In the Line of Duty

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Knight, we need to talk,” he barked, passing a look to Terry that told him to get out.

  She wanted to ask why he was being shy now. He’d reamed her out in front of Terry before. But it was best she not play stupid because it would drag everything out for too long and she wanted to talk to Snyder. She had a feeling what this might be about… “Did someone from the urgent care clinic call you?”

  “What were you thinking?” he ground out. “Or weren’t you?”

  “I was pursuing a lead in the case, that’s all. I didn’t violate any privacy laws.”

  “You entered through the back door of a medical clinic without a warrant.”

  “Because that’s where the subject went. She was running away from me.” Madison heard the stress enter her voice and took a deep breath before continuing. “Listen, I’m not sure what you were told, but I’m thinking it was an exaggeration of the truth. Snyder was already treated and released, and was trying to leave out the back door. I simply followed her back inside.”

  His facial expression softened marginally, telling Madison her assumption had been correct.

  “Let’s get the focus off me, Sarge, and back on Snyder. She was at the clinic getting treatment. The video shows that she was struck by the fourth bullet from our killer’s gun. Did the clinic bother to report they were treating a GSW?”

  “That’s not the point here, Knight.”

  “Hmm? I thought it was a good one.” She cocked her head. “Maybe we should look into why they didn’t? Is the doctor involved—”

  “You know what—” he held up his hand “—I’m done here.”

  In her head, a crowd cheered. That meant she’d be able to get back to work.

  His footsteps tapped against the floor as he walked away, and she turned to look at Snyder again in the interrogation room.

  Snyder was slouched in the chair, her eyes staring at the two-way mirror, and she was biting her nails… Chewing might be a more apt description based on the way she was going at them, one after the other.

  Terry was already heading down the hall, and he entered the interview room before Madison could catch up. He took his regular position, leaning up against the back wall.

  Snyder straightened and put her hands underneath her legs. Madison dropped into the chair across the table from her.

  “I know my rights.” Her words were more poignant than her delivery. Her voice wavered and her eye contact was unsteady.

  “We’ve been over this. You left the scene—”

  “I was going to come forward.”

  Madison glanced at Terry and pressed her lips together. She didn’t say a word, but it should have been apparent to Snyder that neither of them believed her.

  “Honestly. I…I…”

  Madison looked back to Snyder. “You weren’t going to come forward. That’s the real truth, isn’t it?”

  Snyder’s eyes dipped to the table. “I was afraid. I’d just been shot. Bullets were—” She pulled her hands out from under her legs, flailing her uninjured arm wildly beside her head. “It was crazy. Like I was in a movie. At least until I felt the burning…” She delicately touched the bandage on her arm.

  Terry started jingling the change in his pocket. He often did this to play with people’s minds.

  Snyder spun around to look at him. “Is that necessary?”

  Fastest reaction to that yet…

  “Why did you flee?” Madison asked, ignoring Snyder’s question.

  “I didn’t flee. But a guy was firing a gun in my direction. I’m lucky I was just grazed.” She touched her injured arm again.

  “Yeah, you are,” Terry said. His words hung in the air, carrying the heavy implication that an officer hadn’t been so lucky.

  “The faster you start talking to us, the sooner you can leave. Why did you drive off?” Madison understood fight or flight, but she wasn’t convinced it was that simple when it came to Snyder. “Maybe you were involved somehow,” she stated nonchalantly.

  Snyder shifted in her chair and leaned forward. “I’m not. I swear.”

  “So you left…why?”

  The woman started squirming.

  They couldn’t make out the shooter’s face given shadows and camera angles, but maybe Snyder had. “Did you get a look at the shooter?”

  A huge sigh. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Madison raised her voice. “This person killed a police officer, and if you don’t start talking, we’ll throw you in jail as an accessory after the fact.” Madison was trying to read Snyder’s eyes to detect if she knew more than she was saying. Given the flicker that flashed over her gaze, Madison would wager Snyder had, in fact, gotten a look at the shooter.

  Terry pushed off the wall and stopped jingling his change. He stood next to Snyder. “Talk to us. Now.”

  Snyder cut a sideway glance to Terry and held eye contact with him briefly. But she didn’t say anything.

  Terry leaned on the table, turning so he was face-to-face with Snyder. “What did the shooter look like?”

  She rubbed her forearm. “I live in a bad neighborhood. I can’t just be flapping my lips.”

  Madison leaned across the table. “So you know the shooter?”

  “I never said that.”

  “If you don’t, what are you so worried about?” Terry raised his brows.

  “There are a few questionable characters in my neighborhood. I don’t even like taking walks anymore. There are always needles in the park. When I’d come across anyone and dare to look at them, most of the time their eyes were…you know…just gone. No one home. The way everything happened this morning was like, like—” Snyder rolled her hand “—like on TV when gangs do drive-bys. Well, almost, except they actually stopped.”

  Madison had made the same observation, but she latched on to something else. Street gangs identified themselves with anything from style and color of dress to tattoos, mannerisms, symbols, and graffiti tags. All they could see from the video were the subjects’ black hoodies, and members of pretty much any gang could wear that. Maybe Snyder was worried because she saw something else that connected the shooter to the people she’d encountered on her walks. Madison would have to look into what gang was located in Snyder’s neighborhood.

  Madison pulled out a photo of the decal as Terry returned to standing against the wall behind Snyder. “Do you recognize that?”

  She seemed to study the photo for a minute, then met Madison’s gaze. “No.”

  “You’re sure?” There was a niggling in her gut that told her otherwise. People were quick to look away when they either hadn’t seen something before or were trying to hide the fact that they had seen it. The fact that Snyder had looked at the image for so long made Madison think she had seen it before and was trying to remember where.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Madison held eye contact awhile longer before putting the photo back in a folder. She’d let the matter of the decal go for now and focus on getting a description of the shooter’s face. “We’re going to need you to sit with a sketch artist—”

  “It was rather dark.” Snyder paused, her gaze going from Madison to Terry and back to Madison before she continued. “He was wearing a hoodie, but he had a big nose. It almost seemed too large for his face. That much I could see.”

  Madison sat back in her chair, doing her best to give Snyder the impression that her observation hadn’t made much impact. But inside, Madison’s heart was racing. “What nationality?”

  “He was white.”

  That coincided with the camera footage. “Would you be able to identify him in a lineup?”

  Not that they had any suspects yet…

  Snyder let out a deep breath that seemed to deflate her. “I’m not sure.”

  That wasn’t what Madison wanted to hear.

  With Snyder’s he
sitancy over sitting with an artist, Madison thought it best to take a detour. If she kept pressing Snyder about the shooter, she’d clam up completely. And Madison didn’t need that. Hearing about a crime from a witness firsthand was the ideal way to pluck vital information. “Run us through everything from the time the car showed up to when you left.”

  “I was getting gas.”

  “Why so early? You work in the office at—” Madison looked down at Snyder’s background check “—Water Depot. It’s Saturday. The earliest they’d open would be eight thirty.”

  “You really think I was involved? You do remember that I was shot?” Anger flashed in Snyder’s eyes, but it was quickly doused by fear. Her shoulders lowered.

  Madison curled her lips. “It’s not uncommon for criminals to inflict injuries on themselves to throw an investigation off course.”

  “Wha—” Snyder turned to Terry, then faced Madison again, but Madison caught Terry’s eyes before looking at Snyder. His gaze contained a warning not to push too hard. Madison rarely followed directions, though.

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” she went on. “Why were you getting gas so early?”

  “Is that a crime now?” Snyder crossed her arms. “I have a key to the place, and on Saturdays I go in early. As long as I put in six hours, I can go home. I like to be gone from there about noon or so. You can check with my boss if you’d like.”

  Madison made a mental note to do just that. “All right, so you were pumping gas…”

  “Yeah. Then I heard a bang. At first I didn’t realize it was a gun. I’d never heard one fired…at least not that close.”

  “Where had you heard one fired before?” Madison asked.

  “My neighborhood? But off in the distance. Maybe a block or two over, but never right where I was.”

  “Okay. Then what?”

  “I was going to duck, but I obviously wasn’t quick enough.” Snyder touched her injured arm again.

  The video didn’t show Snyder about to duck, but she could have just thought about it before getting struck.

  “Was the officer already down when you were shot?” Madison asked, even though she knew the answer from watching the video.

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I think so…?” She briefly looked at the ceiling. “Yeah, yeah, he was. Everything happened so quickly, but in slow motion somehow. I was hit and I looked over to where the police car was, but I didn’t see the cop so he must have been down already. Then I got into my car.”

  “Speaking of your car, do you always leave your door open when you get gas?” Terry asked, still caught up on that detail.

  Her brow furrowed. “Uh, yeah.”

  “Why?” Terry didn’t sound convinced.

  Madison suppressed her smirk. She was the one tagged with the nickname Bulldog, but her partner could be just as stubborn when he had his mind made up about something.

  “I don’t know. I just always have.” Snyder slid her gaze to Madison.

  “How many bullets were fired?” Madison asked.

  Snyder closed her eyes for a few seconds. “Four, I believe.”

  “All right—” Madison went to stand up “—we’ll be sending in a sketch artist to work with—”

  Her face was pale. “I said I couldn’t ID him.”

  Madison sat back down. “But you did see him. You told us he had a dominant nose. You work with an artist, and he’ll know the right questions to ask to spark more from your memory.”

  “No.”

  “No? An officer was murdered.”

  “If those people find out that I ratted on them, they’ll come after me. They have a way of knowing things like this…”

  Adrenaline swirled within Madison, warming and then cooling her, cooling and then warming her. She was sure now that Snyder had recognized the decal and just wouldn’t admit to it, but maybe Madison could pull that information out of her another way. It would involve a little white lie. Madison would look at it as an unverified conclusion. “That decal belongs to a gang.”

  Snyder’s eyes snapped to Madison’s. “If they find out I said anything—” She looked away, her body shaking slightly.

  Some cops would assure Snyder of her safety, make a bold claim to that effect, but Madison wasn’t going to make a false promise. With everyone tied up in hunting down Barry’s killer, there simply wasn’t the manpower to watch over Snyder. But there were options. “I can get you set up in a safe house.” Even if that ended up being a motel room, Snyder would be safer than at home. “But only if you speak with a sketch artist.”

  Snyder took a staggered breath. “What happens after I leave, though? You can’t protect me forever.”

  Madison wasn’t getting into the fact that Snyder might not see full freedom for a while. She was a material witness and might be called upon to testify. If things escalated to that point, full-blown witness protection might even be necessary. “We’ll protect you as long as you need protecting.” She stood. “I’ll call for the artist, but you might have a bit of a wait before he gets here, so get comfortable.”

  -

  Chapter 16

  MADISON AND TERRY STEPPED OUTSIDE the interrogation room. She wasn’t looking forward to speaking with Winston about a safe house for Snyder, but Madison didn’t have much choice if she wanted the woman to speak. And if Winston wouldn’t play along, she’d go directly to the chief. Letting Snyder go home and have something happen to her wasn’t an option. Madison had been in that position before, and that person had been murdered.

  She just hoped that she hadn’t caught Snyder’s paranoia. And while Snyder claimed she wasn’t able to identify the shooter, Madison was quite certain the same didn’t go for the decal. While the decal wasn’t connected to one of the gangs in the database, it would be a good idea to ask someone in Gangs which one ruled the streets in Snyder’s neighborhood. But before she could allow herself to buy into Snyder’s innocence, they needed more evidence in order to believe her.

  “Can you quickly call Water Depot and confirm Snyder’s working arrangement for Saturdays?” she asked Terry. “I’m going to contact Gangs.”

  “Sure.” Terry pulled out his phone, found the number online, and dialed. Madison made her call at the same time.

  About five minutes later, both of them were finished.

  “Well, the owner of Water Depot told me he was prepared to fire Snyder next time he saw her,” Terry began. “Apparently, he’s been trying to reach her all day.”

  “Well, she’s had a good reason for not answering.”

  “He confirmed what Snyder told us, though. What did you find out from Gangs?”

  “The gang in Snyder’s area is called YJS, which stands for the Yellow Jackets…like the bees. They wear yellow above the waist but only wear black from there down.”

  “So they aren’t behind the shooting, then.”

  Madison shook her head. “I was just hoping they’d recently adopted the decal, but they wouldn’t be in black hoodies.” Madison consulted the clock on the wall in the bullpen. 6:30. It had been over twelve hours since Barry had been shot. Time stopped for no one.

  “Let’s go talk to Winston,” she said.

  She led the way to their boss’s office and knocked on the doorframe. Winston didn’t say anything, just motioned for her and Terry to enter.

  “We have questioned Snyder, the eyewitness from pump two,” Madison stated.

  “The one who fled the scene?”

  Madison wasn’t going to touch the fact that he’d said fled the scene. “She’ll be working with a sketch artist.”

  “She saw the shooter?” Hope filled Winston’s voice.

  Madison nodded. “Yeah, not a good look, though, from the sound of it. I’m cautiously optimistic, though.”

  “Let’s grip onto any hope we’re offered.”

 
Madison and Terry were silent, and the sergeant looked at each of them. “What else?”

  “She’s fearing for her life,” Madison said.

  Winston straightened up. “She knows them?”

  “Not that she’s admitted to, but I have a feeling her fear is connected to the decal on the BMW.”

  “The decal never tied back to the Hellions or any other gang.”

  “It didn’t tie back to a known gang.” Madison made solid eye contact with her superior. “She’s going to work with a sketch artist, and I’ve offered her protection. At least a safe house.”

  “Hmph.” Winston swiveled his chair side to side.

  Anything that could be an uphill battle became such with him…

  “She’s a material witness, Sarge,” Terry said.

  Winston looked at Terry. “It takes time to get these things sorted out—”

  “That’s why we came straight here.” Madison made a beeline for the door. “Thanks,” she said over a shoulder, and she heard Winston mumble something.

  She spotted Troy walking down a side hallway, and her thoughts went to what Andrea had told her. Childhood friends, godfather… Why hadn’t he told her? They should be coming together at a time like this, but she felt him slipping away. She turned to Terry. “Can you give me a minute?”

  “Yep…”

  Madison jogged down the hall and caught up with Troy outside. He was headed toward his Ford Expedition.

  “Troy,” she called after him.

  He stopped walking but didn’t turn around right away. He waited for at least ten to fifteen seconds, but it felt more like sixty. When he did face her, his eyes were cold and distant.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  He gestured with opened arms as if to say, By all means.

  How could he be so nonchalant with her? Her heartache was quickly turning to anger. She’d done nothing to him, and this was how he was going to treat her? Not acceptable.

  “Have you even bothered to consider how I might be feeling? I lost someone that I cared about, too.” She scanned his eyes, but they had hardened even more. “What are we doing, Troy? Are we just going through the motions?”