by Colin Conway
Garrett let out a long sigh. “Man, you are a depressing guy. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“If they did, I didn’t bother listening.”
Garrett chuckled slightly in spite of himself.
“Excuse me,” Oakley said. “I have a question.”
Clint turned his gaze to the barber.
“He asked earlier if you were going to arrest him. You said you might not have a choice. What’s that mean?”
“It means that I think the prosecutor and those two clowns Talbott and Pomeroy will eventually get their act together and charge him for the assault, and for the drugs.”
“It’ll never stick,” Garrett said.
“Maybe not. They’ll charge it up either way. There’s too much public pressure.”
“Seems to me,” Oakley said, his voice sound tired and angry at the same time, “we’re still lynching black men in this country even today. The only thing that’s changed is the rope.”
Clint nodded in agreement. “It’s an ugly thing,” he said, “but it goes deeper than that.”
“Deeper?” Garrett asked. “We talking conspiracy now?”
“Conspiracy is everywhere, if you look with a critical eye. I’m not talking about that. Black is one color that matters here, no doubt. There’s another color in play, too.”
Oakley gave him a perplexed look, but Garrett understood.
“Blue,” he said.
“Exactly.” Clint was glad the kid was smart enough to see it. “City Hall has to worry about both issues. In some ways, the blue outweighs the black. The weight of the Philadelphia shooting, and every other police shooting in the country is part of what drives the response to yours. There’s a lot of moving parts.”
“I did my job,” Garrett said, his jaw clenched.
He gave Garrett a hard, appraising look. “Look, I don’t necessarily like you. I think you’re a prima donna poster boy who played the game and got awful cozy with the white shirts along the way. However, I believe you. What they’re doing to you isn’t right. They don’t care about figuring out the actual truth, and that flat out angers me. Something stinks about this whole situation and finding out the truth of the matter is the only way we figure out where the smell comes from. I don’t give half a backward shit who gets what they got coming when that truth is discovered, even including you. I promise you this. I will find the truth.”
“They say the truth will set you free,” Garrett said quietly.
“I don’t think we’re gonna find that kind of truth.”
Chapter 36
“I’ve been waiting to hear this for an hour and a half, Lieutenant,” the chief said. “The mayor is climbing all over my ass. Tell me something good.”
Farrell watched as Flowers swallowed nervously. Right then, he knew things were completely sideways.
“It’s not good, sir.”
Farrell should have known the answer to this before he and Flowers came to the chief’s office. Things were breaking too fast, and he was cut out of the loop. He imagined he should feel lucky just to be in the meeting now.
Baumgartner clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Give it to me straight.”
“We screwed up.”
“We?”
“My detectives,” Flowers clarified. “They got wrapped up in doing follow up and didn’t get the paperwork done.”
“Who?”
“Talbott and Pomeroy.”
Farrell winced. He couldn’t believe Flowers was throwing his men under the bus like that.
“Those are veteran detectives,” the chief said.
“They are. However, this is a high-profile case, and Garrett’s one of our own. It threw things off. They were focused on conducting follow up. Both thought the other one filed the charging request affidavit, and it fell through the cracks.”
“That’s a pretty major oversight!”
“I know.”
Chief Baumgartner drummed his heavy fingers on his desk. “You’re the commander of the Major Crimes Unit, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ultimately, it is your responsibility.”
Flowers blanched.
“And he walked,” finished the chief. “It’s your fault, right?”
“Yes, sir. Technically. But—”
“But nothing. Dan, if you can’t run that unit, I will transfer you out and bring someone else in who can. Put you over at the garage in charge of making sure the hubcaps get polished.”
Flowers swallowed. “Sir, our record—my record—we’ve done good work. This mistake—”
“Is massive. We’re on the national stage here. Your detectives and their mistake makes us all look like Keystone Cops.” He continued to drum his fingers.
Flowers remained silent. Farrell thought that was wise. The chief’s temper wasn’t something you wanted to invoke, and excuses, whether valid or not, were a frequent catalyst of that temper.
Finally, Baumgartner said, “I can’t go to the mayor with ‘mistakes happen.’ How do we fix it?”
Flowers swallowed, obviously uncomfortable. “I…I think the best thing to do is let the investigation run its course. When it is completed, the prosecutor can decide whether or not charges are merited or not. They can direct file via affidavit. They don’t need us to request charges. Technically.”
“Technically?” the chief asked. “Normally, we do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I wasn’t asking,” the chief snapped. “I’ve been on this job before you were a glint in the milkman’s eye. I know how this place runs.” He turned to Farrell. “Tom?”
Farrell thought about it before answering. “There’s an advantage to what Dan is suggesting. It keeps us from appearing biased. If we request charges against Garrett, there’s the risk of people thinking he’s been persecuted because of his race. If we don’t request charges, there’s the risk of people thinking that it is a case of the police taking care of our own. Either way is bad for us.”
“We just kick the can down the street,” the chief said.
Farrell shrugged. He believed it was more like a game of Pass the Turd, but the chief’s analogy worked, and the more you agreed with Chief Baumgartner when you could, the better things tended to go.
Baumgartner mulled it over, then shook his head. “I am so sick of politics.”
Then you picked the wrong job, Farrell thought, but kept silent.
The chief heaved a heavy sigh. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Chapter 37
Detective Cassidy Harris sat opposite SPD Officer Ray Zielinski. She activated her voice recorder, glanced at McNutt to make sure he was ready, then turned back to the officer. She knew Zielinski only by reputation, which was good. Truth be told, most of her experiences with SPD officers and detectives had been decent, and the agency seemed to have a lot of talent. That was part of what made dealing with Clint such a frustration. They could have landed virtually anyone else as a shadow and not had to worry about conspiracies or conflicts.
Zielinski was accompanied by Dale Thomas, the police union president. Harris didn’t know Thomas, other than from his occasional media statement. He seemed affable, though it was clear he’d put on his game face for this interview.
Harris read the rote opening she always used to begin official interviews like this. She noted the date, the time, and who was present. She asked each person present to identify themselves and consent to being recorded so that anyone listening would know who was who. All three men followed her directions woodenly. With that out of the way, she launched into the interview.
“This interview is part of the ongoing investigation into the shooting death of Todd Trotter. Officer Zielinski, can you take me through the events as you recall them?”
Zielinski nodded, and began to describe how he responded to back up Garrett, then heard shots. Harris listened carefully, making an occasional note. Beside her, McNutt wrote nothing.
Her standard interview strategy was to walk the witness through the events as gently as possible the first time and elicit as much information as possible. Unless she absolutely had to, she didn’t interrupt, only giving the witness mild nudges to keep the story rolling. If she encountered problems or issues in what she heard, she made note of them and circled back around to them rather than address them at the time.
This last piece drove McNutt crazy. He was like a pit bull in interviews, going for the jugular as soon as he felt like it was exposed. To his way of thinking, an interview was a battle to be won. Harris saw merit to his thinking when it came to a suspect interrogation, at least some of the time, but an interview was supposed to be a collaborative affair between the witness and the detective. For that reason, she’d asked McNutt to remain silent unless she specifically asked him to interject.
Zielinski didn’t seem like a reluctant witness, but his guard was up. Maybe it was because Garrett was his friend and co-worker, or maybe this was just his “testimony” face. Either way, Harris could sense something there, below the surface.
Once Zielinski described arriving on scene and his interactions with Garrett, he stopped. Harris began circling back around to a few items of interest.
“You had your dash camera on, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Is that standard?”
“It is for me.”
“Is it automatic, though?”
“No,” Zielinski said. “Whenever I hit my lights, I hit the camera, too. The button is right there. Besides, it’s policy.”
“Was Officer Garrett’s camera activated?”
“How can he know that?” Dale Thomas interjected.
Harris shrugged. “I’m not familiar with the system.” She looked at Zielinski. “Is there a way to tell?”
Zielinski shifted in his seat before answering. “Yes. There’s a small red light that comes on when it’s recording. You can see it through the windshield.”
“Did you notice if Officer Garrett’s light was on?”
“I didn’t really notice it at first, but when he went back to get his flashlight, he turned it on.”
“What did you think of that?”
“Okay,” Thomas broke in again. “I’m going to stop you there. What he thought isn’t a matter of evidence.”
Harris gave Thomas a cool stare. “Counselor, you’re free to express your objection by stating ‘exception’ for the record, but I can ask any question I see fit to ask. Officer Zielinski is a witness here, not a suspect.”
“Witness or suspect, he has rights.”
“I’m not violating them.”
Thomas made a slightly pained expression. “Ehhh…you’re coming awfully close.”
“I’ll answer,” Zielinski said.
“You don’t have to,” Thomas told him.
Yes, you do, Harris thought, but she held her tongue.
“It’s all right.” Zielinski turned to Harris. “The answer is, I don’t know why it wasn’t already on.”
“Why do you think?”
“Now you’re asking him to speculate,” Thomas argued.
Harris ignored him, keeping her eyes locked on Zielinski.
The veteran officer leaned back in his chair. He looked at her and McNutt and shook his head. “I don’t know.” He glanced at Thomas, then continued. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot today, and that’s the best I can do. I don’t know. What I do know is that Ty Garrett’s been a good platoon mate for years. I know he takes his calls for service without complaining, and he does a good job on them. He’s always there when I ask for back-up, and he knows tactics. He’s a family man, and he cares about the community we work in. He takes it personally when someone does crime in East Central. In the last couple of days, it seems like everyone has forgotten about all of that.” Zielinski paused, then added, “Me included.”
“Officer—” Harris began.
“My guess is he forgot, Detective. He’s human, just like the rest of us, and he forgot. He made a mistake.”
Harris was quiet as she looked over at McNutt. He didn’t meet her gaze, but he had a strange expression on his face, one that mirrored Zielinski’s.
She heard a buzz and followed the sound to Dale Thomas’ phone. The union president glanced down at the screen, then vaulted to his feet. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right back.” He answered on his way out of the room. “Hello? This is Dale.”
When the door pulled shut, Harris turned back to Zielinski. She knew better than to try to continue the interview in the absence of the union president, but it didn’t really matter. It was obvious to her that the interview was over.
“Thanks for coming in,” she said. “I appreciate your honesty.”
Zielinski gave her a tight-lipped nod before he rose and left the room.
Harris noted the time the interview concluded and snapped off the voice recorder.
“He’s got a point, you know,” McNutt said.
She considered reminding McNutt that he’d jumped on the “Garrett is dirty” bandwagon from the first moment they’d heard about the arrest for drugs, but let it go. Instead, she said, “Our responsibility is the shooting. Nothing more. We need to keep our investigation compartmentalized from whatever else is happening here.”
“Which is what?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Harris answered.
Maybe I should ask Clint, she thought sarcastically.
Chapter 38
Ty Garrett stepped out the back of Oak’s Barbershop and dialed the phone number Wardell Clint had given him. He’d waited long enough and had no doubt this call would be answered quickly.
Second ring. “Hello? This is Dale.”
“Dale, it’s Ty Garrett.”
“Oh, man, am I glad to hear from you,” Union President Dale Thomas said. “We’ve got to talk.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You know?”
Garrett leaned against the building and stared at the ground. “I talked with Wardell. He told me about the administrative leave. They’re hanging me out to dry, but I’m ready to talk to the county.”
“Screw that, they’ve just filed the PC affidavit. Detective Pomeroy is getting the warrant signed now. Once that’s done, they’ll be coming for you.”
“You’re kidding me. I just had my first appearance and was released this morning.”
“Word is Talbott and Pomeroy screwed up on the filing. The chief is on the warpath over this and blew up Flowers for it. He’s using the affidavit and warrant to remind everyone this is his department, not the mayor’s. Seems like you’re getting dragged into some pissing match between him and city hall. Rumors are swirling that there could be some department realignments because of this.”
Garrett pushed off the wall, his voice rising with anger. “That’s not my problem. I hope heads roll since I’m the only one taking real heat in this whole fucking debacle.”
“Why don’t you come to my office and I’ll walk with you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The warrant. Let’s hit this head on.”
“I’m not turning myself in.”
“What?”
“You may have faith in this system, Dale. I’m fast losing it. I think I’m converting to the Wardell Clint vision of the world.”
“Don’t say that. We can figure this out.”
“Keep thinking that, prez. Thanks for the heads up on the warrant. I’ll be in touch.”
Garrett walked back inside and found Delmar Oakley sitting at the table. The older man watched him with pursed lips. “You heard that conversation?”
“Most of it. Sounds like things just went from bad to worse.”
“It most definitely did. I need to go, Oak. I can’t stay here. Too many people know where I’m at now. They’ll come looking and that means they’ll be bothering you.”
Oakley nodded. “I under
stand, son. Do you need anything from me? Some money?”
“I’m good with money, but I do need a favor, though.”
“What’s that?”
“You still got that snub nose in the drawer? The one under the cash register.”
Oakley’s eyes turned suspicious. “What do you need that for?”
Garrett shook his head. “I don’t trust how things are working out. Someone is painting me into a corner. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“A gun doesn’t solve anything.”
“Then why do you have it?”
Oakley studied Garrett before nodding. “Okay,” he said, then stood with a groan and walked out to the barbershop floor. He talked with the other barber for a bit then he pulled open the drawer and discreetly removed the gun without the other barber noticing. When he returned, he handed Garrett a Smith & Wesson snub nose .38 and a box of shells. “I hope you don’t need these.”
Garrett opened the cylinder and saw six rounds inside. He put the revolver into the front pocket of his shorts and then looked around the kitchen area. He grabbed a small paper bag and put the shells inside. “I appreciate this, Oak.”
“I’ve owned it for almost fifteen years and never fired it once,” Oakley said. “I pray you don’t have to use that.”
“What the hell, T? I thought you were in jail?” the tall, white man said. His bald head and face were deeply tanned from the summer sun. He wore shorts, a white tank top, and flip-flops.
“Can I come inside?” Ty Garrett asked.
Derek Tillman smiled and waved him inside. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I was surprised, is all. You’ve been all over the news lately.”
Garrett had left Oak’s barbershop through the back door and walked through the East Central neighborhood until he made it to an ATM near the corner of Sprague and Third. After he withdrew some cash, he placed a call to SpoCab and one arrived a few minutes later. When he slid into the back seat, he gave the driver an address in Liberty Lake, a small city east of Spokane. The cab took off immediately.
