In the Line of Duty

by Carolyn Arnold

  “And we might not find him tonight. Besides, you’re not even awake.”

  She didn’t look over at her partner, not because she was upset that he’d made the observation of her apparent weakness, and not because he was right and she hated it. She didn’t look at him because she dared not take her eyes from the road for fear of veering off onto the sidewalk.

  “I’m awake, Ter—” She fought another yawn.

  “We’ll manage this better in the morning.” He yawned then.

  “Ah, so it’s not about me—you’re tired.”

  “Yes, I am. At least I can admit to it.”

  She could probably sleep for a week, but that didn’t mean she should. She had to keep going; stopping wasn’t an option. There was always something to do, and with Cousins running around out there, how was she supposed to sleep anyway? She pulled the department car into the police lot, and she and Terry got out.

  “We have Sommer and Godfrey to press about their roommate’s whereabouts,” she said.

  “They said they didn’t know.”

  She looked over at him, angling her head downward. “Yes, because everyone is so honest.”

  “Fine, but let’s make this quick.”

  “You got it.” She picked up her pace on the way into the station, and they had Sommer and Godfrey brought to interrogation rooms. They spoke to Godfrey first.

  He was pacing the room like a drug addict in need of his next fix. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why I’m here.”

  “Sit.” Madison didn’t waver in eye contact with him when she gave the order.

  Godfrey sat. “What do you want? I told you I hooked up with some chick and was at her place when the shooting happened.”

  “Yet you can’t prove that.” Madison crossed her arms. “Where’s Clark?”

  “I told you. I don’t know.”

  She peered into his eyes. None of the telltale signs of lying were there, but some people had it down to an art. “All right. What about places he likes to go or things he likes to do? Does he have a girlfriend?”

  Godfrey glanced back at Terry.

  “Answer her questions,” Terry said.

  “He doesn’t have a steady girl. He sleeps around. He could be sleeping on a street corner for all I know.” Godfrey wiped his face against a shoulder. “Let me go. You’ve got nothing to hold me.”

  She didn’t say a word to him when she headed for the door. Terry followed her out of the room.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Unless I’m losing my touch, I’d say the guy is telling the truth, but given the people we’ve talked to in this investigation, I’m wondering if they even hear themselves speak.”

  Madison nodded. It’s not as if one could even conclude guilt based on lying. Some people were chronic liars even if the truth hurt no one, including themselves.

  “Let’s try Sommer,” she said and led the way to the next interrogation room.

  “What do you want from me? Should I get a lawyer down here?” Sommer splayed his hands on his chest.

  Madison was too tired to deal with the machismo front. “Where’s Clark?”

  Sommer rolled his eyes so hard, Madison was staring at the whites of his eyes for a few seconds.

  “We’re not going away, you know that, right?” Madison sat in the chair across from him.

  “I. Don’t. Know. Where. He. Is.”

  Madison thought of the spray paint, the practice runs on his bedroom walls. “You tell us where he is, and we’ll see what we can do about the vandalism charges.”

  Sommer’s eyes calmly went to Madison’s.

  “Yep, we found your paint, got a good look at your bedroom walls. They look an awful lot like the graffiti on the courthouse. And the tag D R that you used won’t help you out much, either.”

  Sommer’s facial features hardened. “You can’t prove it was me,” he said, calling her bluff.

  Madison got up. “Forget the offer, then.”

  She and Terry reached the door when Sommer called out. “Fine. I know where he might be.”

  “I’M SLEEPING ON…my…feet here, Maddy,” Terry said, his sentence fragmented by a yawn.

  She followed suit and cursed the fact that yawns were so contagious.

  “You know why you’re yawning now?” Terry asked, almost as if he were reading her mind.

  “Okay, I admit it. I’m tired.”

  “No. It’s because you have a bond with me.” He was grinning, and for some reason, the lift in his cheeks made the red rims of his eyes more noticeable. “It’s monkeys.”

  “It’s what?” She chuckled.

  “They did a study on monkeys.” He waved a dismissive hand. “When the leader of the group yawns, the rest know it’s time to go to sleep.”

  “Okay…” Terry must have been sent to test her patience.

  “Now,” Terry continued, “if a monkey from another group yawns in front of a monkey who isn’t part of his circle, the second monkey will not yawn. So, you yawned because we have a bond.”

  “You flatter yourself.” About the bond or the fact that he essentially called himself a monkey, she’d let him decide.

  “How long are you going to let yourself believe you’re rough and tough, Madison Knight?”

  “I am.” The lie sank in her gut. A flashback of Troy talking to her at Cousins’s and him leaving without a good-bye had her eyes going wet.

  Terry cocked his head to the side. “This is me you’re talking to. I know about your attachment to murder victims, how you always need to refer to them by name. I know that you hate the sight of blood.”

  She waved him off. “Now you’re just making stuff up.”

  “And I know something’s up between you and Troy.”

  She glanced away and bit her bottom lip.

  “Yep, I’m right.”

  “Never mind my relationship, Terry. You said you were going home? So ’night.”

  Terry scanned her eyes. “’Night.” He took a few steps away from her, then looked back. “Troy will be fine tonight. Get some sleep.”

  Get some sleep. Yeah, right.

  -

  Chapter 36

  TROY AND HIS TEAM WERE in position. His watch read 11:55. Five minutes until go time. And yet he was calm inside, peaceful even. He’d been able to use his experience and coax himself into this state of mind. His breathing was paced and even, his heartbeat slow and steady.

  Nick was in front of Troy, David, Derek, and Charlie at the primary entry point. They’d confirmed Marc, Jay, and Clayton were in position at the secondary. The inner perimeter had been established that saw the street cordoned, and the outer perimeter kept people out for a few blocks.

  While it would be ideal to vacant all residents from nearby houses, it would greatly tip the Hellions off that something was up. Troy hated that clearing the neighborhood wasn’t possible. Certain types of bullets could penetrate brick and mortar, and when it came to gangs, one could usually expect a fight. Gang members weren’t exactly of the flight mentality.

  Troy glanced at David on his right and then at Charlie and Derek. Nick kept his attention forward. David was armed with a battering ram.

  “Secondary, confirm in position at B/C,” Troy said over the comms. That referred to where the back of the house met with the left side.

  “Confirmed,” Jay responded.

  One more soothing exhale and then it was time to move in. “Go! Go now!” Troy ordered.

  He heard the back door break as Marc would have torn through the wood to breach the house. Then Troy heard the detonation of the flashbang.

  Go time!

  David rammed through the front door, and Nick led the way with his shield and pistol, providing some cover for his team members following behind them as planned. Troy and the rest fil
tered in, MP5s raised and ready.

  Screams resonated in the home, and Troy and his team swarmed in the direction of the sound, to a living room with seven gang members gripping their ears and covering their eyes with one hand and clinging to a weapon with the other.

  “Secondary heading up now,” Jay said over the comms.

  They’d spread out, go to the second story, and disarm and apprehend any Hellions found up there.

  Nick led the way into the living room, Troy and the other primaries following behind. Three targets were seated on a couch, and four others were standing around the room. Lonnie Hogan was one of the men on the couch, yelling directions on what his men were to do. But there was so much confusion among them. The ones standing were unsteady on their feet, still knocked off-balance by the flashbang.

  Hogan was the first to pull his trigger. Nick managed his shield, providing the most coverage for Troy and the rest of the men with him. The trajectory of the bullet went wide, but more followed.

  Troy’s senses were at high alert, even above the gunfire. He could pick up everything—movement, sounds, smells.

  Jay called out over the comms and confirmed that the members upstairs had surrendered without a fight. Obviously they were smart enough to realize this encounter wasn’t worth their lives. Maybe the situation was already reaching a lull in the action, except they still had to get control of the main level.

  Down here, guns were still being fired. Troy and his men were seeking cover behind Nick’s shield in the hallway now.

  “Put down your weapons!” Troy yelled, trying to project his voice over the gunfire.

  The Hellions didn’t desist.

  Troy turned to Charlie. “FB in five seconds!” Flashbang.

  The secondary team would hear this request over the comms and know to put their protective earpieces in place again.

  Charlie waited the five seconds and tossed a flashbang into the room. He, Troy, and the rest of SWAT shielded their eyes, and once the flash had disappeared, they scurried around the room, disarming gang members quickly. Derek had Lonnie in seconds.

  Troy approached the last one, a young man of about twenty, if that. His eyes were vacant and he held his gun, its muzzle still smoking, seemingly steady, pointed at Troy’s chest. His face looked familiar. Russell Coleman?

  Troy now had the chance to get even for what he had done to Barry, but he didn’t want that. He wanted Coleman to live with what he had done. But Troy had to make the call. More lives were at stake. His men were still in the room, as were other Hellions. His mind ran through the assessment in a fraction of a second.

  Troy was about to pull his trigger when there was a loud crack, and red bloomed from the kid’s forehead before he fell to the ground.

  He turned around and saw Nick still holding his gun aimed at Coleman.

  In that moment, it was like the world stood still. Troy never relished taking a life—or even being witness to it. No good cop did. This, however, wasn’t a shady moment of choosing whether someone lived or died. It was black-and-white. Nick’s shot had been a good one, but that didn’t mean that the kid’s eyes wouldn’t haunt him from beyond the grave.

  Everything quieted down around Troy. He heard his men clearing out the Hellions, guiding them by cuffs that secured their wrists at their lower back. The situation had been neutralized.

  Still, Troy stood there looking down on the young man who had also made his choices in life and, sadly, had just paid for them.

  He pulled his eyes from the body to look at Nick. “It was a good shoot,” he said.

  And despite knowing that was the truth, that there was nothing to have done differently, he still felt the sickly drape of death threatening to suffocate him.

  -

  Chapter 37

  TROY STAYED WITH NICK AS he was minimally debriefed and escorted back to the station, where they took his rifle, which was standard protocol for when an officer was involved in a shooting. Nick was then sent home for the night, although it was really morning by this point seeing as it was 2:00 AM. Troy went home, too. Gangs would handle interviewing the Hellions.

  He kicked a tire on his Ford Expedition before getting in. He hated casualties on any given mission, on any given day, and they had a way of sticking to him like the humidity of summer. But why, of all the gang members, did it have to be Russell Coleman who was taken out? He didn’t deserve a bullet, an easy way out. He should have had to face a judge, serve a life sentence, and live with what he’d done to Barry.

  And with Coleman dead, they were also left without a solid lead in regard to the shooter’s identity.

  But even if Coleman hadn’t been the driver as he’d claimed he’d been, a man’s life was over. A good cop couldn’t just shake that off. Troy was so close with Nick that he may as well have pulled the trigger himself. Weaker cops turned to the bottle, and Troy was tempted. But it would only make matters worse. He knew this from experience, from kissing the bottom of countless whiskey bottles after he found out about his wife cheating with his best friend.

  Besides, there was no time for losing his head. The shooting would be reviewed by Internal Affairs—a bittersweet necessity because some cops weren’t above playing both sides of the law. He and his men would be asked to testify to the situation, and with each retelling, Nick would be forced to relive the moment. Troy would go through it along with his man. He’d seen the defiance in Coleman’s eyes, the hatred that lived there, and then he’d watched as that light went out, not fade with a flickering brightness but absolutely extinguish, as if someone had simply flipped a switch.

  Time-wise, it would all likely be over rather quickly, but it would still mean that Troy would lose Nick to some administrative duty that would likely bore him and have him stuck at the station, unable to help actively with the investigation or interact with the public in an official capacity. He’d be proclaimed a hero by his teammates and fellow officers for acting swiftly and saving their lives, but to Nick, the reassignment would feel like punishment. Troy knew the man well enough to know that, at least.

  Troy drove home, and the house felt so empty without Madison or Hershey there. With nothing else to distract him, his mind relived the shooting—first Coleman’s death and then Barry’s murder. How fast life could change…

  Troy gave in to the voice in his head that taunted him to have a drink. He poured himself an Irish whiskey, too lazy and not really caring enough to add ice, and dropped onto his couch. He took a long sip and let the liquid warm him up, but it also stole his defenses.

  The glass shook in his hands and he cried. He had nothing left. He’d had an amazing friend, and now he was gone. He’d had an amazing woman, and now she was gone. God, he was messed up right now. He drank the rest of his whiskey in big, eager gulps and put the empty glass on the end table.

  He couldn’t bring Barry back to life, although he’d give anything for that power. But he could get Madison back, or least make a valiant effort to do so. She didn’t deserve the way he’d been treating her. All she’d tried to do was be there for him, show that she cared, and he’d brushed her off as a nuisance.

  All of this was enough to throw him off. Hell, even Barry’s death alone would have been enough. And up until now, instead of thinking about what was important and holding on tighter, he had done the opposite, thinking that distancing himself would make things better, easier. But easier on whom and how, exactly?

  He pulled out his phone and poised his finger over Madison’s name. What could he possibly say to her right now? And it was two in the morning… He tossed his phone on the table, got up, grabbed his glass and the whiskey bottle, turned the lights out, and made his way down the hall to his bedroom.

  The room still smelled of her perfume, and he inhaled deeply. She only wore it in the evening because she said she’d rather be flogged naked next to city hall than give the men down at the station the imp
ression that she was a girlie girl. Those were pretty much her exact words. At the time he’d laughed and she’d hit him. He had tried to reason with her that wearing a fragrance wouldn’t diminish their respect for her, but she wasn’t about to accept his word on that. She said, What? Perfume one day and manicured nails the next? No. No way, Troy.

  He smiled at the memory, at her stubborn nature—the same quality that both drew him to her and could push him away depending on how she wielded the power.

  He undressed and then poured himself another glass of whiskey before getting into bed. Hopefully the amber liquid would lull him to sleep. And when he woke up, he’d make everything right.

  -

  Chapter 38

  “KNIGHT?”

  It was the sergeant’s voice. But where was it coming from? He sounded like he was miles away.

  She opened her eyes and found herself lying with her head on her desk, facing one wall of the bullpen. She must have fallen asleep. She lifted her head quickly as if to avoid getting caught, but it was obviously too late for that. The side of her mouth felt wet, and she wiped her hand across her cheek, smearing the drool. Yuck!

  Winston acted as though he hadn’t even noticed. “What are you doing here?”

  What was she doing here? She glanced at her monitor, but it had turned off and her mind wasn’t awake.

  He looked around her and down the hall. “Where’s Grant?”

  “He went home.” At least she remembered that much…

  “I suggest you do, too.”

  “I’m fine, Sarge.”

  He let his eyes run over her. “Really? That’s your story? Your hair’s standing straight up, and you have a sticky note stuck to your face. You sure don’t look fine.”

  Crap. She felt it now. On her right cheek. She pulled it off.

  Then she remembered. The Hellions…

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “After two. That’s why you need to go home and get some rest.”

  Her mind was clearing now. “How did the raid go on the Hellions?”