by L A Witt
He took out his phone. “It’s on here.”
“I’m… I’m going to need to take the phone for now.”
JJ groaned. “Man, how is anyone going to reach me?”
I thought for a moment. “I can have my assistant get you something to use temporarily.”
He frowned, eyeing his phone. “And you can really use this to bust those cops? The ones who killed Martin?”
“I can use it as evidence to build my case. I’m not going to pretend I can get a slam-dunk conviction. That’s up to the prosecution and the jury. All I can do is gather as much evidence as I can to determine the truth about what happened.” I nodded toward the phone. “And right now, that’s quite possibly the best evidence I’m going to get. I can’t guarantee any outcome with the phone, but without it?” I shook my head. “The men who shot at you and killed Martin walk regardless of whether the shooting was justified or not.”
He searched my eyes. “You think he was justified?”
“I think that’s for the evidence and eyewitnesses to determine. That’s why I want the phone, and why I’m going to take your statement.”
He watched me for a painfully long moment. He had every reason not to trust me. Hopefully the cloak-and-dagger lengths I’d gone to in order to slip him into the precinct without putting a target on his back would convince him that I wasn’t out to fuck him over. If not, then I’d have to work harder to win his trust. But we were on camera right now, every word being recorded, and I couldn’t jeopardize the case by showing any kind of bias. There was wiggle room on other cases. There probably was here too. We all did things to encourage our witnesses and suspects to open up. But I didn’t dare do anything that could give the defense leverage to discredit or completely dismiss vital testimony.
“Just tell me, in your own words, what happened that day, and let me take the recording into evidence. It’s my job to hold police officers accountable for their actions, but I need something I can give to those who make the decisions. You were there, JJ. What you saw and heard and experienced is going to be a thousand times more valuable than anything else I’ve got.”
He pressed his lips together. After a long moment, he put the phone on the little table and pushed it toward me. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he wiped his hands over his face. With a long sigh, he folded his hands in front of his mouth, and he stared at the scuffed gray floor between us. “The recording’s on the phone. Under the camera app. I…” He glanced at his phone and leaned away from it warily. “I can’t listen to it. Not again. But it’s there.”
“Understood. Are you allowing me to take the phone into my custody?”
JJ swallowed. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Take it.”
I pulled an evidence bag out of the inside pocket of my jacket and slid the phone inside. After I’d sealed, dated, and signed it, I put it aside. “All right. I’ll review it after you’re gone.”
He nodded again, this time without speaking.
“This part’s not going to be fun. I’m sorry.” I opened my notepad and set it on the table beside the bagged phone, my pen poised and ready. “I need you to start from the beginning and, to the best of your ability, tell me everything that happened the day Martin Fredericks was killed.”
By the time JJ and I were finished almost two hours later, he was sweating bullets and shaking, and I didn’t blame him. Quite honestly, I was surprised he hadn’t thrown up or broken down crying. Even now as he was slowly pulling himself together, waiting for someone to give him a lift home, he looked close to breaking or puking.
In his shoes, I’d have been long past that point.
Everything he’d told me echoed what had come through in the recording on Martin’s phone. A routine traffic stop. Both JJ and Martin being respectful and cooperative. The officers doing everything they could to provoke them. What the recording hadn’t revealed was Officer Russel pointing his weapon at JJ’s face. Officer DeMarco apparently balked and wanted Russel to take it down a notch, and when Russel lowered his weapon and turned to his partner, JJ and Martin both panicked and ran.
As long as I lived, I’d be haunted by JJ’s shaky words: “We were running, and then they were shooting, and then… Then Martin wasn’t running anymore.”
He’d wanted to come back and help his friend, but a bullet whistling past his head had kept him running.
“By the time I came back,” he’d choked out, “Martin was gone. Nothing left on the sidewalk but his hoody and a bunch of blood.”
There was no doubt in my mind JJ was telling the truth. The recording on Martin’s phone lined up with what he’d told me, and he even had the detail of Martin’s hoody being left at the scene, but even if I hadn’t had that recording, there was nothing about JJ that suggested his words were anything but the God’s honest truth. Throughout the interview, he’d shrunk in on himself and trembled and berated himself for not doing more to save his friend. Every word he said and gesture he made spoke of grief, anger, and helplessness. He’d legitimately reminded me of when I’d had to interview kids early in my career, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if this twenty-three-year old man had looked at me with wide, childlike eyes and asked why people did bad things to each other. I’d never had an answer back then, and I didn’t have one today.
The world is cruel, but God help me, there will be justice this time.
There was a knock at the interrogation room door. JJ about jumped out of his skin.
“Take it easy,” I said. “This is probably your ride.”
Sure enough, when I opened the door, Detective Paula Morris, another cop who could be trusted, came into the room. “I hear you’ve got someone who needs a lift.”
JJ eyed her warily. “You another cop?”
“She’s good people,” I said. “JJ, this is Detective Paula Morris. Paula, this is JJ.”
They shook hands.
“I’m ready to go when you are.” Paula reached into her pocket. “And I was told to give you this.” She held a cell phone out to JJ.
He lifted his eyebrows and turned to me. “Really?”
“I told you I’d help you while I’ve got your phone in custody.”
He took the new phone. “Can I have the SIM card?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I have to keep the whole thing intact so there’s no question of the evidence’s integrity.”
JJ scowled, but he pocketed the phone. “Thanks.”
“You ready to go?” Paula smiled warmly. “You look like you could use something to eat. Do you want to stop somewhere on the way?”
“Uh.” JJ glanced at me uncertainly. I couldn’t blame the guy for distrusting cops. Especially white cops.
“She’s good people,” I repeated. “I promise.” Did that promise even mean anything after what this kid had been through?
Slowly, though, he started to relax. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks.”
“All right. Thanks for coming in.” I shook his hand. “We’ll be in touch. Just keep that phone on you.”
JJ nodded. “I will. Thanks, man.”
“Thank you.”
He and Paula left, and I indulged in a long sigh before I gathered everything—my jacket, notepad, and the bagged phone—and went up to Captain Hamilton’s office.
Marla smiled thinly at me. “Go on in, Detective. He’s waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” I pushed open Captain Hamilton’s door. As expected, Andreas was lounging in a chair, Hamilton was sitting at his desk, and Darren was leaning against a file cabinet, arms folded loosely across his chest.
Andreas sat up. “How’d it go?”
“Good. I got what I needed from him.”
“Where is he now?” Darren asked.
“Paula’s taking him home. She’s probably going to stop and feed him too. Poor kid looks like he’s about to keel over.”
Andreas grimaced. “I hope we didn’t shake him up too bad.”
“Nah.” I gestured dismissively. “He knew what we were doing and why.
I think if anything, you were believable enough that nobody was going to question me tearing into you and then demanding to get a statement from him.”
Exhaling, Andreas sat back a little. “And you think you’ve got enough to push this thing forward?”
“I hope so. Thank you, gentlemen.”
Andreas got up. We shook hands, and then he and Darren left.
I dropped into the chair Andreas had been occupying.
“Tough day?” Captain Hamilton asked.
I wiped a hand over my face, then let my arm fall onto the armrest. “You know it’s been a tough one when the easiest part about it is playing pissed off at Ruffner.”
Hamilton snorted. “To be fair, you’ve had plenty of practice.”
I laughed halfheartedly. Though things were civil between Andreas and me these days, there had definitely been some rough periods in the past. “Well. Thanks for letting me commandeer your guys for a few hours. And, well, Paula.”
“Eh. It’s probably good for her. Damn workaholic could use a break, and playing taxi driver is about the best I can make her do.”
“I bet. Well, I’ll get out of your hair. What’s left of it.”
“Shut up, Thibedeau.”
I chuckled, and I left his office. I’d barely made it past Marla’s desk when my cell phone rang, and I swore as I nearly jumped out of my skin. Erin’s desk number showed on the caller ID. I put the phone to my ear and kept walking. “Yeah, Erin?”
“Hey, are you coming back any time soon?”
“I’m on my way up. Why?”
“Ryan’s here, and he says it’s urgent.”
Something curdled in my stomach, and I hurried toward the stairs. “Okay. Tell him to have a seat in my office. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Part of me wanted to think Ryan had come in for some updates or emotional support—neither of which I could give him while also working this case. But even though I didn’t know him very well yet, I felt like I knew him better than that. Last time he’d dropped in at my office, it had been with some earth-stopping information, and I was worried sick it would be again. Especially since he’d said it was urgent.
Then I walked into my office, and…
Oh shit. He looked even worse than he had last night.
I shut the door behind me. “What’s going on?”
Ryan folded his arms and pushed out a ragged breath as he leaned against my desk. “I tried to call you. I didn’t mean to just drop in and—”
“It’s okay.” I stopped an arm’s length or so from him. “What’s going on?”
He stared at the floor. “I talked to one of my colleagues this morning. One of the paramedics who brought in Martin Fredericks.”
My blood went cold. “And?”
Ryan lifted his gaze. “Someone’s following him. Watching him. Watching his kid.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I think… I think it’s the cop. One of the two who tried to get Martin’s phone from us while we were trying to treat him. The quieter one. I… What the hell is going on?”
I swallowed. “I think our suspects are getting nervous.”
“Right. And?” He raised his eyebrows. “Can’t you bring him in for stalking? Or, I don’t know, being involved in murdering Martin Fredericks?”
“I wish I could.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “But if I want this case to stick, I have to play by the book.”
“I get that,” Ryan whispered shakily. “But this guy’s partner has already murdered someone. Now he’s stalking my colleague. God knows if one of them is going to start coming after me.” He dropped his gaze again and shook his head. “I’m fucking terrified, Mark. This guy’s got a badge and a gun, and he’s…” He didn’t finish the thought. I supposed he didn’t have to. Instead, he whispered, “What the hell do my friend and I do?”
Fuck, it killed me to see him this shaky and scared. Who wouldn’t be shaky and scared in his shoes? And he was coming to me because more than probably anyone else in his world, I had some shot at doing something about what was freaking him out. I just hadn’t done it. And I still couldn’t do it. There were a million reasons why I wanted and needed to put Officer Russel in prison where he belonged, and among those reasons was that all the uncertainty was tearing apart a man I already cared deeply about. He was here because he wanted me to tell him I could fix it. But I couldn’t. That would’ve broken me anyway, but when I was already raw and wrung out after my interview with JJ? Christ, there was not enough alcohol in the world to numb this.
I moved my hands to the sides of Ryan’s neck and drew him in a little closer. “I’m gonna get these assholes, all right? I know it feels like it’s taking forever, and I’m sorry for that. But it’s my top priority.”
It’s my only priority other than you.
He met my eyes.
And oh, shit, I hadn’t realized how close together we were. Or how much closer I wanted to be. Okay, that was bull—I knew how close I wanted to be, but we were in my office, and I was in the thick of this damn case, and I couldn’t compromise the… I couldn’t jeopardize the…
God, I want you so bad.
His eyes flicked from mine to my lips and back, and damn if the hunger in his expression didn’t mirror mine. Not necessarily for sex, but to be wrapped up in each other, shutting out the world and the murder and the violence, pretending it was just him and me and nothing else for a little while. I wanted that. Hell, I needed it. I needed him.
Calling on every bit of restraint I possessed, I moved my hands back to his shoulders and planted them there as I stepped back a little, putting some breathing room between us. “I wish I could do more and faster. But if I make my move too soon, I could blow it, and if I do, there’s no going back.”
He watched me, and it occurred to me that the way I’d said that could’ve been interpreted as doing more for the case, or doing more for whatever this thing was that stubbornly insisted on crackling between us when we couldn’t have each other.
I cleared my throat. “I’m doing everything I can to get them. I promise.”
Ryan dropped his gaze, and he nodded. “I know you are. And I’m… I don’t even know what I expected to get from coming here. I just…” He sagged against my desk and raked a hand through his hair, tousling it as he did. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”
Fuck it. Professional distance be damned, I’d already spent two hours watching JJ relive the most traumatic day of his life, and there hadn’t been anything I could do or say without compromising the integrity of the case. In here, there were no cameras and no recording devices.
So I stepped closer again and wrapped my arms around him.
Ryan melted against me with a heavy sigh, He rested his head on my shoulder, and for the longest time, we just stood there. I prayed like hell he wasn’t reading too much into the embrace or the way I was stroking his hair, because he’d be absolutely right if he read between lines that were absolutely there. I cared about him. A lot. I wanted to be able to give him more comfort than platonic or professional distance allowed.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t—”
“Don’t be. You’re not used to dealing with shit like this. Hell, no one is.”
He pulled back enough to look in my eyes. “So what do my friend and I do now? With this asshole stalking us?”
I pursed my lips. “Right now, I think you need to surveil him. Video him. Photograph him. Anything you can. Establish a pattern.”
“And if he does something? Like, fucks with one of us?”
I took a deep breath. “Then we might need to consider witness protection.”
Ryan blanched. “What?”
“It’s not permanent. We’re not dealing with the mob here.” I squeezed his shoulder. “But it may be necessary until the trial is over.” The panic in his eyes didn’t recede, so I added, “And it’s a last resort.”
He sighed. “Great.”
“I wish I had more options for you. I really do.”
&nb
sp; His shoulders slumped a little, and he rubbed his neck. “I know. I… I should probably get out of here anyway. I’m sure you have work to do.”
I did, but I was dreading it—I wasn’t ready to see the video on the phone still sitting in my pocket. Not after my interview with JJ.
“You know, I need to log some evidence, but then why don’t we go get something to eat?”
He straightened. “Really?”
I nodded. “I’m starving because I skipped lunch, and I suspect you could use a bite too.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I could. You… don’t think it’s a bad idea? With this case and all?”
“If anyone asks, we’re sitting down to eat and discuss the case. After all, you are a material witness.”
He gulped, but after a moment, he said, “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”
I managed to smile for what seemed like the first time in hours. “All right. Let me log this evidence, and then we’ll get out of here.”
Chapter 12
Ryan
Relying on anyone who wasn’t myself was a bad habit. I knew that, knew it well—I’d known it since I was seven and our house was foreclosed on. We’d had to go live with Mom’s parents. They’d been awful to us, to their own flesh and blood, so awful I’d found my father crying one day at the kitchen table after my grandmother spent half an hour yelling at him. He’d looked at me, his eyes filled with shame, then looked back down at the breakfast table. He hadn’t said a word, but the expression on his face had stuck with me ever since.
My parents hadn’t been able to take care of my sister and me the way they wanted to—not on their own, and not in my grandparents’ house. They’d only been able to rely on each other, and they still weren’t enough. I certainly hadn’t been any help.
That fear, the fear of my life and my happiness being so dependent on someone else’s whims, had fueled me ever since. Education, money, prestige—enough of all those to make me comfortable, enough so that I could stand tall on my own two feet and never have to kowtow for anyone else’s scraps. It might make me emotionally constipated, as Samantha insisted, but it also kept me independent. Safe. Secure.
