by L A Witt
On our way over, Bridges had suggested using a conference room, but I preferred this environment. Just an open, empty room with no furniture except enough chairs to accommodate everyone. It left him exposed, without a table to act as a barrier between us and to hide any twitching or knee-bouncing he might do.
Of course DeMarco was a cop himself, so he knew all the techniques for making a suspect nervous, so Bridges and I situated ourselves a bit less confrontationally than we would with a suspect without a badge. Neither of us blocked the door. We sat close enough together that he didn’t have to turn his head to look at one of us, leaving the other in a blind spot, and we also sat back far enough that we weren’t encroaching on his space. We had him exposed, but not cornered.
DeMarco sat with one ankle over the opposite knee, idly playing with one of his shoelaces as he watched us. He’d looked exhausted when I’d talked to him the first time, and he looked a hell of a lot worse now. The circles under his bloodshot eyes were darker. He’d shaved, probably at least trying not to look like shit when he came into the precinct, but he’d nicked himself a few times and missed a spot on the corner of his jaw, and that tiny patch of stubble was thicker than just some five o’clock shadow.
He was twitchy, too, which didn’t surprise me. No one liked facing down Internal Affairs, and cops generally weren’t stupid. A second conversation with IA, especially a surprise one, was never a good sign. I’d known that back in my pre-IA days. Being summoned by this department was never fun. Being blindsided with a second interview meant you were most likely in deep shit, and in situations like this, it meant not being able to send a warning call or text to his partner.
DeMarco knew it. We knew it. We had him off guard and nervous, which made lying that much more difficult.
“So, um.” His eyes flicked back and forth between us. “What’s this about?”
“We have some more questions about the incident with Martin Fredericks,” Bridges said. “We’re hoping you can provide some… clarity.”
DeMarco’s Adam’s apple jumped. “Uh. Okay. I’m not sure what I can tell you that I haven’t already.”
“Start by walking us through everything again.” I crossed my legs and put my notepad on my thigh. “Backwards.”
He straightened. “Backwards? What?”
I nodded. “Yes. Backwards. Start at the end, and work your way back to the beginning.”
He stared at me like I’d lost my mind. I stared at him like he’d better start fucking talking.
Finally, DeMarco took a deep breath and dropped his gaze. “All right. Well.” He shifted nervously, the chair squeaking with every fidget. “The, uh… I guess the end is… I guess that’s the part where we fired on the individuals.” Nervous. Extra nervous. Just like I expected.
“No,” I said coolly. “I think we need to start further into the story than that.”
His eyes met mine again, wide with confusion and, yes, some panic. “Uh. How far into it?”
“The hospital.” I tilted my head. “After the shooting.”
DeMarco gulped and his eyes lost focus. “Um. Okay. So. Officer Russel and I spoke to a doctor about the decedent’s personal effects. In particular his cell phone. But the doctor told us there was no cell phone on the decedent’s person.”
“Did you believe him?” Bridges asked.
The officer shook his head. “No, of course not.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Those guys, they’ve always got their phones on ‘em. We didn’t see him drop it, and it wasn’t in the vehicle, so it had to be on him.”
“Those guys?” Bridges inclined her head. “Meaning?”
DeMarco’s eyes flicked between us again. “You know…”
“No, we don’t.” I kept my tone flat and tapped my pen on my notepad. “Explain it to us.”
His jaw worked. Some color appeared in his cheeks, and I couldn’t tell if it was irritation or embarrassment. Maybe both. “Gang bangers. Thugs.” He shrugged tightly. “Everywhere you go, they’re on their phones.”
“Neither individual in this case was involved in gang activity,” Bridges said. “You and Russel said in your statements you suspected they were part of a gang-related investigation, but we found no evidence of this. So what about JJ and Martin led you to believe they were involved in a gang, and what about ‘those guys’ means Martin would have had his cell phone on his person following the shooting?”
DeMarco’s teeth were clenched so tight now, I was surprised I couldn’t hear them grinding. “Look, the way they behaved when we pulled them over—you spend enough time on the street, you see patterns of behavior. These two—”
“What patterns of behavior specifically?” I paused. “Actually, we’ll come back to that. You were telling us you spoke to the doctor about the cell phone. What happened before that?”
DeMarco squirmed some more. “Um. Okay. Before that…” His eyes unfocused again. “We waited outside the emergency room for the doctor to give us an update. Before that… Before that we came in and tried to ask him questions, but he threw us out and said to wait.”
I nodded as he spoke. His story was staying consistent so far, even told backwards, so this part was likely true. Telling a story backwards was difficult. Telling a lie backwards was enough to trip up most people.
Steadily, he walked us through arriving at the hospital, driving to the hospital, the ambulance leaving the scene, the paramedics working on Martin, the paramedics arriving on scene.
“Someone must have called 911 while we were running after the other kid. By the time we made it back to the scene, paramedics were already there, so we just stayed out of the way and tried to find witnesses.” He shook his head. “Everyone we talked to came after they heard the shots. No one saw anything.” Rolling his eyes, he muttered, “Of course they didn’t. And my partner tried to get to the kid’s phone, but the paramedics were already taking him off the scene.”
Bridges uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. “Why the insistence on getting your hands on Fredericks’s phone?”
“Because he probably recorded the traffic stop,” DeMarco muttered. “They always fucking do.”
“They do?” I asked. “You’ve pulled over these individuals before?”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Not those two. Just… people like them. Any time you pull them over, they’ve got their phones waving around, recording everything like they think they’re going to bust you doing something you shouldn’t.”
“Them?” Bridges and I both asked.
“Yeah.” He eyed us. “Come on. You both know all the shit people say. About cops shooting blacks for kicks. If he was recording what went down, and I know damn well he was, then we need that recording as evidence so you people can see that we had a reason to shoot.” He paused, then added, “We both knew IAB would come down on us and try to say Russel didn’t have a reason to shoot the kid, and we knew that fucking Black Lives Matter crowd is just looking for someone to make an example out of, so we had to cover our asses.”
“How do you know Russel shot Martin?” I asked. “Per the reports and expended rounds from your service weapons, you both fired.”
“Yeah, we did, but I was already running after the other kid when Russel dropped Martin.”
I kept my expression placid. “Run us through that part.”
“Backwards?” he asked sarcastically.
“Yes. Starting when you returned to the scene to find the paramedics had already arrived.”
He took a deep breath and wiped a hand over his forehead, possibly to hide the fact that he was rolling his eyes. “All right, so… The ambulance was there. We’d just walked back about six blocks. We’d been chasing the other kid, and lost him around Dillinger Street.”
“Dillinger Street?” I asked. “Your statement said it was Briar Avenue.”
“It…” DeMarco’s brow furrowed, and he made a dismissive gesture. “It might’ve been. That general area, anyway. There’s a bunch of alley
s and whatnot down there, and we lost him.”
“And before that?” I asked.
“We fired on both individuals.”
“Because…?”
He swept his tongue across his lips. “They were both belligerent. We’d ordered them to exit the vehicle, and as soon as they did, they started resisting. When we told them to put their hands where we could see them, they reached for what we had to assume were weapons, so we had to escalate the situation for officer safety.”
Bridges was about to speak, but I wanted to grab this thread while DeMarco was nervous, so I said, “It was at this point that you and Officer Russel drew your service weapons, correct?”
“Correct.” But he flinched as if he hadn’t meant to say that. “We were—”
“Why did you order them out of the vehicle?”
“They weren’t being cooperative. Officer Russel and I made the decision that we’d have better control over the situation if they stepped out, so we asked them to do so. Once they were out of the vehicle, things escalated.”
“And to confirm, this was the point when you drew your weapons.”
DeMarco shifted, and his heel started tapping rapidly, making his knee bounce. “Well, no, we had them out, but they—”
“But the individuals didn’t start getting belligerent until after you’d told them to exit the vehicle.”
“They were being belligerent in the vehicle,” he insisted. “It just got worse once we had them step out.”
I tapped my pen a little harder, just to fuck with his concentration. “Before or after you drew your weapons?”
He started to speak, but hesitated, eyes flicking back and forth.
“Did either of you go hands-on at this time? With either individual?”
DeMarco gulped. “When Martin made a play for Russel’s gun, then—I mean, he came for my gun, so Russel fired on—”
“Did he make a play for your gun or your partner’s?” I asked.
DeMarco hesitated. “Mine.” He gave a sharp nod. “It was mine. Sorry, it happened so fast, I—”
“And this was when your partner shot him.”
“Yes.”
“Were you ever concerned for your safety?”
“I… Of course I was.” The officer laughed uncomfortably. “That thug tried to go for my gun, and I—”
“No, I mean when Officer Russel fired on Martin.” I studied him. “Both rounds went into his back and, had they been through-and-throughs, could have easily hit you as well.”
DeMarco’s eyes widened. “What? No. No, there was no danger of that.”
“How can you be sure?” Bridges asked. “Both rounds went straight into Martin’s torso. If you and he were fighting over your gun, then you would have been directly in front of him.” She lowered her chin. “Or am I interpreting the situation incorrectly?”
“No, no.” DeMarco shook his head, not looking at either of us. “He lunged for my gun, and we fought over it, but—”
“But your partner was able to fire two shots without any concern from either of you that you might be hit?” I tapped my pen faster.
“That’s correct.” He shifted more. “Look, it happened fast, but in the moment, I—”
“And you were on the passenger side of the car when this occurred, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And your partner was on the driver’s side?”
“Yes. We were each with one of the—”
“Did you have the driver and passenger go to opposite sides of the car than where they were sitting?”
DeMarco stiffened, eyes getting huge again. “What?”
“Per both you and your partner’s statements, corroborated by fingerprints on the vehicle’s keys, Martin Fredericks was driving at the time of the traffic stop. Shell casings found at the scene confirm that you were indeed on the passenger side while your partner was on the driver’s side.” I stopped tapping. “Explain to me how Martin Fredericks was on the passenger side of the car he’d been driving at the moment he tried to take your gun.”
“I…” He blinked.
“Tell us the truth, Officer DeMarco.” I abandoned my somewhat conversational tone and went for something harder now. “You weren’t in any danger and neither was your partner.”
“No, we were in danger,” DeMarco snapped. “Maybe I can’t recall exactly where everyone was standing, but I—”
“If you can’t recall those details,” Bridges said, “then perhaps we need to reconsider letting you return to active duty even if you are cleared of this incident.”
“Whoa, whoa.” The officer shook his head. “No, I’m a good cop, and I can remember details. I remember the important shit.”
“Like where you and your partner were standing in relation to someone you claim was threatening you?” I asked.
He glared at me. Then he huffed a bitter laugh and sat back. “You know what? Fuck you both. You assholes sit in your cozy offices and try to tell us how we’re supposed to know when we’re safe and when we’re not.” He stabbed a finger at me. “But as long as Officer Russel and I have been on those damn streets, we’ve learned what we have to watch out for, and we do what we have to do to make sure we’re going home at night.”
Bridges eyed him coolly. “You still haven’t explained what exactly it was about these two individuals that made you concerned for your safety.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ve got an answer that would satisfy whatever politically correct agenda you fuckers have.” He shook his head. “Russel did what he had to do. End of story.”
“And you falsified an official statement.” I rose. “Stand up and put your hands behind your back.”
He drew away, showing his palms. “What? I didn’t falsify—”
“You lied on your statement and you lied to us now.” I beckoned to him. “That’s enough to charge you with obstruction, not to mention aiding and abetting.”
“Aiding and—” He shook his head again. “No, man. No, it’s not like that at all. My partner was trying to keep me from getting killed, and he didn’t have a choice but to shoot that kid.”
“Then answer me this.” I folded my arms and glared down at him. “Why did we not find so much as a partial fingerprint of Martin’s on your service weapon?”
His eyebrows flicked up, revealing a heartbeat of panic before he schooled his expression to an angry sneer. “You know damn well I could’ve rubbed off his fingerprints while I was handling the weapon afterward.”
“And if he made a play for your weapon, those prints would’ve likely been in places you don’t usually touch.” I gestured at the wall behind him. “Stand up and turn around.”
His lips pulled back. “I want my lawyer and union rep.”
“Fine.” I nodded to Bridges.
She got up too. “We’ll make the calls while we’re booking you.”
“This is bullshit,” DeMarco growled. “I didn’t do a damned—”
“Stand up and turn around,” I repeated. “You’re under arrest.”
While I read him his Miranda rights and cuffed him, Bridges called the desk sergeant and had her get in touch with the captain, DeMarco’s lawyer, and his union rep. We started for the door, but I hesitated. “Wait.”
“What?”
I glanced at the door, then back at her. “We need to bring Russel in, and we need to do it before anyone has a chance to tell him DeMarco’s being booked.”
Her lips thinned. “What do you suggest?”
I turned to our cuffed suspect, and his frustrated expression had turned into a smug, knowing one, which made my stomach twist. I swallowed and looked at Bridges again. “Call the desk sergeant again. Get an officer up here to stay with you so you’re not alone with DeMarco, and a couple of uniforms to come with me to arrest Russel.”
Bridges glanced at DeMarco. From the tightness in her features, I suspected she saw that smugness in his face too. She turned away from us and made the call.
A minute later
, a burly black officer joined us in the mostly empty office. I didn’t miss the derisive sneer on DeMarco’s face, but he wisely schooled that away in short order.
With DeMarco on ice, I joined a pair of officers downstairs, and we headed down to their car to go arrest Russel.
On the way, I called Ryan. Something in my gut told me I needed to make contact. Maybe I was just paranoid after last night, but I needed to hear his voice, and I wanted him to go someplace populated with safe people. The hospital was the best I could come up with. The call went to voicemail, though, so I left him a quick message and got into the car with the officers.
But when we reached Russel’s house, there was no one home.
And Ryan still wasn’t answering his phone.
Chapter 20
Ryan
My follow-up appointment was performed by the GP that most of the doctors at the hospital saw—Dr. Franks was just that, frank, and didn’t waste time telling you things you already knew. He palpated, tested, hemmed and hawed a little and then told me that overall, I was doing well. I grinned at him as I got down from the table.
“Does that mean I can come back to work sooner?” I asked eagerly.
“I’m afraid not,” he said, and my heart sank.
“Worried that I’ll scare the patients?” I hurt a little less today, but I looked way worse. My bruises had spread like oil slicks underneath my skin, black and purple occasionally tinged with red or yellow. My face was a horror, and my torso was even worse. The only thing that had held up fairly well to the abuse I’d taken was my leg, but then it was used to a certain level of abuse with all my running.
“It’s very important that you give yourself time to heal, Dr. Campbell. The hospital administrators have a duty not just to you, but also to your patients, to ensure that you’re at your best when you see them, physically and mentally.” He looked over his gold-rimmed glasses at me. “I think you should consider making an appointment with one of our psychologists.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said as evenly as I could.
