Behind the Badge

by J. D. Cunegan

  At the Academy, she put all of her focus on getting that badge to clear her dad's name. That was her focus when the physical pain was too much and it felt like she would drown in the sheer volume of red tape and department regulations. Even when it was clear she wouldn't be able to free her father, Jill clung to what the badge represented, determined to never let herself fall into the same pit her father had.

  Now, it felt like a burden more than anything. What she once thought was a symbol of truth and bravery and all that was good reminded her of corruption and all of the worst traits of humanity. Over the past few days, she had stared into the eyes of those who used their solemn oath not to make people's lives better, but to act like high school bullies with personal vendettas. And those in charge simply looked the other way, while other cops throughout the city stood in line with the aggressors. Her own Homicide team aside, Jill was short on allies in the department.

  That in and of itself didn't bother her -- Jill never did this job to gain the approval of others -- but knowing these were people who could make her life hell was another matter. Time was, Jill wondered why cops who knew of corruption or brutality kept quiet while the guilty went free, but now she understood. It was a measure of self-preservation: keeping one's mouth shut meant they stayed employed. Staying quiet meant professional advancement was still possible. Speaking out meant ostracizing, black-balling... maybe even outright firing.

  If not something worse.

  Colonel Downs was still recovering from his injuries. He had spoken up when no one else would, and four police officers made him pay for it. The message had been received, too, because the colonel hadn't said a word since the attempt on his life in the hospital. There was no telling how Colonel Downs would act once he returned to his job, but Jill understood she could probably no longer count on his support.

  Ramona Parish, one of the city's most tireless defenders of truth and freedom, had been gunned down in front of a live television audience after having the audacity to hold four police officers accountable for their misconduct. She had stood up to corruption, she had made her stand, and she paid a swift and public price for it.

  “For the first time since being given this badge,” she admitted, “I really don't.”

  “Don't let them get to you. I can protect you.”

  “No, you can't.” Jill shook her head. “They'll shut you out just like they'll do to me. The rest of our unit, too. I'm not gonna let them do that to Ramon and the others.”

  Richards huffed a nervous laugh. “You underestimate me.”

  “No, you underestimate them,” Jill countered. “What they did to Downs, what they did to the DA, threatening me at every turn... Cap, this job is hard enough. You don’t need more roadblocks. I'm radioactive at this point.”

  “You are the best damn cop I've ever trained,” Richards said. “You're even better than your father. You know I have your back, just like everyone else on this team. Everyone could've turned you in when they learned your secret, but they didn't. Because they all know the same thing I know: you are a credit to the Baltimore Police Department, you are a hero to this city, and we need you.”

  “I really wish it was that simple,” Jill muttered as tears built in her right eye. “Dan, I do more good as Bounty than I do here half the time.”

  “That is bullshit,” Richards argued, “and you know it.”

  “Do I?” Jill shrugged, slipping out of her captain's grasp and pacing back and forth. “My being a vigilante was the only reason we ever tracked down Dr. Roberts' killer. Bounty was the only thing that saved the Colonel's life. In this line of work, things are already ruined by the time a case gets to me. Someone's already dead, other people's lives already ruined.”

  “You don't have to go on this crusade alone.”

  “Yeah?” Jill cocked her head to the side. “And who's got my back? The rest of the force? The commissioner? The mayor? This other vigilante that's running around?”

  “We have your back.” Richards placed his hands on Jill's shoulders again. “Ramon, Earl, Hi, Whitney... we stand with you and beside you no matter what.”

  “And I appreciate that.” Jill slipped her arms around her captain's shoulders and closed her eyes when she felt his arms return the favor. “I really, really do... and I can't tell you how much I love you all. But...” She pulled out of the hug. “A handful of us against the entire city? Maybe even the state?”

  “You act like it's a war.”

  “Isn't it?” Jill shrugged. “Okay, maybe not in the strictest sense, but...”

  Richards leaned against the edge of his desk, folding his arms over his chest. “Did you know the first time they wanted me to be captain, I turned it down?” He gave a rueful smile when Jill shook her head. “I didn't wanna deal with the politics and the bullshit. I'd heard all the stories, how captains spent more time in meetings downtown and pouring over spreadsheets than they did actually working with the cops they were in charge of.”

  Jill arched a brow. “This the part where you tell me you were wrong?”

  “No, I was a hundred percent right. But here's the thing... for all of the bullshit, this job still matters. I still make a difference in this city. Don't let the minutia and the battles you can't win blind you from the real, honest good you do. You got Devin'sfamily to believe in the system again. You showed her that there are still cops in this city who can be trusted. And look at Detective Gutierrez with Mitch.”

  Jill shook her head and glanced down at her feet. As desperately as she wanted to believe in everything Richards was saying, as idealistic as she wished she still was, Jill couldn't fool herself anymore. She had seen too much over the past year-plus, and she had seen just how out of her element and useless she truly was. Her badge and gun only went but so far... and that was before Jill found herself staring back at other badges determined to make sure she couldn't do her job.

  “I can never win,” she mumbled.

  “This job's not about winning,” Richards countered. “This job is a constant battle. The day you stop fighting is the day you turn in your badge.”

  Pursing her lips with a nod, Jill held out her hand. The badge rested in her palm, and she watched as her captain took in the sight of it before meeting her gaze. When he cocked his head to the side, a mixture of hurt and confusion contorting his softly wrinkled features, she drew a deep breath and forced herself to stand up a little straighter.

  “I'm tired of the battle,” she said, placing her badge into Richards' hand. “I resign.”

  CHAPTER 55

  No sooner did Jill leave Captain Richards’ office, acutely aware of the badge no longer clipped to her belt, than the doubt began to set in. It was, to be sure, a rash decision -- though Jill guessed anything short of retirement after almost forty years on the force would seem rash. But this case had pushed Jill to her limits and showed her just how much she was willing to put up with before fighting back. The last thing she wanted to do was fight criminals and those who were supposed to be in her corner. But the Bishop had made its intentions clear, and Jill decided she could no longer serve her hometown if those above her were going to impede her.

  She felt the tears threatening to fall when she slipped into the elevator and trekked her way to the red Malibu she still called her own. But Jill hadn’t let them fall -- not because she was adverse to showing emotion, but because she was determined to remain resolute. She feared if she broke down, she would change her mind… and how would it look if she came crawling back into her captain’s office begging for her badge back?

  For better or worse, Jill had made her proverbial bed.

  Having left the precinct, Jill rounded the corner to duck into an alley that doubled as a shortcut home. The sun was high in the midday sky, and Jill had to shield her eyes from the brightness before the alley’s shadows enveloped her. Alleys were borderline cliché for her at this point, but the sooner Jill got home, the better.

  That is, until the sound of a gun cocking from behind sto
pped Jill in her tracks.

  Fighting the urge to roll her eyes -- because of course the hits weren’t done coming yet -- Jill rose her arms and slowly turned around to face whoever was holding her at gunpoint this time. When she saw the red beard and the blue eyes staring back at her, Jill huffed a laugh and shook her head.

  “Tell me,” Brady said, cocking his head to the side, “how is it no one at the department’s put two and two together with you yet?”

  “If you’re here for your friend, I’ve got news for you.”

  “Oh, I know.” Brady shrugged. “All part of the plan.”

  “Yet you threatened to come at me with Paulson by your side, so… what is the plan?” Jill shook her head. “All I’m seeing is a bunch of piss poor cops running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”

  Brady took three steps forward, the weapon in his grasp trembling. He was trying to show anger, but his eyes were more fearful than anything. His hand was shaking worse now than it had been the other night, and for the first time, Jill wondered if there was a plan at all.

  “Paulson shooting the DA, I get.” Jill lowered her arms and took a step forward of her own. “Devin Buckner’s murder made him pine for the good ol’ days, and when Ramona charged those officers with murder, he snapped. He reverted back to the officer who gave my father a concussion… only this time, he had a sniper rifle at his disposal.”

  “Paulson was smart when he wanted to be,” Brady added.

  “But what about the preacher?” Jill narrowed her gaze. “He swears up and down he didn’t do the preacher, but I don’t buy it.”

  “That old fart wasn’t Paulson.” Brady’s upper lip curled into a disgusted sneer. “That one was me.”

  “Why?”

  Brady lifted his weapon again; now, instead of the barrel pointing at Jill’s chest, it moved to her forehead. Being held at gunpoint was old by this point, so in one smooth motion, Jill snapped Brady’s wrist and disarmed him. Cradling his gun in both hands, Jill emptied the clip and snapped the weapon in two before tossing the pieces to the ground.

  “Let’s try this again,” she said off Brady’s stunned, teary-eyed look. “Why kill the preacher?”

  “It was supposed to keep Paulson occupied,” Brady explained, his good hand curling into a fist as he cradled his broken wrist against his chest. “He was supposed to be so busy working the case that Buckner and the DA never showed up on his radar.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Bishop protected Paulson for decades,” Brady said. “Downtown didn’t wanna throw a war vet onto the streets, even if his record justified his firing. I saw the writing on the wall when Parish took over as DA, turned in my badge and moved to my grandparents’ farm. Paulson was a little more stubborn.”

  “But something changed the Bishop’s mind,” Jill theorized.

  “Last month, he called me in a panic.” Brady shook his head. “Apparently, things had gotten out of hand with a suspect in Interrogation. Punches were thrown, the suspect slammed their head on the table… it was bad. They threatened to sue the pants off of the department.”

  “The Bishop wouldn’t protect Paulson with so much money on the line,” Jill said.

  Brady nodded once. “The BPD is as frugal as it is ruthless.”

  “Why tell me all this?” Jill pursed her lips. “And why use Paulson’s gun to kill the preacher?”

  “Cause in the end, Paulson was a piece of shit,” Brady said with a shake of his head and tears in his eyes. “We both were.”

  The frown on Jill’s face deepened. “What?”

  “Because in a perfect world, you’re the sort of cop I’d like to be.” Brady shook his head. “Because as much as I wanna kill you right now, part of me wishes I could go back and do things over.”

  “Wouldn’t change anything.” Jill shrugged. “The good ones always get the short end of things around here.”

  “Shame what happened to your daddy.”

  Reaching out, Jill grabbed Brady by his collar, lifting him up off the ground and wrapping her other hand around his neck. The glow of infrared seeped through her skin graft. “You’re as responsible for that as anyone else.”

  “So kill me.” Brady shrugged. “Give me what I deserve.”

  Was that what this was all about? Was Brady after something other than revenge or loyalty to his former partner? Was all of this anger and bravado a front? Sam Brady didn’t play like the fall-on-the-sword type, but in the span of two nights he had gone from gung-ho revenge kick to wanting to die. Was he unstable, or was this all just some scheme of his? She assumed his presence had been about helping Paulson and making sure justice was never served -- never mind the fact that the four officers who killed Devin Buckner had already been dealt with. Part of Jill wondered if Brady was the other vigilante, but the body type wasn’t the same.

  “You know I won’t do that.” Jill shook her head and put Brady back on the ground. “Why attack me the other night?”

  Instead of answering, Brady reached down to his ankle with his good arm, pulling another firearm out from under his pants leg and bringing the weapon to his right temple. Jill took another step forward and reached out to grab Brady’s good wrist. Whatever anger and fear that had been in Brady’s eyes when he first cornered her in the alley were gone, and his blue eyes were dull and lifeless. His trigger finger trembled.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” she pleaded. “Mr. Brady, put down that gun…”

  “I’m a dead man no matter what,” Brady muttered as nonchalantly as he could, even as tears slipped from his eyes and down his cheeks. “Just... apologize to that preacher’s family, will ya?”

  Before Jill could say anything else, Brady pulled the trigger. The shot rang out and echoed in Jill’s head, and she recoiled when she saw the bullet burst out through the other side of Brady’s head. His lifeless body crumpled to the pavement, blood and brain matter splattered all over the ground and the nearby wall. A flock of doves flew off amid the commotion, and Jill could only cover her mouth and avert her eyes.

  Chapter 56

  Two hours after Jill had turned in her badge, and she was right back at the Seventh Precinct. Holed up in the conference room next to Captain Richards’ office, Jill sat in one of the swivel chairs with her knees tucked under her chin and a dazed look on her face. A steaming mug of coffee sat in front of her, but it went untouched. Jill was in no mood for coffee, not when the only thing she could see was Sam Brady blowing his brains out over and over again.

  It made no sense; two nights prior, Brady had shot Jill in the face and made it known that he was a force to be reckoned with. Now, not only was Joshua Paulson dead -- from a cyanide capsule -- but now Sam Brady had also offed himself after a fit of remorse for past sins. If Brady was so remorseful, then why attack Jill the way he had? Unless he had hoped the vigilante would take care of him and save him the trouble of offing himself. He had begged for her to kill before doing the deed himself.

  Hitori Watson and Earl Stevens walked into the conference room, and Stevens locked the door and closed the blinds. They each sat across from Jill without saying a word, before Stevens leaned forward in his seat and flipped open the over-stuffed file folder he had been carrying.

  “Everything Brady told you was true,” he began without his usual bluster. “He left the department not long after he and Paulson were transferred, cause the DA’s office was looking into accusations he was beatin’ his wife.”

  “None of this makes any sense,” she said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

  “Three days before Mitch’s grandfather was killed, Brady flew into BWI from Gulfport-Biloxi,” Watson explained. “He had received a call from Paulson the day before saying he needed some help.”

  The frown on Jill’s face deepened. She wrapped both hands around the mug, but only so she could feel the warmth. “What kind of help?”

  “Apparently,” Stevens added, “news of Devin Buckner’s murder got to him and he practically soiled
himself.”

  All Jill could do at this point was shake her head in disbelief. She had closed her eyes, but in doing so, she was bombarded with the disturbing images of Devin, Ramona Parish, and Brady -- all of whom were now dead because of bullets to the brain. It was as close to a coincidence as one could get, and Jill’s stomach churned at the thought of it all. Three lives blown to hell, and for what?

  “Every time one of these murders went public,” Watson said, “everyone would rehash all the murders that came before. Maybe Paulson finally got to a point where hearing Grainger’s name made him confront some things he wasn’t all that proud of.”

  “But still,” Jill countered, “to make him call up his buddy who was complicit in the whole thing and talk him into coming back to town?”

  Stevens slipped a sheet of paper from the stack in front of him, sliding it across the table in front of Jill. “We finally got Devin’s juvy file. You’re lookin’ at the arrest report from when he was busted for weed. Check out who arrested him.”

  Jill cursed under her breath and ran a shaky hand through her hair. “Joshua Paulson.”

  This time, Watson frowned. “But Paulson works Homicide.”

  “Guess that didn’t matter to him when he saw the kid lighting up a joint on a street corner,” Stevens said with a shrug. “It went even farther than that. Paulson felt some type of way when Devin didn’t get any jail time, so he took it upon himself to start following the kid around.”

  Jill arched a disbelieving brow. “So the guy can’t be bothered to work homicides in his own jurisdiction, but he has no problem stalking a teenage boy.”

  “Seems like.” Stevens took back the sheet he had given Jill, slipping it into the bottom of the pile. “That’s how the Fucktastic Four knew where to pick the kid up.”