by Frank Zafiro
Ryan blinked. How in the hell did a police lieutenant in St. Louis get that kind of influence? But Ryan knew the answer immediately. Potulny’s true rank lay within the party, not the Metro.
Or he was lying. Ryan supposed that might be true, but he wasn’t willing to bet on it.
“I’m disappointed in you,” Potulny continued. “I knew you had an independent streak, but you’ve also got some great talent. You would have been a strong addition to the local Party, and good for public relations. So I offered you this choice, even though you haven’t really earned it. And after that, after my generosity, you turn me down.” He shook his head. “You know this decision will have a price, don’t you?”
“I do. But I once heard someone say there is a price to pay for speaking the truth, but a bigger price for living a lie.”
“Who said that?”
“Cornel West.”
Potulny’s lip curled in distaste. “That’s the best you can do? Quote a senile radical?”
Ryan didn’t reply. There was nothing more for him to say.
Potulny’s face tightened into another scowl. “I think we’re done here, Officer. Return to your post.”
Ryan stood and left the office. Potulny remained in his office long enough to present the illusion that he had come for some other reason than to talk with Ryan, then strode out of the work area without even glancing his way.
TWO HOURS LATER, HE was summoned to Internal Affairs for another session with Gleeson. The captain walked Ryan through the events of his shooting again with malevolent efficiency. He asked the same questions repeatedly but in different ways, and occasionally dwelled on a seemingly benign point for an extended period.
Ryan answered mechanically, trying to keep his emotions in check. He knew that his own recollection of the incident was irreparably altered by all of this revisiting, and he found that to avoid guessing at whether a memory was accurate or not, he sometimes had to answer with, “I don’t recall.” Every instance of that met with a slight expression of disapproval from Gleeson.
“Officer, you are aware that full cooperation with this investigation is a condition of your employment, do you not?”
“I am cooperating.”
“You’ve answered multiple questions with the assertion that you don’t recall.”
“Because I don’t.”
“Would you be surprised to know that if I were to call up a transcript of you answering this same question months ago, you did recall?”
“Then why are you asking me again?”
“You know the answer to that.”
He did. As an investigator, Gleeson was interested in the consistency of his answers. The truth was relatively easy to remember, because it was what happened. It was a real memory. A lie was a story, and a story was harder to keep straight. But after so many times reviewing the shooting, and so many whys and what ifs, Ryan had lost track of the smaller, objective facts in his own memory. All he knew was that he and Marcus were ambushed, and Marcus was killed. He’d like to think he didn’t do anything wrong, but his partner’s death belied that opinion.
Gleeson asked some more questions, but after another forty minutes, he ended the interview. As Ryan was leaving, Gleeson stopped him.
“You should know, Officer, that I am rendering my final report tomorrow.”
Ryan didn’t know whether to feel anxiety or relief. “And?” he asked.
Gleeson just stared at him. “And you’ll know the results tomorrow, after the Chief and his Command Staff review it.”
Just another twist of the knife, Ryan thought. Tell a hungry man it is supper time, and then make him stand by, salivating, while you set the table and wait on the other guests.
He kept his expression neutral. “I’ll look forward to it,” he finally managed.
“I rarely hear that,” Gleeson said.
“I’m full of surprises.”
“Perhaps. But, either way, you are dismissed, Officer.”
Chapter 20
Political movements require strong-willed, active people who espouse the philosophy and beliefs of the movement in order to generate the impetus necessary to bring the movement to prominence. Yet, some of these movements eventually reach a point at which the movement itself has gained such momentum and status that this very prominence and control become paramount. This remains the case even if it that means sacrificing truth, or the philosophy and beliefs the movement is ostensibly founded upon. When a movement reaches this point, it will drive mercilessly forward and through any obstacles...including, in some cases, those same strong-willed, active people who initially gave rise to it.
— From An Unlikely Phoenix by Reed Ambrose
CAPTAIN GLEESON OPENED the Ryan investigation file on his computer. He reviewed the narrative describing his investigation, as well as his own fact analysis. With only a few revisions and a brief addendum for this most recent interview, he finished the work. As soon as it was done, he sent a mandatory notification to Lieutenant Potulny.
The latter action irked him. Despite holding the rank of captain to Potulny’s being a lieutenant, he often felt like Potulny took on a superior tone with him. True, Potulny was in operations and Gleeson was in support, but didn’t rank transcend assignment?
Perhaps even more irritating was Potulny’s meteoric rise within the NAP. A few years ago, he was the head of one of the three St. Louis chapters. Now he was the regional chief, and seemed to have a direct line to Washington, D.C. And for what? Because he managed to get a bunch of hippie musicians and their fans to surrender? Potulny acted as if it were the equivalent of capturing Osama bin Laden.
Gleeson put aside his thoughts and returned to his work. There was plenty of it. Ryan Derrick wasn’t the only person within the Metro that needed investigating. Not even close.
He was surprised when Potulny appeared in his office less than an hour later.
“You didn’t send the file,” he said to Gleeson by way of a greeting.
Gleeson looked at him, mildly surprised. “I can’t do that. Regulations require me to send all Internal Affairs files directly to the Chief’s Office via secure server.”
“And the Chief then forwards to me via email, which is considerably less secure,” Potulny finished, his tone impatient. “How about we cut out the middle man, huh?”
Gleeson shook his head. “Rules are rules, Lieutenant. They are there for a reason.”
“Such as?”
“To provide order, for one thing.”
“The Party provides order,” Potulny retorted.
Gleeson couldn’t argue with that. But he made no move to open the Derrick file. The two men engaged in a brief battle of wills, before Potulny shrugged dismissively.
“Fine,” he said. “Cling to your petty rules. But I would like a verbal briefing, at the least.”
Gleeson considered. To his knowledge, there wasn’t a rule specifically prohibiting this, but it seemed a clear violation of the intent of the security in place surrounding his written product. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“You can.”
“I’d need authorization from—”
“I just authorized you,” Potulny said coolly.
“I was going to say from the Chief of Police,” Gleeson said.
“Captain,” Potulny said, his voice slow and menacing, “you will give me a verbal briefing. Now.”
Gleeson stiffened in his chair. “Lieutenant, I don’t want to pull rank, but—”
“Then don’t. Rank is an illusion, anyway. Do you think your title of captain or your ceremonial bars mean anything in the Metro? They are symbolic at best, a pay grade at most. They don’t hold any sway over me.” Potulny’s gaze bore into Gleeson. “Besides, where do you think real power comes from these days, Captain?”
Gleeson knew the answer, but he tried to hold the line. “The Chief—”
“If he had any real power, don’t you think it would be his name people are talking about up in D.C.?” Potulny aske
d with an arrogant sneer. “And not mine?”
Gleeson hesitated, then relented. Potulny was right, and even though flouting the rules galled him, he knew the lieutenant would get the report eventually, anyway. A preview in the form of a verbal briefing wasn’t that flagrant of a violation.
“Very well,” he said, trying to regain some measure of control over the meeting. “What do you want to know?”
Potulny let a small, triumphant smile touch his lips. Then he asked, “How solid is your finding of negligence?”
Gleeson gave him a confused look. “Negligence?”
“Your finding, yes. How solid is your evidence?”
“I think there’s a misunderstanding,” Gleeson said. “My findings regarding Officer Derrick’s actions are not that he was negligent. In fact, my recommendation is that he be exonerated.”
“Exonerated?” Potulny looked flabbergasted. “That’s your finding?”
“Yes.”
“How is that possible?”
Gleeson felt a slight surge of confidence at Potulny’s surprise. “I conducted a thorough investigation of the facts and the evidence available. An analysis of those facts and evidence inevitably lead to that conclusion.”
“The man is clearly negligent,” Potulny said. “His partner is dead.”
“I realize that.”
“Yet you have the audacity to somehow conclude this shamer isn’t negligent?”
Gleeson pressed his lips together. “I don’t approve of his behavior, or his politics. But I don’t get to pass judgment on people based on my opinion. I have to follow the facts and reach a logical conclusion on that basis. And in this case, the facts do not support a finding of negligence on Officer Derrick’s behalf. To be more precise, the facts do the opposite. They exonerate him.”
Potulny gave Gleeson a hard stare. “Hearing that, I worry about your politics, Captain.”
Gleeson felt a small tendril of anxiety in the pit of stomach, but did his best to conceal it. “I explored every possibility. You’ll see that in my report.”
“The report you refuse to let me read.”
“You’ll see it soon enough,” Gleeson said tersely. “Besides, you were present for many of the interviews. All are documented on holo digital and audio as well. You know how hard I pushed him. Even at the hospital, I pushed. You know.”
“Here’s what I know,” Potulny said. “And here are some competing facts for you. Ryan Derrick is a shamer who refuses to join the Party despite every opportunity. He is married to a journalist, a foreigner, who is under investigation for her own behavior. He was the lead officer on the call for service in which Officer Marcus Washington was murdered.”
The news about Derrick’s wife was a slight surprise to him, but he supposed he should have suspected it. “All of that is in my report.”
“Filed under a finding of exonerated?” Potulny shook his head. “That’s no good, Captain. No good at all.” He eyed Gleeson dangerously. “Here’s something else to consider. Derrick was wounded in that same shooting. There is some sympathy for him out there, both in the ranks of the Metro and in the community. What do you think an exonerated finding will do for those people?”
“I—”
“I’ll tell you. It will give them a martyr, that’s what it will do. Another local martyr to go along with that pop singer girl and that blues man and that silly actor. That’s not what this city needs. It’s not what this country needs. What we need is unity. What we need is order.”
“I agree,” Gleeson said. “But I can’t change the facts.”
Potulny seemed to ignore his comment. “Do you really want to return to the dark times of a decade ago? To a time when you had to be ashamed to be a white male? Afraid to celebrate the accomplishments of your race or your gender?”
“No, but I don’t think this is about—”
“Forget celebration,” Potulny interrupted. “How about being blamed for every wrong in the world? Carrying every burden? Are you going to sit there and tell me you enjoyed that, Captain?”
Gleeson’s eyes narrowed. “No. But that’s not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about facts. And facts are facts.”
Potulny shrugged. “I’m not too worried about facts, Captain. Facts are largely unimportant. How they are interpreted is what matters.” He narrowed his eyes at Gleeson. “And your interpretation is troubling.”
“I don’t know how else to interpret this fact pattern.”
“There are always alternative facts somewhere.”
“Alternative...?” Gleeson gave him a troubled look. “Lieutenant, I only see one set of facts.”
“Then that becomes a problem all its own,” Potulny said. “Frankly, I’m disappointed in you. I wonder, too, how it will look when you send up a report to the Chief with a recommendation in favor of exonerating Derrick and he overturns it in favor of a negligence finding?”
Gleeson’s face froze. “Based upon what?”
“Based upon his interpretation of the facts,” Potulny said, the words dropping easily from his lips. “What else?”
“He’s never done that,” Gleeson protested. “My findings have always been upheld.”
Potulny shrugged. “In the past, perhaps. But every good streak comes to an end. The Chief’s decision will be an easy one to justify. Especially when your conclusion is such a shaky one.”
“Shaky?” Gleeson sputtered.
“Maybe Ryan Derrick won’t be the only one whose career is ruined by this report,” Potulny mused.
Gleeson felt his face flush with warmth. He wanted to lash out at Potulny, either with words or a fist or both. But he knew the folly of that action. So he sat still, reflecting on what Potulny had said.
Potulny took that for submission. “You think about it some more, Captain. Revise your report as you see fit. I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.” He turned to go, then stopped. “Remember this,” he added. “What matters most isn’t any of one of us, but the good of the people as a whole. Ultimately, everything we do should serve that end.”
Gleeson didn’t reply, but when Potulny continued to stare at him, he gave a short nod to signal that he’d heard. Satisfied, Potulny turned away and left the Internal Affairs office.
Gleeson stared after him, his eyes fixed on the plain wood of the door, seeing the faux grain but not processing it. He sat there for a long time before he buried his face in his palms and rubbed his tired eyes.
I’ve been a good servant, he thought. To the Metro with his investigations. To the Party as well. He was diligent. He was thorough. And he was loyal. He saw the world through the same lens as the NAP. He believed in the precepts upon which the party was founded, precisely because that was the fact pattern that he observed in the world.
But now...now he faced something he hadn’t encountered before. Competing facts, Potulny had said. Gleeson found the term distasteful, but here he was, faced with exactly that. And he had a decision to make.
Chapter 21
Politics, it has been said, is the art of compromise. The United States was no exception to this maxim. From the very inception of the nation, when the question of slavery reared its ugly head, the politics of enslavement were rife with compromise. First came the “Three-Fifths” compromise regarding “other persons,” a euphemism for slaves, which allowed slaveholders to eat their proverbial cake and have it, too. Slavery was allowed, slaves were not given suffrage, but for purposes of the census (which directly impacted the number of representatives each state would have in the House), each slave counted as three-fifths of a person.
Other significant compromises occurred in the terms surrounding the admittance of both free and slave states to the young country, as legislators strove to achieve balance and instead succeeded only in failing to address one of the core issues (and many would argue, core faults) of the nation’s political structure.
Another aspect that all of these compromises have in common is that they were all ultimately unsucces
sful, serving only to delay the inevitable conflict and to ensure that the wounds surrounding the issue festered in a way that made the conflict ever more bitter, and long.
— From An Unlikely Phoenix by Reed Ambrose
RYAN STOOD AT THE SINK, rinsing the dinner dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. Melina had stacked them next to the sink, one of the small chores that she performed, and then returned to her room to listen to a storybook. He suspected that his daughter could sense the palpable tension between him and Nathalie, and her response was typical of a child – to retreat, and wait.
He knew he didn’t have that luxury. So when he’d finished loading the dishes, he sought Nathalie out. She was in the bedroom, curled up on the small chair in the corner of the room, working on her tablet. When he entered, she looked up, and saw the purpose in his eyes. She put the tablet down.
He resisted saying anything about the tablet or her work. Everything about her career had taken on a different light for him since their fight. Where he’d once thought her a perfectionist for not sharing her works in progress with him, now he saw the veil of secrecy. How many of those articles hadn’t been for The Archway, but were shadow reports?
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. The past doesn’t matter. Now matters.
But he couldn’t completely believe that. Not yet.
“Potulny came to see me today,” he said, his tone distant.
“And?”
“He offered me Party membership.”
“In exchange for what?”
“Your citizenship,” he said bluntly. “And using me as a propaganda tool.”
Her eyes flared in surprise. “You didn’t accept?”
“Of course not.”
“Good.” She nodded in relief. “That’s good.”
“It would have been the easiest route,” he told her.
She shook her head. “No. It would have been the most expeditious one. There would be nothing easy about it. You know this.”
