“Someone from the DA’s office should be here by eight, and I anticipate their full cooperation. I expect to see the video footage come through this morning.”
Madison glanced at the clock. It was only 6:33 AM.
“The owner, Rico Beck, is out of town, and he won’t be back until Tuesday. The manager was visiting family nearby, but will be back and at the station about seven.” He paused for a beat. “To get back to some of your questions, we were able to determine three nine-millimeter rounds were used. One bullet found its way into Weir, one lodged into the pump beside him, and one was embedded in his cruiser. The make or model of the gun has not yet been determined.”
Madison recalled the sergeant’s earlier words about the window: only open enough for the gun barrel… If they were looking for a weapon that fired 9mm rounds in the compact space of a car, it was likely a semiautomatic handgun.
“Question, Sarge,” Madison spoke up. “Was Barry able to return fire?”
Winston shook his head. “He had pulled his Glock, but all the bullets were accounted for between the chamber and magazine.”
Barry likely drew with intent to fire but then hesitated. Stiles PD had upped the government minimum of weapon training from once to twice year, but this still left officers with limited experience handling live fire. To maximize their ability to stop the threat, they were taught to aim at the torso, the center of mass. With only a cracked-open window, Barry’s chances of hitting the subject would have been pretty slim. And officers were responsible for every round fired. Taking a shot would have been too risky. His bullets could have passed through the suspect’s car windows and injured or killed innocent parties. Barry had made the right call.
“Was he hit with the first round?” a detective from Gangs asked. Madison was drawing a blank on his name right now.
“Too early to say.” Winston looked at the detective who had asked the question, who sat with other members of the gangs unit, and he also glanced at members from Guns & Drugs. He spoke to both units when he said, “I want you to reach out to your informants—see if we can find out who’s behind the shooting. If this was the work of a gang, someone out there is bragging about it.”
The thought cinched Madison’s gut tighter. Bragging about taking a life… Awful…
“Members of SWAT, you’ll also be serving in an investigative capacity, unless you are called in for SWAT services. I want you reviewing all of Weir’s reports from his final shift to see if the shooting could tie into anything there. Be sure to review his notepad for what might not have made it into the laptop in his black-and-white. If you haven’t found anything of interest there, go further back with an eye for people who might have gang affiliations or a strong reason to target Weir.”
Troy nodded and so did the other men from his team.
“Officers are already canvassing the area, knocking on residential doors,” Winston went on. “Knight and Grant, I want you speaking to the eyewitness from Rico’s and talking to the manager at the Bean Counter across the street. Stanford and Sovereign will take the managers from the other two businesses at that intersection. Officers are already in position to talk to their customers from the time of the shooting, and a tip line will be set up and an appeal made through the media for anyone else who might have seen something.”
Winston had so much to relay he hardly had time to come up for air. “Also, as you likely know, it is proper etiquette to wear a black mourning band when an officer dies.” He paused as his gaze traced the room, stopping briefly on those who were already wearing them. He bobbed his head in Madison’s direction when he noticed hers, Terry’s, and Troy’s. “If you don’t have one, come up here and get one before you leave this room.”
He paused a few seconds, his jaw clenched as if fighting back emotion. He cleared his throat. “We’ve seen this sort of violence going on all around us—police officers shot down in the line of duty, lured out and assaulted, not to mention the rampant disrespect and seeming random acts of violence. Now it’s touched our city. But we will not hide from it.” Winston’s voice echoed through the room, his timbre deep and steadfast, and growing more confident. The energy of the officers began to ramp up, and a tempest was brewing inside Madison. “We will not shrink away in fear. We’ll rise up—higher than before—and we’ll fight back. We’ll claim our city and make it clear that any level of disrespect or violence against an officer of the law carries the heaviest penalty. We run toward the gunfire, not away. We stand united and unmovable. We become their worst nightmare!”
Everyone applauded, including Madison. Not only was Winston’s speech getting her geared up to take down Barry’s killer, but hearing her boss speak like that shed a new light on his character. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he sometimes seemed… And they really were in the search for justice together, even though at times it felt like they played for different sides. He had an old-school mentality that led to the belief that the best cops were men. She was practically a women’s libber in his eyes.
Winston wasn’t done yet, though. “Our first priority right now is finding out who killed Officer Weir, and all overtime to that end is approved.” He cleared his throat again. “On another note, a memo is going out to all officers—even civilians working for us in administrative roles—that, effective immediately, everyone must ensure that any evidence of working with the Stiles PD is removed from any personal belongings. Strip anything and everything that will tie you to the Stiles PD during off-hours. Don’t wear logoed shirts or pants when you take your morning jog. Don’t leave printed gym bags in your car. Take down your parking pass for the station lot from your rearview mirrors. We will also wear our vests whenever we are on shift. This is not a response of fear, but one of power, one of precaution. Until we know exactly what prompted the shooting this morning, we treat this situation as if we are at war.”
Madison’s heart was beating fast, renewed with fiery zeal. A war had started. Only it wasn’t nation against nation. It was on American soil being waged among Americans. It was the red-blooded against the blue-blooded.
A life of sacrifice to the higher good was what she had signed up for. She’d defend the innocent and protect and serve if it took her life to do so, and she’d do it despite the way the media painted things to make officers look like the bad guys more often than not. They applied too much use of force to a situation, or they shot someone who wasn’t armed. Meanwhile, it wasn’t disclosed that the officer approached a subject in the dark of night and the subject was holding a bicycle pump extended in the fashion of a gun. The officer had to make a split-second decision that, if it had been a loaded gun, the officer or his backup would have been shot.
And rarely did the news share the stories of courage and bravery—how the actions of officers saved lives and put criminals behind bars. They never reported about the officers who resuscitated a woman who was clinically dead, saving her life while waiting on the local paramedics to show up. No—law enforcement always fell under the microscope of scrutiny and judgment, and yet she and her brothers put their lives on the line every day because it was what many of them believed they were born to do. Of course, there were some who viewed the job as simply that, but not her. Donning her badge wasn’t something she gave thought or consideration to each morning. It wasn’t an option. It was the same as putting on a pair of pants or brushing her teeth.
Winston clapped loudly, jolting her from her thoughts. “Now go! Stay safe.”
Everyone started out of the room, including Terry, but she turned to Troy instead. While he did look at her, his demeanor seemed rigid and guarded.
“If you need to talk, you know I’m here for you,” she said softly.
Troy didn’t respond.
She felt guilt snake in for even saying Barry would be fine when they were at the hospital, but she had just been trying to stay positive. “Are you sure that you’re—”
His eyes were ice a
s he narrowed his gaze on her. “You’re not going to ask me if I’m okay or if I can handle this investigation, are you? Because you should know me better than that.”
His tone surprised her, and her defenses shot up. “Right. You’re Troy. You’re untouchable.”
“I’ve got work to do and so do you,” he snapped.
Her heart ached at the way he was pushing her away. He wasn’t himself, and he was holding something back. She could get criminals to confess to murder, but she couldn’t get her own boyfriend to let her in.
“You’re right. We do.” She heard the vulnerability in her voice, and he would have, as well.
He pulled her in for a hug, but his body was stiff. She touched his face gently.
“Keep safe, Bulldog,” he said to her.
Her gaze flicked to meet his, and she nodded. Given the day, he’d get a pass on using the pet name he had for her. He always defended it, saying it was being loving, while to her, the underlying meaning was that she was stubborn like a dog with a bone.
A quick look around the room showed it was now empty except for the two of them. She tapped a kiss on his lips, but he pulled her close and stole another before leaving her standing there.
Madison touched a fingertip to her lips. She just hoped she’d have the strength to get through this.
-
Chapter 5
IT WAS HARD TO BELIEVE this was really happening, that it had happened. But everyone going through a tragic situation probably thought the same thing. Madison could only imagine how Joni was feeling right now. She wasn’t going to dwell on that, though. She couldn’t afford to. She had made a promise, and she intended on keeping it.
Rico’s Gas Station was a fifteen-minute drive from the police station for the average citizen. With lights flashing, she made it in five, somehow managing not to scare Terry, who normally clung to the oh-shit bar or passenger-seat drove.
Public Works would be called in to set up a detour, and while it would create havoc for commuters, it was necessary. But until the city came through, officers had established a perimeter and cordoned off the immediate area.
Madison scanned the intersection. On the east corner was the Bean Counter, an independently owned coffee shop whose success challenged the local franchises. The place never saw an empty lot or drive-through. South of that and kitty-corner to Rico’s was a McDonald’s, and across from the fast-food restaurant was a sandwich shop.
She zeroed in on Rico’s. The gas station had two entrances—one on the east side and one on the south, and there were two lanes of pumps, which ran north and south. There were spots for four vehicles per lane, two on each side.
Madison slowed the sedan and parked just outside the cordoned-off area. Two cruisers were angled lengthwise to block both southbound lanes. Beyond them was the crime lab’s forensics van. It housed everything necessary for collecting evidence.
Madison expected that Cynthia would have brought in the three investigators who reported to her: Samantha Reid, Mark Andrews, and Jennifer Adams. Each of them had a specialized skill set, as did Cynthia, who was great with technology, documents, prints, and other patterned evidence. Samantha was firearms and ballistics; Mark, trace evidence; and Jennifer, forensic serology.
Madison and Terry got out of their car and entered the crime scene. Weir’s cruiser was still positioned next to the pump on the outside, closest to the street, the hose leading to the vehicle, the nozzle inside the tank.
The observation made Madison’s stomach churn, but determination compelled her forward, even as grief threatened to immobilize her.
He had been pumping gas, so Barry’s torso would have been visible above the trunk, making it easy for the perp to shoot him where he had. And based on what Winston had told them, they were most likely looking for two perps—a driver and a shooter. If the passenger window had been lowered only enough for the gun barrel to stick out, it would have been next to impossible for someone to shoot and keep driving. This was why eyewitness testimonies and obtaining camera footage were key in verifying evidence.
Madison took a deep breath as she and Terry headed toward Cynthia, who was hunched over taking photographs in the middle of the street. The lights from the cruisers were casting color over her. She straightened up when she saw them approach.
Cynthia’s eyes were wet and glistened in the growing daylight.
Madison thought about what their original plan had been for the day and made eye contact with her friend. “Did this day ever take a turn…”
Cynthia pulled Madison into a hug. “I can’t believe this happened.”
“Me neither. I keep thinking I’ll wake up.”
Cynthia moved on to Terry, an awkward endeavor that had them both initially going to place their head on the same side. They eventually embraced but it was brief.
“You hear about this stuff happening…” Cynthia’s words dried up there. She didn’t need to finish her thought, as it was one they were all probably thinking.
Madison pointed to where Cynthia had been working. Tire marks marred the pavement. “Are they from the shooter’s vehicle?”
“Based on eyewitness testimony, this was the location of the shooter’s car and the tracks are fresh, so most likely.”
Madison looked at the marks. To lay that amount of rubber, it would have made a loud squeal. “Did the eyewitness testify to hearing the tires squeal?”
“That I don’t know. You’d have to ask Gardener. He was first on scene.”
Gardener was an experienced cop and a training officer. “Does he have a trainee with him?”
“Yep,” Cynthia said, “and he’s shaking like a leaf.”
Madison nodded. “What do you get from the tire marks?”
“Well, based on the speed they would have gathered tearing away and how close they are to the intersection, I’d say they kept heading south toward the highway. I’d also conclude the car had rear-wheel drive.”
“Is there any way to determine the length of the wheel base?” Terry asked.
“Unfortunately, not in this case. But I would say the evidence indicates that the car came to a complete stop, the shooter fired off the rounds, and then they sped off.”
Madison turned to Terry. “So much for a drive-by shooting.”
“It still has some elements of one,” Terry said. “An unnecessary amount of bullets, for one.”
And yet, she was like a dog without a bone? Had Troy met her partner?
Madison shrugged. “The shooter had bad aim.”
Cynthia shook her head. “So this might have been planned?” Her voice squeaked. “God, I hope not.”
“They were obviously prepared to shoot someone, anyhow,” Madison reasoned. “I believe we’re being targeted.”
“We or Weir specifically?” Cynthia asked.
“We still need to figure that out. Winston’s asked Troy and the guys from SWAT to look into Barry’s reports from his final shift to see if anything stands out.”
“But if they were after Weir, how would they even know he would be here?”
Madison let her eyes drift from her friend to her partner. “Call in to accounting at the station and find out if Rico’s was a regular stop for Weir at this time of day.”
“It’s Saturday,” Terry said.
“Leave a message,” she ground out.
He nodded and pulled out his phone to make the call.
She hated to admit it was too soon to know for sure, and she refused to dwell on the budget issues that made it so the Stiles PD officers had to fill their tanks at public gas stations. So many departments were upgrading to vehicles that ran on propane, adding filling tanks on department property, but that request had been quickly overturned at the last budget meeting. The costs had been considered too high. She wondered how the committee would feel about the cost now.
S
he took a deep breath and looked around as Cynthia went back to photographing the marks on the road.
Madison considered what she knew so far. It didn’t seem the perps were worried about drawing attention—they’d yelled out, fired three rounds, and squealed away. Drive-by or not, it could point to a gang-related crime given its brazen nature. Most of those people didn’t fear anything, not even their rivals within the city.
Terry hung up and turned to Madison. “Message left.”
“Okay, good. Hopefully, we’ll hear back sooner rather than later.” Her eyes went back to Cynthia. “Have you guys found any shell casings?”
Cynthia shook her head. “The ejection port of the gun must have been inside the car.”
Madison turned to Terry. “Winston mentioned that the window was down just enough for the muzzle to go through, but that would have made for a difficult shot given the recoil of most handguns.”
Terry shrugged. “Or the shooter knew what they were doing.”
“Then why such bad aim?” Madison wondered aloud before addressing Cynthia. “Do we know which bullet struck him yet? What make of gun?”
Cynthia bobbed her head toward Samantha. “She’ll need to analyze the bullets back at the lab.”
Samantha was next to the pump, which towered over her under-five-foot frame. Madison nodded, and she and Terry left Cynthia and jogged toward Sam.
She was working to extract a bullet from the pump, but she stopped and acknowledged Madison and Terry with a quick, “Hey.”
Madison’s eyes drifted to the hole in the C-pillar of Barry’s cruiser and down to the pool of blood next to Sam’s feet. Madison pinched her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She hated the sight of blood, odd as it was for a cop. But it wasn’t so much its appearance that affected her right now as it was the knowledge that it belonged to Barry.
God, he must have been so scared.
In the Line of Duty Page 3
