In the Line of Duty

by Carolyn Arnold

  They stood there facing each other for less than a few seconds before Winston hugged her, and she found herself reciprocating. A flood of emotion now made it almost impossible to swallow the tears, to refuse them free rein. But she managed. She held them back, tamped them down with righteous indignation.

  “We’ve got to find this guy, Sarge,” she said.

  “Oh, we’ll get this son of a bitch.” Winston’s voice took on a gruff edge.

  She felt relief at his choice of words. “So we’re going to handle this?” In some cases, line-of-duty deaths were investigated by nearby police departments due to how emotionally taxing it could be on the fallen’s colleagues.

  “Yes. Officers are on scene now, of course. But there will be a briefing downtown in thirty minutes. Every detective-grade officer is expected to be there. We can’t miss a thing, Knight. That means keeping everyone up-to-date.”

  “You got it.”

  He blinked slowly, almost as if he expected an argument. Normally, she’d buck at his requirements for communication, but not this time. They were going to catch the bastard who shot Barry, and the best way to go about that would be to approach the investigation as a team, in an organized fashion, armed with knowledge.

  Winston bobbed his head. “What’s the update?”

  She relayed what Tendum had told her, finding her training and experience kicking in as she went, her heartbreak for Joni now superseded by the drive to not just get answers but to pin whoever did this to the wall.

  In the midst of her mental planning, a quiet fell over the waiting room. A doctor was standing next to Joni, who had gotten to her feet. He was talking to her, his face pale, his shoulders slumped, and he was moving his hands around, restless, as if he couldn’t decide where they should go—in his pockets, out of his pockets, in his pockets, out of his pockets.

  Joni wailed suddenly, and her legs buckled. The officers near her buoyed her and helped her back to her seat.

  Madison rushed over to her and stood next to Troy, who was still there. Other officers had their arms around Joni’s shoulders as she cried.

  The doctor scanned the crowd, then spoke a bit louder even as he directed his words to Joni in a tender voice. “We did everything we could to stop the internal bleeding.” The doctor paused. “I’m sorry that it wasn’t enough.”

  A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room like a cloak, stealing Madison’s breath. Suddenly, it was as if she were watching everything from a distance. The adrenaline was kicking in, attuning her senses to what was around her. People became still, and words were spoken in whispers, sentiments were offered. Then everything fell silent. An impromptu and instinctual moment of silence, in remembrance of their fallen brother.

  In this solemn state, the inherent scents of the hospital became noticeable—antiseptic and the faint hint of flowers. The smells transformed into an unpleasant coating on her tongue. She sensed pain all around her, blossoming within her.

  Troy’s green eyes were glassy, and it didn’t seem like he was focused on anyone or anything. Madison touched his arm, but he felt cold beneath her hand. Without looking at her, he pulled out of her reach and left the hospital.

  -

  Chapter 3

  TROY GRIPPED THE SINK IN the men’s washroom at the Stiles police station with both hands and stared at himself in the mirror. He’d lost men close to him before. The last one was two years ago, and the officer had been killed in a car accident while off duty. He’d left behind two kids and a wife. But Barry…he was different. Life always equaled death, of course. It was a simple equation to accept until it touched close to home. And that’s what Barry’s death was for him—personal.

  Losing Barry made it clear just how dangerous this job could be and how fragile life was. One minute here, the next gone. Barry had just been pumping gas, a routine thing, something people did all the time without any thought to their safety. Those on the outside would say that’s the risk he took being in law enforcement. Yes, there was the chance any one of them wouldn’t return home from a shift, but it wasn’t something Troy consciously thought about before heading to work.

  In fact, when serving in a SWAT capacity, he’d say it was one of the safest positions within the Stiles PD. SWAT had the toys, and when they showed up to manage a situation, it was often brought under control rather quickly. Even the majority of criminals didn’t want to tango with an AR-15 and armored vehicles. Besides, dwelling on one’s mortality wasn’t healthy. But when something like this happened to one of their own, it spurred on such self-reflection. It could have easily been him in the morgue, or one of his team members. Or Madison…

  His insides quivered with rage as his heartbeat slowed with his grief. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “I’ve got Dad’s car tonight,” Barry says. “We’ll take it out on the back roads and see what she’s really capable of.”

  “Your dad’s a cop, Barry,” Troy reminds him.

  “So? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Barry takes a few steps down the hall of their high school but stops and spins when Troy doesn’t follow. “Come on, man. Don’t make me take Lyman.”

  Troy came back from his thoughts and opened his eyes to find himself staring at his reflection.

  That night had been one of the best ever. Barry had sent the car airborne by racing over the railway tracks on the outskirts of the city. They’d even conned some seniors into getting beer for them and drank it by the tracks later that night.

  Barry had made Troy feel alive…

  Pain knotted in his chest, the regrets over skipping drinks with Barry last week paired with losing a part of his childhood somehow.

  Troy pinched the bridge of his nose as the memories continued to rush over him.

  “I just got my acceptance letter.” Barry holds the envelope in his hand. “This college has the hottest chicks… Not that it would matter to you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s Lauren and Troy sitting in a tree…” Barry sings.

  “Seriously? You’re like a girl sometimes, you know that? A big, emotional girl.”

  “Hey!” Barry punches him playfully in the arm.

  Madison punched him in the arm sometimes, too…

  God, what would he have done if Madison were the one who’d been killed? His heart knew the answer, and his mind willingly accepted what it meant. He had fallen for her hard and fast—at least as it might be seen from the outside. But he’d had a soft spot for her ever since he’d helped out with one of her cases eight years ago, one involving a young defense attorney who had been targeted by the Russian mafia.

  Another memory churned.

  “We’re in the academy together!” Barry dances around Troy. “It doesn’t get better than this.”

  “Graduating might.”

  “Ha-ha. You always have something smart to say.”

  Troy’s eyes grew wet with this recollection, and he swallowed the grief that threatened to destroy him. Entering the police academy was the point when the two boys became men.

  Troy needed to go see Joni at home, he knew, but he couldn’t face her. Not like this. And the girls? He needed time to compose his emotions, to pillar himself against the wind of this tragedy. But there was someone he needed to call first.

  He pulled out his phone and hit the quick key to dial his older sister, Andrea Fletcher, who also happened to be the police chief. She should be back from her vacation this morning, and she’d probably already heard what had happened. He just didn’t want to initially discuss this with his sister face-to-face. Talking about it over the phone would make it easier.

  One ring.

  Two rings…

  The washroom door opened, and Sanchez came in. He slipped into a stall, and Troy took that as a good sign to get out of there. Sanchez loved Mexican food.

  In the hallway, Troy
leaned against a wall and waited as the ringtone drilled into his ear.

  Answer the damn phone…

  “You’ve reached the voice mail for Chief Fletcher…”

  He hung up and redialed. She should be back from her vacation by now. What time had she said her flight was getting in?

  Someone picked up on the other end of the line. “Chief Fletcher here.” She sounded groggy, as if he’d woken her up.

  “Where are you?” he rushed out.

  “Hotel near the airport. We just got in. What’s going on?”

  “Something has happened.” The words came out soft-spoken and dry.

  “That doesn’t sound good.” He could imagine his sister sitting up in bed and turning on the light on her night table.

  “It’s Barry…” His throat constricted. This would be his first time verbalizing what had happened.

  His sister’s voice was gentle and caring. “What about Barry?”

  “He’s dead.” He delivered the news directly, unable to water it down no matter how much it hurt.

  “What? How?” she asked, her tone switching quickly to one of shock.

  “He was shot this morning while on duty.” He got through telling her the basics, the facts draining so much from him.

  “Wake up, Robert,” his sister said distantly. He heard his brother-in-law moan in the background.

  “We’re leaving now. I’ll be in as soon as possible. Has there been a briefing yet?”

  “In ten minutes.”

  “Has the shooter been caught?”

  At his sister’s question, his insides pulsed with adrenaline and determination. No matter what it took from him, he would find Barry’s killer.

  “Troy? Has the shooter been caught?” she repeated, a subtle beep in the background of the line.

  “Not yet.”

  Another beep. “Someone’s calling. I better let you go.” Her voice was withdrawn, and Troy imagined her pulling her phone out to consult the caller ID. “It’s Winston. See you soon.” His sister hung up before he could say anything else. He put his phone away, the ache in his chest now almost unbearable.

  -

  Chapter 4

  OFFICER RANSON WAS SITTING AT the front desk of the police station when Madison entered, and Madison wondered if the woman ever had a day off. Usually Ranson was beaming and greeting Madison with a smile and a “good morning.” There was none of that today. Simply a subtle nod and a somber face.

  “Everyone’s in the squad room,” she told Madison.

  That made sense. It was where officers were briefed before each shift. “Thank you, Ranson.”

  Another nod.

  Madison walked through the station, feeling as though time was moving in slow motion as she first headed to her desk. Once there, she took a seat and opened the bottom drawer, nausea swirling in her gut as she pulled out a clear plastic Baggie. It was where she kept her mourning band. She’d hoped to never need it again…

  She pulled it out, and for a few seconds, she held onto it, letting her fingers dip into the thin ribbing in the half-inch-wide black cloth. She unclipped her badge from its holder and slipped the band on, carefully placing it so that it ran horizontally across the center of her badge. As she stared down at the badge, thinking about what that simple band of black meant, a single tear crept down her cheek. But she didn’t have time to dwell on her fallen brother and grieve right now.

  She swiped at her eyes and returned the Baggie to the drawer and headed for the briefing.

  Even with her detour, she beat Sergeant Winston there. Sovereign and Stanford were already in the room along with about sixty officers. It was standing room only, and Madison scanned the crowd for Troy. But there was no sign of him or of her partner, Terry Grant. She didn’t see the police chief, either.

  Andrea Fletcher, Troy’s older sister, had taken over the position almost seven months ago. To say she was a vast improvement over her predecessor was putting it mildly. Patrick McAlexandar was a chauvinist pig who had been in bed with the Russian mafia—the same mafia that almost killed her five months ago. And she was certain there was still a hit out for her. She couldn’t allow the passage of time to lull her into thinking it had gone away. If McAlexandar’s track record wasn’t bad enough, he also had aspirations to be the city’s mayor, but Madison would do whatever she could to sabotage his efforts.

  Terry walked into the room then and came over to her. She hugged her partner without hesitation. As much as they teased and rankled each other, he was like the brother she’d never had.

  “I didn’t see you at the hospital,” she said as she released him.

  “We must have just missed each other. I got there as soon as I could. Dani’s still not sleeping through the night.”

  “She is only two months old,” she reminded him.

  Spoken like someone who knew kids…which she didn’t.

  “That’s what Annabelle tells me, and she’s such a good mother. Besides—” Terry gestured around the room “—complaining about the lack of sleep doesn’t really seem like a big deal in light of everything.” He fell silent for a few seconds and then added, “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “Me neither.” The nausea that had settled into the pit of her gut didn’t seem like it would be going away anytime soon.

  Sergeant Winston entered the room, his mourning band also on his badge. Terry was working on getting his band in place, too.

  The sergeant stood at the front of the room. He cleared his throat, and all the chatter stopped. “As you may have heard, Officer Barry Weir was shot and killed this morning.” His voice cracked as he delivered the message. “We will be keeping the investigation in-house.”

  Madison looked around the room, seeing the relief on the faces of her fellow officers.

  “Chief Fletcher has been notified,” Winston continued, “and is expected to be here in about two hours. She’s requested that I be the point person for this investigation.” Winston paused, seemingly allowing that to sink in. The other divisions and units typically reported to their own sergeant, but with this being a murder—and one of such a sensitive nature—it made sense for the major crimes sergeant to take the lead.

  “Weir was shot in what seems to have been a drive-by,” he added.

  Madison heard Winston’s words, and while part of this felt like a hazy dream, her desire was set on getting to the crime scene itself. She’d never been a fan of secondhand information. And another thing preoccupying her was that she hadn’t seen Troy since he’d left the hospital without saying good-bye.

  With these thoughts running through her head, Winston’s words just sank in.

  “Wait. It seems like a drive-by?” she asked. “Did the vehicle come to a standstill, or did it keep rolling forward?” Terry put his hand on her shoulder, urging her to let it go for now. But why should she? The details mattered. She was just about to press the issue when the door opened and Troy walked in. He came over and stood next to her.

  “As I was about to say,” Winston went on, “Weir was filling his cruiser’s tank at Rico’s Gas Station on the corner of Hamilton and Highbury when he was shot.”

  Highbury Street was one of the main arteries that led to a major interstate, and that intersection was one of the busiest in Stiles. Businesses were positioned on the four corners where Highbury Street met Hamilton Road. Rico’s was on the northwest side, and residential properties lined both sides of Highbury going north.

  “Weir had radioed in ‘away from car’ when he stopped at the gas station. His next stop was likely going to be the station to finish his reports,” Winston added.

  “Do you believe that Officer Weir was targeted because he was a cop?” Lou asked.

  Winston paled. “We do. An eyewitness told responding officers that the shooter yelled out ‘Die, cop!’ before opening fire.”

 
; “How many rounds?”

  “What ammunition?”

  “Do we know the make of gun?”

  Speaking of open fire…

  The questions were coming at Winston fast. He held up his hand. “One thing at a time.”

  “An eyewitness?” Madison proceeded, disregarding the sergeant’s obvious preference to leave the question round until the end of the briefing. “Did they see the shooter? Do we have an ID?”

  Winston shook his head. “We have a description of the car, but that’s all from that witness’s viewpoint. We’re told the passenger window of the shooter’s vehicle was only open enough for the gun barrel to show through and the tinting was dark. The vehicle was a sedan, black, with silver rims.”

  “So no make or model on the vehicle?” Terry pressed.

  “No. The eyewitness was a young woman by the name of Janet Hines. She was the cashier on duty at Rico’s. Apparently, she’s too stressed to remember anything except for the fact the car was black. She’s twenty-two and was on the midnight shift.”

  Terry leaned over to speak in Madison’s ear. “That should be a crime in and of itself. A woman manning a gas station at those hours.”

  Madison turned to her partner. “What’s that supposed to mean? Women can’t take care of themselves?”

  “That’s not what I meant. I just wouldn’t want Dani working that late. Or that early, depending how you look at it.”

  Now that he was a father, he was the defender of all daughters everywhere. She put her attention back to Winston and hoped they hadn’t missed anything crucial.

  “There is a traffic camera at the intersection where Rico’s is located,” Winston was saying, “as well as security cams at the gas station. Paperwork for the warrants has already been started.”

  What the general public didn’t realize was how much was involved in requesting a warrant—forty to seventy-five pages of details and information regarding why there was sufficient cause to have the warrant signed.