay.”
She smiled at him again. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing well, Stef. I’ll tell the guys.”
He nodded, appreciating her ploy. It might not be enough to put off Georgina and her gossiping, but it was a solid tactic nonetheless.
“Thanks.”
“See ya,” she said and left the office. She gave Georgina a nice smile as she passed. Kopriva knew that wouldn’t be enough to stop the secretary from gossiping about her if the rumor was juicy enough.
Katie’s scent lingered in the air for a few moments and Kopriva closed his eyes and breathed it in. His shoulder and arm throbbed painfully and his knee ached, as always. He opened his eyes and reached into the only drawer in the desk that he had stored any possessions. He fumbled around and drew out his bottle of pain pills. Then he shook two out into his palm and threw them into the back of his throat. His coffee was lukewarm, so he was able to take a gigantic swig of it to wash down the pills.
