Troop 18

by Jessica L. Webb

  Lincoln straightened out his rumpled uniform, looking exactly like he’d been travelling all night. He put out a hand, almost formal, and Andy shook it.

  “Thanks for taking care of my troop and my instructors,” Lincoln said. “I knew you were the right person for the job.”

  Andy gave only a quick nod of acknowledgement, not entirely sure she deserved his thanks. Frances was a mess, Shipman was about to be released, and Trokof was in hospital. They stood by the car, looking back at the main house while Andy updated Lincoln. She was sure Lincoln had seen Frances standing by the back door, nervously smoking another cigarette, but he waited for Andy to fill in the details. Once she was done talking, Andy waited quietly while Lincoln seemed to absorb everything she’d just said.

  “Methadone,” Lincoln said on an expelled breath, shaking his head. “Christ on a crutch.” Andy couldn’t imagine the implications, the investigation, and the paperwork this was going to mean for the TO.

  “He wants to talk to you.” .

  “Then let’s go talk,” Lincoln said. Andy couldn’t be sure, but a note of regret seemed to be mixed in with his anger and his resolve.

  They approached the cadet together and Frances immediately came down the steps and stamped out his cigarette in the wet gravel. He picked the butt off the ground and threw it into a metal can half-hidden under the stairs. Frances had spent so much energy being flat and uninteresting so as not to attract any attention, Andy never really had the chance to get to know him as a person.

  Lincoln released Andy with a quick, appreciative nod of his head, and Andy climbed the back stairs again. The smell of apple pie and coffee hung heavy in the warm air of the kitchen and Andy’s stomach gave a small growl, as if her body just remembered it was morning. Kate sat at the island, a mug of coffee steaming in front of her. Andy was pretty sure she’d had her eyes closed just before she’d walked in.

  “Lincoln,” Andy said, answering Kate’s silent question. “He’s talking to Frances right now.”

  More waiting. Andy felt almost impatient now that her body had switched over to a new day. She fidgeted, toyed with her mug, checked on the pie, and wished more than anything she could go for a run. Kate watched her silently from her perch, her body still for once. Andy didn’t mind showing impatience and nerves in front of Kate. It was acceptable.

  “It’s going to be all right, Andy,” Kate said finally. “You’ve done everything you can.”

  Andy didn’t confirm or deny but she did finally sit again.

  By five thirty, the second set of pies were in the oven and they heard a heavy tread on the back stairs. Lincoln entered the kitchen alone, looking tired and worn. Andy introduced him to Kate, Lincoln giving his thanks and saying he wished they were meeting under better circumstances. They sat at the kitchen table, Kate only joining them when Lincoln asked her to. She first poured him a coffee, which he accepted gratefully.

  Lincoln ran his hand up and down his jaw, fingers rubbing at the grey bristles from his overnight beard as he lined up what he wanted to say.

  “Jacob Frances knows his contract with the RCMP has been revoked. Or will be as soon as I reach the committee members at a more reasonable hour,” Lincoln said, to no one’s surprise. “He’s already found a drug rehabilitation facility in Kelowna,” he continued, and Andy’s eyes went wide. This was news. Kate breathed out sharply, indicating her own shock. Andy wondered where Frances had found the time to do that. She wondered how long he’d been thinking about it and researching it, waiting to find the courage to go. “He wants to go now.”

  “Before he talks to the troop?” Kate said.

  “He doesn’t want to see them. He led me to believe he’d written a letter—that one I assume,” he said, indicating the folded pieces of paper. “He said it would explain everything.”

  The clock ticked loudly in the silence of the kitchen, the gas stove flame puffing quietly as it came to temperature again. Andy thought about Jacob Frances sitting on the back step, imagined the courage it would have taken to explain to the Chief Training Officer of Depot Division that you needed help. He’ll be in rehab for the holidays, Andy thought suddenly. Christmas was less than two weeks away.

  “Are you going to take him?” Andy said.

  “Yes.”

  “They worked so hard,” Kate said, her face troubled. “I know they shouldn’t have. I know they shouldn’t have lied for him,” Kate amended, looking up at Lincoln, “but they worked so hard to protect him. It seems wrong that he’s just going to disappear.” Kate struggled, still shaking her head. “There’s no closure this way.”

  “He’s making a decision for himself,” Andy said to her quietly. “That should be honoured.”

  “And it’s time to cut the strings. Frances has accepted that he’s on his own in this battle.”

  Kate stared blankly at her coffee mug on the table and Andy wondered whether or not Kate was thinking about her own battles, both recent and in the past.

  “Which facility?” Kate said to the TO.

  Lincoln named it and Kate nodded. “Let me call them,” Kate said, looking to Lincoln for permission. “It will help to have a physician make a referral.”

  Lincoln nodded gratefully and Kate carried the phone into the corner of the kitchen. As she waited for someone to pick up, Kate stretched herself up on her toes so she could look through the window, checking on Frances.

  “How’d you get here so fast?” Andy said.

  “Choppered into Medicine Hat then drove through the night.”

  “Want me to take Frances?”

  “No, I think it should be me. I’ll be back in a few hours, and I’ll want to talk to the troop. There’s still that mess to clean up.”

  Yes, Andy said to herself, thinking of the rest of Troop 18 sleeping, totally unaware of what was happening. That mess.

  It seemed like minutes, and Kate was off the phone, Lincoln was gulping the last of his coffee, and then collecting Frances who sat rigidly on the back step. Kate and Andy stood on the back steps as Lincoln drove him away, the only two to witness Cadet Jacob Frances’ sudden exodus from Depot.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The night sky over Clearwater B&B faded into the deep richness of blues and blacks with the first idea of stars as Kate and Andy walked hand in hand up the driveway toward the meadow. They moved with the fatigue of a day and a night and another day passed without sleep. They moved with the heaviness of those still trying to make sense of what had happened, of those who had been witness to other people’s pain and misfortune. Though Troop 18 had left hours ago, following orders to pack up and ship out with red-rimmed eyes and trudging feet, the weight of their presence could still be felt. Andy felt it in the tightening of the muscles in her back and the way her thoughts flashed to moments and words and images from the day, her mind unsettled.

  Kate squeezed her hand as they got to the metal gate. Andy wondered if she was thinking about Trokof being loaded into the back of the ambulance right here, just under twenty-four hours earlier. Trokof had been released earlier that day and had insisted, with all the bluster of a drill sergeant who would not be taking orders anymore, he would take the bus back with the fourteen remaining cadets of Troop 18, Greg Shipman, and the instructors. Andy pushed the cold, metal gate behind them with a soft clang and felt a little better knowing Trokof was on the bus, trying to remind herself that what happened to the troop no longer mattered to her.

  But it did. It mattered to her more than she could really reason with. Andy couldn’t stop thinking about the expressions on the faces of the cadets when they realized Jacob Frances was gone. Shipman, Prewitt-Hayes, and Foster had stumbled, bleary-eyed into the kitchen just before six in the morning, demanding in panicked tones to know where Frances was. Andy had told them to wake up their troop and assemble in the living room. Kate had put on more coffee. Shipman followed orders, Prewitt-Hayes started to cry, and Foster looked like he wanted to punch something. But they’d roused their troop mates and sat
together to hear the news.

  “I wonder how they’re doing,” Kate murmured quietly, breaking their shared silence. Andy knew she was also struggling to let them go. But Andy just squeezed Kate’s hand reassuringly. Clouds were moving in, marring the perfect night sky, and the cold, damp air reminded Andy that Kurtz had mentioned they might see some snow. Andy caught herself wondering what camp would be like in the snow, then she reminded herself that camp was empty. The cadets and instructors had spent the day stripping it bare of linens and food and gear and equipment. No trace left that Troop 18 had been there at all. The next time it opened, once Kurtz and Tara figured out the washed-out road, it would be for corporate retreats, men and women in expensive adventure jackets and brand new hiking boots. No roll call at six a.m. in the quad. No more push ups. No more drills.

  Gravel turned to ice-crunched grass as Kate and Andy followed the path up to the honeymoon cabin. The guests were back in the main house, and Tara had made up the room for Kate and Andy while Kurtz had, without permission, called Staff Sgt. Finns to request a couple days off for his sergeant. Finns had agreed to two, and Andy decided she didn’t have the energy or the right to be pissed off. Only grateful that Kurtz had once again provided her with exactly what she needed.

  Andy thought of a line from Frances’s letter. What I needed most in that moment…Prewitt-Hayes had read the letter out loud after hearing that Frances had left to check himself into a drug rehabilitation facility. Shock didn’t quite describe how the cadets took the news. Loss, Andy decided. Troop 18 continued to exude such a deep sense of loss.

  Some of this you already know. Some you don’t. Bear with me, Troop 18.

  I put off applying to Depot for three years. I knew it meant a lot to my dad. He’d get all jumpy around me, biting his tongue, not wanting to be that dad who pushed his kid. But I’d been talking about Depot since I was eight. I just knew it was something I wanted to do. Fourth generation RCMP had a nice ring to it. I guess I didn’t expect to go so off course. I can’t even tell you why or how I started using. Just the closer I got to finishing my criminology diploma, the more anxious I got. I started having trouble concentrating, was picking fights with my girlfriend. I even blamed her for losing one of my applications. I’d been telling everyone for so long this was what I was going to do, but the closer it got, the more worried I got that I would fuck it up. They wouldn’t let me in or I’d hate it or I’d fail out. Christ, could anything be more embarrassing than that?

  When I finished my diploma, I immediately got a job as a security guard. Said I wanted some time to work, get used to a uniform, make a little money before I ran out to Saskatchewan. More excuses. I started using about a year after graduation, when everyone kept looking at me, waiting for me to announce my application. When I began to lose weight, I blamed it on my new exercise program, my training schedule for Depot. My dad thumped me on the back, still biting his tongue but not able to rein in how excited he was. I thought I was going to be sick. I wasn’t something to be proud of. I was a functioning junkie. I was nothing the RCMP was looking for.

  I got clean on my own. That made me feel strong, like the last 3 years of my life had been a blip. I broke up with my girlfriend, started training, kept the Depot application on my fridge and a photocopied picture of my great grandfather in uniform in with my money. So if I felt the urge to pay for some more, I’d have a good reason not to.

  The pressure came back the day I saw the envelope with the RCMP logo sticking out of my mailbox. The urge to use came crashing back, like I hadn’t spent the last 18 months clean. But I fought it every step of the way to Regina. Showed up with my bag of shit and the urge to use. Picked up my cadet kit and still had the urge to use. Stood in formation with the rest of Troop 18, fighting the urge to use.

  Troop 18. You were my saving grace. I was completely undeserving of your friendship. I hadn’t realized until I showed up that I’d spent the last few years basically on my own. Depot was different, hanging out with you guys was different. Maybe it’s just being forced to spend most of your waking days and hours in cramped quarters, everyone going through the exact same shit. Well, almost everyone. As far as I could tell, none of you were battling my demons.

  When we lost J.T., I lost the will to keep fighting. I know a lot of you did, too. Shipman, I’m talking to you. But remembering J.T. dropping to the ground in front of us shorted out my brain. There was nothing left but that picture in my head, and I knew what I needed to do. I remember very clearly leaving the bar where the rest of you were drinking heavily, walking through the dark streets of Regina. I asked a few questions, followed a few shady people, exchanged some money and walked away again. I stood alone for a very long time with the rock in my hand. A very long time. By the time it was in my bloodstream, the euphoria completely masked my self-loathing.

  My half life was back again. So much fucking harder now. Some days I was up, so up and everything was on. My target, my assignments, my fitness were dead on. Some days I shook like I really had the flu I kept telling you all I was getting. Petit, I know you figured it out first. I didn’t know it at the time but you must have gone to Shipman, then to Prewitt-Hayes. And you all arranged my fucking intervention. Instead of going to a bar like we usually did on a Saturday night, when I’d sneak off to buy some more, use, then come back, we went to that high school football field. I balked at first, swore up and down that I wasn’t using, that you were all assholes, that if you really thought that then they should just turn me in. You were all so quiet, so calm, waiting for me to finish my ranting until I cried like a little baby. Totally broke down. RCMP material, that’s me.

  Tracey, you had a plan. Of course you did. Asked me if I’d gotten clean before, and I explained about the methadone clinic. I was shaking then, from talking about it with you guys and from the need to use. Hawke, you saw me. You were more of a loner than me, not outside the circle, but on the edge, always walking the perimeter. When you walked away from the group, I thought I was sunk. Figured you thought I was the most pathetic thing you’d ever seen. I thought it was disgust on your face. It wasn’t. Five minutes later and you came back with the names of three local methadone clinics. Told me to get started, brother. You guys walked me there, waited. It was the strangest feeling, having these people watch me swallow what I needed most in that moment. The two things I needed most—the drugs in my system and a troop of people believing I’d make it through this. I still can’t believe what you guys did for me…

  Tracey had trailed off, flipping it over to the next page. Then she surveyed the room, checking in with each of the other cadets. By that time, the audience included Lincoln who had let himself in quietly and stood at the back of the room. The cadets had seen him, had shared his presence with each other with a jerk of their heads, but they’d remained quiet, absorbed in Frances’s words.

  “I think we should say this part in our own words.”

  Lincoln walked to the front of the room, pulled up a chair, and sat in front of Troop 18. “I’d like to hear it in your own words.”

  Troop 18 had talked—haltingly at first, like it went against instinct, like they were fighting off the last two months of their camouflage. But then they tripped over each other to talk, adding details, correcting, excising their abundance of sins. They had lied. Foster, Shipman, and Mancini all copped to helping Frances cheat the drug screen. They explained how sick Frances would be when they couldn’t get the methadone and how Jessup and Mercier had snuck in alcohol and marijuana to help him deal with his withdrawal. Frances had been furious with them. Foster said he was sure Frances had been suicidal when Jessup and Mercier had left. They had watched him carefully, working incredibly hard to keep him under the radar, to keep them all flat and uninteresting so they wouldn’t show the turmoil and chaos they felt they could only share with each other.

  Andy had watched their confession with a sick, sour feeling in her stomach. Every detail of it was awful. She couldn’t quite believe how these cadets had manag
ed to lie and cover and support and protect through one of the toughest six month training academies in the nation. If she hadn’t just spent the last two weeks with Troop 18, she would have assumed it was an impossibility.

  They couldn’t explain the hypodermic needles found in their classroom. It hadn’t come from Frances. Their best guess was that some of the other cadets or troops had figured out what was going on and planted it there. This answer jibed for Andy. The cadets had no reason to lie anymore, and Depot certainly had its fair share of assholes.

  Shipman took over when they talked about Camp Depot and how prepared they had been to keep Frances hooked up to methadone, even remotely. Before they’d left Depot, they had researched clinics and looked into storing liquid methadone. Prewitt-Hayes discovered they recommended taking it with orange juice, so they did, adding a half bottle of lemon juice and a cup of salt so no one else would even consider drinking it.

  They talked about how sick Frances was, how the dose was different or messed up or something. It wasn’t working. Twice Shipman left Depot, walked all night, impersonated Frances and stole extra methadone from the clinic. Shipman wasn’t boasting. He wasn’t proud, but he said it with a kind of defiance that made Andy think he would make the same decisions again if he had to. Damn the consequences.

  Andy felt a brush of cold wind as they followed the old wood fence along the path leading up to the honeymoon cabin. The porch light shone through the winter-bare trees in the distance. But she slowed, not yet ready to enter the cabin and take her thoughts about Troop 18 through the door. Kate seemed to understand, and she stopped on the path.

  “You haven’t said anything about Lincoln’s final decision,” Kate said quietly, aiming her comment up into the sky where dark grey clouds had begun to muscle their way over the night.

  Andy didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure what to say because she really had no idea how she felt. Her sense of justice and her strong belief in consequences for actions warred with the mitigating circumstances. She knew the cadets in Troop 18 were good people and would make good cops. So Andy really had no idea what she felt when Lincoln had thanked the troop for their honesty and closed himself in Kurtz’s hideaway office with his phone for an hour while he discussed with the Human Resources Officer and the Cadet Training Officer what the official Depot response was to their transgressions.