by Neal Griffin
THREE
“Good morning, sir. You wanted to see me?”
Chief Ben Sawyer turned to face Travis Jackson, who was standing in the doorway of Ben’s office, looking like a cowed dog with no fight left in him. Ben figured his newly appointed detective sergeant was still in recovery from the fallout over the blown hooker detail in Milwaukee. Ben didn’t see any reason to set the younger cop’s mind at ease just yet. He did his best to come off as officious. Without standing, Ben waved the man inside.
“Have a seat, Sergeant.”
Jackson made his way around a few moving boxes and pointed to the only chair not covered with books. “Here okay, sir?”
Ben nodded. “Sit down.”
Ben stared ahead and forced himself to remember he was as much at fault as Jackson, but Jesus. When Ben had signed off on the prostitution detail outside Newberg jurisdiction, the operation plan showed that Tia Suarez was assigned to report writing. When Ben learned Jackson had allowed Tia to work undercover as john bait, he nearly blew a gasket. Ben made a special nighttime visit to the department and the chewing out that followed was epic on any scale.
On top of the assignment issue, the Milwaukee PD cover units had been way out of position. Ben had listened to the tapes and, by his estimate, the response to Tia’s call for help had taken nearly thirty seconds. If Ben had run the op, the units would have been positioned to respond in less than half that time. But, just as Ben had reminded himself a dozen times since taking over as chief, his opinion on tactics was no longer sought.
Ben Sawyer had the luxury of experience beyond Newberg PD. When his thirteen-year career with Oakland came to an abrupt if not well-deserved conclusion, fate and family allowed him to land on his feet back in his hometown, thirty-five miles due west of Milwaukee. Just a few years later, circumstances landed him in the position of police chief of the small but active department.
In his heart, he was the same young officer who had once patrolled the streets of deep east Oakland. When Ben looked at Jackson, he saw a cop who had spent his entire eight years in law enforcement working for Newberg PD. A man who had never really been tested. Suarez, on the other hand, had been to hell and back so many times, even Ben had to hold the woman in awe. He knew she’d been having a tough time of it lately, but he knew she still had to do her job.
Ben gestured toward Jackson’s coat and tie. “You coming from court? Gunther Kane’s hearing was today, right? How did it go?”
“It didn’t go at all, Chief. The prosecutor pled it out. We didn’t have to testify.”
Ben mulled that over. “Well, I guess that could be a good thing. What was the deal?”
Jackson looked at the wall, telegraphing his dread. “You’re not going to like it, sir.”
“Why? What’s the problem?”
Jackson took a deep breath and dove in. “The lawyer kicked it all the way down to disorderly conduct. The guy got ten days. He’s going to walk by the end of the week.”
Ben felt his heart jump in his chest and he swallowed hard. He let the silence settle for a good ten seconds before he spoke, making a conscious effort to keep his voice down.
“I thought you said we had him dead to rights on felony assault? Aside from all the other stuff, I mean.” His words slowed to a crawl. “You said, Travis, the assault on an officer case was rock solid.”
Jackson dropped his head and Ben could sense the man’s frustration. “I know, Chief. I thought it was, but this damn attorney. As soon as we sat down, she started talking about how Tia didn’t ID herself, how the guy had some built-in defense. She even got all caught up in the force. Said it was excessive.”
“You buying that?” Ben fired back. “Is that the real reason?”
“I doubt it. Seemed to me her mind was made up before we even sat down.” Jackson looked up to catch Ben’s eye. “She even made some crack about Newberg PD. How we got a bunch of cowboys running the show.”
“Is that right?” Ben felt his jaw tighten even more. He’d been Newberg Chief of Police for less than two months, but already plenty had been written about his appointment. A few of the larger media outlets had rehashed his exploits in California, not to mention the rather unorthodox investigation he’d conducted into a series of murders. That had led directly to the resignation of his predecessor.
“She also brought up the stuff with Tia,” Jackson added.
Ben focused on his sergeant instantly. “What do you mean?”
“Before Tia even showed up, the lawyer, a woman named Graham, hit me pretty hard with questions about Tia’s history. She knew all about it. Had all the ugly details.”
“And? What else?” Ben noticed his fingers bouncing on the desk, so he balled his hand into a fist.
“She wanted to know about the van. If anyone else saw the girl Tia mentioned.” Jackson shrugged. “Asked me what I thought of the whole thing.”
“And what did you tell her?” Ben meant it as a challenge and he was glad when the man seemed to take it that way.
“What do you think, Chief? I told her I didn’t see anything, but whatever Tia said she saw was good enough for me.”
Jackson stared back and Ben reminded himself this was a good man. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for with heart. He was a good cop and Ben knew Jackson cared for Tia almost as much as Ben himself did.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. She left there pretty worked up. She really had it out with the attorney.”
“How so?” Ben closed his eyes. “Please tell me it didn’t get physical.”
“Everything but.” Jackson shrugged and Ben could see the man was trying not to smile. “Tia gave her hell, Chief. I figure you’ll be getting a phone call.”
So what, Ben thought. Pissed-off attorneys were part of the landscape and the least of his worries. But Tia was another matter. His worst fears were coming true. A girl in the back of a van needing to be rescued. No one but Tia saw anything. Right off, it had struck Ben as a familiar—and unlikely—story. As chief of police, Ben was well aware of Tia’s struggles since she’d returned to work. It had been an uphill battle with major setbacks.
“You think that’s why the lawyer kicked the case?” Ben asked the sergeant. “Because of Tia’s history?”
Jackson shook his head as if he wanted to avoid the whole subject of a cop who might be losing it. Ben couldn’t blame him, but he knew that as chief he didn’t have the same luxury. For Ben, dealing with Tia these days was like dancing on the head of pin. A grenade pin.
“So, should I go out there, Chief? To the farmhouse?” Jackson’s voice was full of uncertainty. “I tried to catch up to her at the courthouse, but I had to calm the attorney down. By the time I got out of the office, Tia was gone.”
“No. It’s okay. Don’t intrude on her personal space. I’ll send someone by to check on her.”
“Okay, Chief.” Jackson stood, ready to walk away, then stopped. He looked squarely at his boss and dove in. “This is all on me, sir. I should never have put Tia in that situation. But I swear, once she heard we were going over to Milwaukee for hooker detail she just wouldn’t let it go. Told me she needed to get back out there. That she was ready. She seemed so … I don’t know. So much like her old self, you know?
“I really blew it, sir. I’m sorry.”
On his feet now, Ben closed the distance between them and clasped Jackson by one shoulder. He saw it now. The man had been tortured enough and it was time to put the operation behind them. “It’s over and done with, Travis. We’ll learn from it. Now let’s just worry about Tia.”
Jackson nodded. Ben gave the sergeant a friendly nudge toward the door. “Get back to work. I’ll smooth things over with the attorney and I’ll make sure someone looks in on Tia.”
When he was alone again in his office, Ben’s thoughts went to Tia and what she might be going through. He wondered if he could go to her himself. Were they still that close? The answer was obvious. Hell no. He would be the last
person she wanted to see. The fallout from Tia’s shooting had caused a rift between them that showed no signs of closing.
“Excuse me, Chief?”
Ben looked up to see his secretary, Caroline Gunderson, in the doorway. He was still getting to know the young woman, who had recently replaced Bernice Erickson, a fixture in the chief’s office for many years. Bernice had retired from the PD to become the full-time nanny for the new baby in the Sawyer household.
“Yes, Caroline?”
“Ms. Patricia Graham is on the phone. She’s an attorney.” Caroline’s voice carried just a hint of intrigue. “Says she needs to speak with you about Detective Suarez.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet she does.”
“Shall I put her through?”
“Take a number, Caroline. Tell her I’ll call her back in a few minutes.” Ben knew the call would take some time, and there was something he wanted to do before placating Graham.
“She says it’s important, Chief. She sounds upset.”
Ben sighed and repeated himself. “Tell her I’ll call her in ten minutes. I need to take care of something else first.”
Caroline raised her eyebrows and walked back to her desk. Ben heard her pick up the phone and was pleased that her conversation with Graham was nothing less than a picture of professionalism. Ben grabbed his cell phone off his desk and scrolled through his contacts until he found what he was looking for. Ben couldn’t go to Tia, but he knew someone who could. After a few rings, the familiar voice came on the line.
“Hey, Connor. Ben Sawyer. I need you to do me a favor.”
FOUR
The sun overwhelmed her wraparound Ray-Bans. Tia closed her eyes and tugged down on the bill of her straw Stetson, which had turned dark with years of sweat. She sat slung low in the pinewood Adirondack chair, one bare foot kicked up over the wide armrest. Her sleeveless cotton shirt was mostly unbuttoned and tied off across her ribs in a knot her mother would have insisted was far too high. Tia traced the cold bottle of Montejo over the jagged, raised patches of still-pink scar tissue that ran across her stomach. The sweat of the bottle mixed with her own caused a sting that told her she still wasn’t anywhere near drunk enough.
Tia opened her eyes and turned her head at the sound of a soft whine. Ringo, her eight-year-old yellow Lab–mastiff mix, lay nearby, his massive head flush against the wood deck of the porch like it had been poured there, his sad brown eyes full of disapproval. Tia had picked the 140-pound dog out of a rescue lineup at the Waukesha County humane society shelter just hours before his appointment with the needle. It had been only a few days after her discharge from the Marines and the idea of living completely alone scared the hell out of her. Nowadays, the neutered animal was the closest thing she could manage to a sustained relationship with a male and most times that was fine with her.
When their eyes met, Ringo gave a single hard thump with his tail against the wood of the porch. Tia couldn’t help but smile and her voice was gentle. “Come on, Ringo. Nobody likes to be judged by their dog. Knock it off.”
As if to show the old dog she meant business, Tia lifted the bottle of tequila from the nearby table and poured two ounces of the clear liquid into a shot glass. She tossed the drink back without the slightest grimace and chased it with another long swallow of beer. Settling her head against the wooden chair back, she took in the countryside spread out like a canvas before her.
The field of wild green grasses blew in the hot breeze and the Wisconsin landscape wavered in the heat. Chickadees darted in and out of her vision as if engaged in aerial military maneuvers. Tia did her best to ignore the line of prefab homes that sat a half mile away on her property line. She lifted her gaze to the cloudless sky.
The effects of the hot sun, perfectly aged silver tequila, and cold beer allowed her to stay in a place of thoughtful reflection. Between that and the lingering effects of the benzos she had popped a few hours earlier, her morning in the lawyer’s office had finally begun to fade. She was under control and properly anesthetized.
What the hell am I doing? This isn’t the way to deal with it.
In a brief moment of clarity she imagined herself dead on the porch, OD’d on booze and meds. She could practically read the headline:
FORMER MARINE AND NEWBERG POLICE OFFICER DIES FROM OVERDOSE AT 29
She could almost hear the whispered conversations at her wake. “She was never the same after the shooting.” Or, more likely, “That Suarez was one crazy cop.”
What would Sawyer think? And her parents? Then again, worrying about other people was what got her into this mess. Tia pushed back on the images as well as the feelings of guilt.
It had been almost a year since her near-death experience, served up by an ex-con in a café in Danville, Illinois. Two rounds to the gut had left her on the brink, but she had battled back, at least physically. The long road to recovery had revealed truths that still left her struggling. Truths that terrified her and that she knew she could never share. Not with anyone.
She gave her head a vigorous shake, a conscious effort to not walk through certain mental doors. Keep it safe, she thought. Stay in the moment. Here and now. She forced her mind to return to what sat in front of her.
Home. The one place I can really step away, she thought. Disconnect. Put away all the masks and disguises needed to survive every day. The old two-story clapboard farmhouse and the land it sat on were literally the world Tia had grown up in. She’d bought the property, which sat just outside the city limits of Newberg, three years ago, after she’d learned the land was being parceled out to make way for six hundred tract homes that would house the insatiable horde of young thirtysomethings commuting to Madison or Milwaukee.
The landowner, the same farmer who’d hired Tia’s father as general laborer almost twenty-five years earlier, was pushing ninety. After several years of poor crops, low prices, and a series of bad financial decisions, the bank was set to foreclose—and make a fortune from exploiting the land in a way that would never occur to the farmer. Tia couldn’t save the whole spread, but she pulled a fast one on the developers and managed to buy the farmhouse and the surrounding four acres for half the market value. She made a promise to the old man that the last remnant of his homestead, land that had been in his family for three generations, would remain on the earth for at least one more.
To Tia the land was her stand against the world. An outpost surrounded on all sides by the state’s version of Levittown. Tia liked to think she was standing guard over a piece of Wisconsin history, but she knew it wasn’t the land or even the house that really mattered. She gazed down the worn dirt path and gave some thought to taking “the walk,” but before she could make up her mind she heard a familiar sound.
At the thrum of the truck engine, Ringo gave a deep, quick bark of approval. He pulled himself to his feet and rumbled down the steps, no doubt happy someone had come along who could talk sense into his human. The pickup drove fast over the hard dirt surface, navigating past the boulders and white birch trees with confident familiarity.
Connor Anderson locked the four wheels just shy of the grass, sending out a shower of pebbles and rocks. He stared at Tia from the driver’s seat for several seconds, his large hands casually draped across the top of the steering wheel. The door whined on its hinges and he stepped out, walking halfway up the six porch steps before stopping and leaning against the rail. Watching closely, Tia saw only the barest trace of a limp. Connor dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans and studied the scene before him.
Surrounded by a bucket of cold beer and a parade of empties, a bottle of tequila on the table and a refilled shot glass in her hand, Tia returned his stare with a hard look of her own. Connor folded his arms across his chest and Tia knew what was coming. Ringo sat beside Connor’s feet and grinned at his human with an expression that said, Now you’re gonna get it. Tia stared back at the dog to remind him where his food came from. She downed the shot, then turned away to set the empty glass on the table,
projecting nothing but indifference.
Connor’s voice was patient but aggravating as hell. “You know it’s not even supper time. You think maybe you should go easy on that stuff?”
Tia spoke cautiously to avoid slurring her words. “It’s almost five.”
He gave a light laugh, making her feel judged even though she knew he didn’t intend it. “It’s three o’clock, girl. Let’s go inside. The Brewers are on TV. They’re in New York playing the Mets. I’ll throw something on the grill.”
“You go on in. I’m good right here.” Tia hoped he’d take the hint, then felt the warmth of connection when he climbed the remaining steps and moved toward the neighboring chair. There’s no denying it, she thought. It’s always good to see him.
Tia watched Connor fold his tall, slender frame into the seat, his right leg thrust straight out in front of him. He didn’t look her way, just stared out across the open field, his blue eyes radiant in the sunlight, his jawline a near-perfect right angle, stubbled with a day’s growth. The John Deere ball cap she had bought him at last year’s state fair was pulled low over his brow, covering his thick blond hair.
“All right then, fine. Go on and sit there if you want, but don’t ruin this for me.” She leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. “I’m just about right where I want to be.”
Tia and Connor had gone to high school together. Well, not really together—Tia was a sophomore at Newberg High when Connor was a senior. He’d been making plenty of noise on the local sports scene as a star pitcher on the school’s baseball team, but to Tia he was just one of five hundred students. He liked to take long looks at her … but after he passed she usually glanced back over her shoulder, taking a good look of her own.
After graduating, Connor had signed with the Brewers’ Single-A team, the Appleton Timber Rattlers. He’d soon realized that an 83 mph fastball might mean something in high school, but it was a pitch made for batting practice in the pros, even if you could dress it up with a pretty good curve. After a single season, Connor returned to Newberg to work the family farm.
