Exit Wounds
Page 5
“Hey, what’s up, Cox?”
“Nothing, late for lineup.” Terry was a lanky lateral transfer from a small county department who thought he’d died and gone to heaven when Greensboro hired him. He was becoming an okay officer, but he sucked as a liar. Lineup wasn’t for another thirty minutes.
“Any news on that thing I asked you to check on?” All she’d requested was a copy of the report about the explosion—simple.
“That thing is closed, or didn’t you catch the morning news?” Cox tugged at his utility belt as if bolstering his courage. “I can’t get it. Everybody has been warned off. The other guys—”
“The other guys what?”
Cox flicked at a sprig of red hair that brushed the top of his collar and glanced away. “Nothing.”
“Come on, Terry. What are the guys saying?”
“Look, you’ve been good to me, helping me adjust to city policing, but you’re jamming us up. Word is that you messed up an assignment and now you’re trying to cover your tracks.” He raked at his collar again. “I don’t believe it, but I don’t have enough seniority to stick my neck out too far. Sorry. I gotta go.”
He walked away as Loane struggled for something meaningful to say and failed. “Get a damn haircut…and thanks for nothing.”
She’d gotten pretty much the same response from everyone she’d approached about the gunrunner case, which only made her more certain that something was terribly wrong. Cases like these didn’t magically disappear, and cops didn’t stop asking questions because they were told to—exactly the opposite.
Chapter Four
Three months after the explosion
Loane stared at the nondescript door to the police conference room that stood between her and the rest of her life. A typewritten sign taped to the worn frame announced CLOSED MEETING. She wished that included her. Her supervisors strongly encouraged her to cooperate with the unofficial fact-finding inquiry. Translation: play nice to preserve interagency relations and limit political fallout. What happened once she entered this room would determine her manner of play.
Nerves churned in her stomach like sour milk. 1829 John McClintock Logan appointed Greensboro’s first public officer. Would this be her last day in a similar role? She paused before grabbing the door handle and looked at the gloves that had become a normal accessory. The black leather served as camouflage for beige compression gloves that kept her scars from contracting and becoming too thick. Since that night she never touched anything metal without a second thought. Fighting a flashback, she took several deep breaths and opened the door. “Officer Loane Landry, reporting as requested.”
A single straight-back chair faced a table with seven individuals that she recognized as Greensboro Police detectives and ATF agents she’d worked with in the past, along with the resident agent in charge of the Greensboro ATF field office, Gary Fowler. The setting felt less like an informal meeting and more like a firing squad. As far as she was concerned the exercise was just that, and she couldn’t have cared less. She’d shown up only to ask her own questions. If she didn’t get the answers she needed, she was prepared to walk, from the proceedings and the job.
RAC Fowler occupied the center seat and spoke first. “Officer Landry, just so we’re clear. This isn’t a formal hearing or an official interview. It’s more like a debriefing.”
“Then, with all due respect, sir, why aren’t we sitting around the squad room sipping coffee and eating doughnuts?”
Agent Bowman, seated beside Fowler, tugged at his perfectly Windsor-knotted tie and glared at her. Over the past three months of badgering Bowman for answers about the case and Abby’s death, Loane recognized the gesture as his only nervous tell.
He didn’t wait for his boss to answer. “Because I—we—thought it would be more productive to let you tell your side of the story—”
“My side of the story? And exactly who is telling another side? I was the only one there at the time of the explosion.”
“Exactly. And you call yourself a cover officer.” Bowman sat back with a self-satisfied smirk.
He was right. She’d thought Abby was working the case and she should’ve been Velcroed to her that night. Hearing Bowman say it aloud didn’t hurt any less than hearing it over and over in her mind. The guilt didn’t vanish because she admitted it.
“We’ve allowed you time to heal from your injuries…and to grieve,” Bowman said.
Loane’s anger flashed and the room turned red around her. Grieve? How could she grieve something she wasn’t sure had happened? And what could these people possibly know about her personal involvement with Abby? She tamped down her anger before responding.
“And why would I need to grieve the death of an ATF informant?” Asking the question made her chest tighten. Months of searching for clues through official channels and paying for useless information had left her too exhausted to grieve.
Bowman glanced at his row of co-conspirators as if relishing his starring role. “I just meant the two of you worked very closely on the case.”
“Or maybe there was more going on,” Fowler added without looking up from the folder in front of him. Both of the GPD detectives and Agent Bowman looked genuinely shocked.
“If you’re implying something, Agent Fowler, please be more specific.” She didn’t plan to deny her relationship with Abby, but she wouldn’t confirm it either. That information had no bearing on the events that led to her death, and Fowler damn well knew it. He obviously intended to discredit her, but why?
“I’m wondering how an ATF confidential informant ended up…” the word hung in Loane’s throat, “dead on your watch, Bowman. I think there’s a cover-up. What happened and why can’t I get any answers? Your office wouldn’t even give me her address or family contact information so I could send condolences.” She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, and she struggled to keep that promise.
“We don’t release CI details to anyone.”
“What difference could it possibly make now?” Bile churned in her stomach as she recalled the charred bodies in the SUV.
“It’s policy. Surely you understand policy, though in this case it looks like you and Mancuso may have violated a few.”
Fowler attempted to regain control of the situation. “Bowman, the more important issue is why an informant made personal contact with a suspect and didn’t take her cover officer. And what happened once she was inside the residence?”
Loane had to say something. “At least you admit Abby was actually there and I didn’t imagine the whole thing. She wasn’t even mentioned in the newspapers. Not even reporters can get an accurate head count of how many people died that night.” The whole situation seemed surreal—back talk, double talk, no talk, and for no apparent reason that she could see.
Bowman wouldn’t relent. “ATF doesn’t release confidential information to the press or to nonessential parties. By your own admission, Mancuso didn’t mean anything to you.”
She gripped the chair arms to keep from vaulting over the table at him. He was baiting her but the callous words still stung. She’d told herself that what she and Abby shared was simply a situation-induced fling, nothing more, but the feelings wouldn’t die.
“Bowman.” Fowler warned him.
“Well, maybe you can tell us how you knew Mancuso was at the Torre residence. You told me on the phone that she called you. I checked your cell and there was no call from her.”
She’d been taken to the hospital by ambulance, her vehicle and cell left at the scene. Why would Bowman feel the need to check her cell calls? “We’re going around in circles. You have my written statement.”
When Bowman started to respond, Fowler shook his head and said, “Which appears to be misleading at best and absent a few details. Maybe you were already at the residence. Maybe you had something to do with the explosion. Why didn’t you call Agent Bowman sooner? You knew Mancuso’s late-night contact was a violation of protocol.”
“Why are we having
this conversation?” Loane asked. “You’ve already decided how the story ended and closed the case to prove it.” Why was she being questioned about an inactive case? Were they trying to find out if she’d uncovered anything new?
“We’re wrapping up loose ends. You need to answer our questions,” Fowler said.
She felt like she’d been dropped in a foreign country and everybody was speaking a different language. Nothing was getting through on either side of the conversation. Was he actually suggesting that she was involved in Abby’s death, or was he taunting her? “And maybe you were already there yourself, Fowler. Maybe you and Bowman are orchestrating a cover-up. Bowman left pretty quickly that night after you shut out the other agencies on the scene.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation of my activities,” Bowman said.
“Maybe you should give somebody an explanation. Or maybe you and your boss only answer to politicians.” Loane turned the tables on Bowman. She’d heard the rumors that someone in ATF was Councilwoman Jeffries’s puppet in her law-and-order agenda.
“I’m not the one under review.” His response was too calm, too predictable.
“Which brings up a good point. If this isn’t a criminal investigation or an administrative hearing, I’m pretty much done here.”
Why wasn’t Fowler keeping this fiasco in check? The answer became obvious as the senior agent unnecessarily shuffled papers. He was the politician and Bowman was the soldier. He’d given Bowman his marching orders and offered only token interference. The other officers avoided eye contact, adding to her feeling of isolation.
“Are you going to answer our questions?” Bowman asked.
She dug her fingernails into her gloved palms and they tingled with the sensory memory of hot metal slicing through flesh. The pain helped control her outrage at the unresponsive and unproductive course of events. “Until you’re willing to answer some of my questions, you can take your informal hearing and go straight to hell.” She stood and stared Bowman down before turning to leave.
“If you don’t answer our questions, your job could be in jeopardy.”
“What job?” She’d made her decision. Anything Dan Bowman could do to her now was inconsequential.
As Loane walked out of the room, the past three months seemed like a bad dream. She’d initially been in such a drug-induced state of recovery, depression, and pain that she didn’t remember much of anything except Thom’s gentle touch and words of encouragement.
The shroud of secrecy surrounding Abby’s death convinced her that she was on the right track, but the harder she looked for clues, the fewer she found. Her feelings for Abby had been branded into her psyche as clearly as the scars on her hands. Without answers those feelings were eating her alive. It was a vicious cycle.
Bowman was right about one thing. She was supposed to be Abby’s backup. Her failure to protect Abby was one of the blades that twisted inside her; another was her undefined feelings for Abby.
She walked into the chief’s complex and placed the envelope from her back pocket on his secretary’s desk. “What’s this?” the woman asked.
“Notice of my indefinite leave of absence.”
“Chief Hastings wants to see you before you go.”
She didn’t want to explain herself, not that she could. There had been enough talk and not enough action. She started to leave.
“Officer Landry.” Chief Brad Hastings stood at his office door and motioned her inside. “I can’t believe you weren’t going to talk with me about this.”
“Nothing to say, sir.” She couldn’t look at her father’s best friend without remembering the backyard cookouts and basketball games their families had shared.
“What’s this about a leave of absence?”
“I need to get away for a while, clear my head.” His gray eyes bored into her like a sharpshooter pinpointing a target.
“What’s gotten into you, Loane? It’s not like you to go off the rails like this. You’ve always been a straight arrow and followed the rules. Now I hear that you’re digging around in a closed case, challenging your peers, and questioning their loyalty. What’s this all about?”
“Something’s wrong, Chief. Something about this case is off, and if I have to leave to find it, that’s what I’ll do.”
Chief Hastings removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not exactly crazy about the way the feds handled this case either, but sometimes we have to compromise to keep the peace.”
“I can’t. Not this time. Don’t ask me to.”
“Can I at least ask you not to get into trouble? You can’t investigate anything while you’re on leave. You’ll have no authority and no liability coverage. I don’t want to see you get jammed up or worse.”
She turned back toward the door. He’d cautioned her about rogue behavior and liability. He and the department were covered. “I won’t do anything stupid.” For her that allowed a lot of leeway, but it probably did little to reassure him.
“I’ll approve your leave of absence, but I expect you back as soon as possible. How will we get in touch with you?” the chief asked as she opened the door.
“You won’t.”
*
“What the fuck, sis?”
Loane held the phone away from her ear. Tyler sounded so much like their father when he was angry. She didn’t need to listen closely to hear the same frustration.
“Guess you heard.” On an impulsive behavior scale this was off the charts.
“What were you thinking?”
“That you’d have a better chance of promotion if your older sister wasn’t around?” It seemed she and Tyler had always been in competition for everything, from toys as kids to martial-arts training in their teens. Only two years apart in age, they’d become cops like their father, and their rivalry intensified in the breeding ground of machismo and testosterone.
“I’m not worried about rank, especially after your stunt today. If this is a hair-trigger decision, Brad can fix it.”
“He had months to fix this. Like everybody else, he hasn’t done shit.”
“Really, sis, maybe his hands were tied? He wasn’t happy about the feds taking over an investigation in his city. If you’d been to the Police Club the last few months, you might’ve picked up on that. What are you thinking?”
“Let me see, maybe that I’m sick of being left out, stonewalled, and lied to by people I considered my family and friends? If they can’t trust me with the truth, I can’t trust them, any of them.” She tried to contain her anger. March 1830, first Citizen’s Patrol was formed in Greensboro to augment their only public officer. Loane felt like the only sane officer left in the city as she recalled even Tyler’s reluctance to help her since Abby’s death.
“Is this still about that woman?”
“That woman had a name. It was Abby, Abby Mancuso.”
“Yeah, well, she’s dead and you’re still alive. Get on with your life.”
If she’d been standing next to him, she would’ve kicked him in the balls. He might’ve felt that. Her emotions were frayed and she wanted to lash out at someone, to make them pay. “Has anyone ever told you that you suck at empathy and compassion?”
“My wife, every day. Can I help it if I have a simple mind that works best with facts? Feelings are like old oil, they clog up everything.”
Tyler was a true devotee of the never-show-your-hand philosophy. How had his wife put up with him for ten years? The same way their father put up with their mother until he couldn’t take it any longer.
“Why won’t you help me, Ty?” She wanted to believe in her brother. She needed that last thread of connection to her family. Though theirs had always been a contentious relationship, it had always been solid.
Tyler let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Because there’s nothing to do. The wom—Abby—is dead, and ATF has shut the lid on the case. Nobody has access.”
“And doesn’t that sound the least bit suspicious to you?”
Why couldn’t she accept his explanation and move on? She’d experienced a special connection to Abby, and in an instant it had evaporated. The tether that had bound them was still too tender to retract and simply put away. So it fluttered on every breeze of hope, reaching for some piece of her still out there. “And what if she’s not dead?”
“Jesus. How can you even think that? Nobody could’ve survived. She’s gone.” As if a lightbulb suddenly went off over his head, Tyler was momentarily quiet. “Wait…did you, were you two…”
“She mattered to me.”
The line was silent for several minutes. “Jesus H. Christ. I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry was her family’s all-encompassing expression of compassion, followed by an awkward pause before moving to another topic. It was now her responsibility, as the injured party, to decide the length of the pause and signal the shift. Then life resumed as if nothing had happened. “Yeah. I know.”
“If she isn’t dead, sis, why hasn’t she contacted you?”
That was the same question Eve had asked and Loane still didn’t want to hear. She hadn’t come up with an answer she could live with. If she were alive, Abby had consciously chosen to disappear and forget her. The thought was almost as painful as losing her.
“I’m taking some more time off, Ty.”
“What about your job?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I want to rent out the house, if that’s all right.” She wanted Tyler to have a say about the home place even though she’d inherited it after caretaking her mother in her final years.
“Do whatever you want with the house. It’s yours.” He cleared his throat in the nervous manner she associated with a rare surfacing of emotions. “I know it was hard for you to be there with Mama those last two years. You thought she hated you, but she didn’t.”