Collision Course (A Josh Williams Novel)

by Joe Broadmeadow

  The door closed behind them and the dumpster pulled to the curb, blocking the door, awaiting the trash service truck that pulled up at that moment.

  The agents, oblivious to the machinations they triggered, started toward Josh and their world went insane.

  Two very well endowed young women, wearing thong bikinis, appeared at their side, held their arms, and smiled for the flashes of cameras and video.

  Frank O'Malley, coming from behind the agents, put his arms around them just after the girls moved away, yelling "God bless the USA," and spilling the two Guinness beers he held in each hand on the agents' suits, while still managing to smile for the cameras.

  The agents pushed O'Malley away, and began scanning the room for Josh.

  Every face in the crowd was now wearing a Josh Williams mask.

  Chris came over, smiled, and said, "Is there anything the East Providence Police can do to assist you?"

  Behind the agents, the various signs were paraded; cameras continued to flash, and the crowd began cheering "Na, na, na, na.... Na, na na na, hey hey hey, FBI."

  "You think this is funny? You fucking local yokel asshole," the agent yelled, "this is obstruction of justice."

  "My, my, what an attitude toward a sister in the thin blue line. If you think this is funny, wait until you see the pictures. My bet is they are on Facebook and YouTube as we speak. Might I buy you a drink, in the interest of cooperation?"

  "I am going to indict your ass for this Hamlin, and lock up that fucking partner of yours."

  "You go right ahead and try asshole," Chris smiled, “my guess is the prima donna political cocksuckers in FBI Headquarters will be sending your ass to some fucking outpost on Diego Garcia, when they hear this story." Chris joined the chorus dancing to "hey hey hey, FBI"

  The other agent grabbed his partner's arm, turned, and tried to open the door. It opened just a few inches at first and then a bit wider, allowing Vinnie the plumber to look in and say, "Hold on boys, still taking a dump."

  Forcing the door, the agents made their way to the car. Vinnie's van was inches from the rear bumper, and the trash truck blocked the front.

  The lead agent then made another error in judgment, turning the siren on and off; he yelled out the window at the trash truck operator, "Move the truck immediately this is the FBI."

  "Yes Sir. Mr. FBI agent," said the driver, snapping a perfect, if wrong handed, salute.

  As the truck pulled away, a huge wave of fluid from inside the still exposed compaction area splashed out, covering the hood and pouring all sorts of fermenting items in the open driver's window.

  Josh, who left his seat as the performance began, watched it all unfold from across the street.

  It is good to have friends.

  Chapter 40: Justice Derailed

  Sergeant Joshua Williams surrendered himself to the United States District Court of Rhode Island. At his arraignment, he entered a plea of not guilty. The court released him on his own recognizance, after he submitted to fingerprinting and photography at the FBI office.

  As Josh walked out of the FBI office, he knew what was coming.

  There exists in Rhode Island a controversial law known as the Law Enforcement Officers' Bill of Rights, an object of derision and complaint by politicians and Chiefs of Police.

  The law’s genesis was a consequence of the abuse of power by the very same politicians and Chiefs of Police, this fact often missing from the public discourse.

  The latest amendment of the law allowing, but not requiring, the immediate suspension, without pay, of any officer charged with a felony. The presumption of innocence being an inconvenient burden, ignored for the sake of politics.

  As Josh left the FBI office, Lieutenant Hamlin and Chief Brennan greeted him.

  "I know, Chief, weapon and credentials. I'll have them brought to you," Josh said, trying to smile.

  "Bullshit," Brennan replied, "I am going to have to clip your wings a bit, keep you under house arrest so to speak, but I am not taking anything from you. I believe in the Justice system in this country, not just in word but in practice as well. I do not give a crap what the other Chiefs might think. They want to suspend somebody just because it is the easy way out, let 'em. I am not doing it.”

  Brennan looked at Hamlin, then back to Josh. “Now Lieutenant Hamlin here is going to drive you back to the station. You take a few days off, and then come in on Monday. There are plenty of things I need help with, and you're it."

  At East Providence Police Department Headquarters, every member of the department, and a huge number of civilians, waited for him in the front lot. Many carrying signs proclaiming the injustice of the indictment. Francis Patrick O'Malley held a huge sign referencing Salem Witch Trials, Japanese Internment Camps, Nazi Concentration Camps, as well as a host of other references to history’s oppressed. Most did not understand the sign. No one read the whole thing, but they all let Frank stand in front.

  Josh was overwhelmed.

  Chris pulled the car to the front of the station, looked over, and said, "Well, Ace, looks like you have a few friends, perhaps you should say thank you."

  Josh got out of the car to a thunderous applause. Amid varying cries of, stand tall Josh, we've got your back, Josh leaned against the car and took it all in. Waiting for the noise to die down, he climbed onto the hood of the car, motioning for the crowd to listen to him.

  "I don't know what's going to happen, but I do know this; few ever understand the pride we feel being a members of this department. Very few, unless they put on that badge, wear that uniform, stand on the shoulders of those great cops that came before us, will know how proud I am to be one of you. So, with all sincerity, I want to thank you, and say Fuck you all."

  In that moment, one of those times where no one planned it, the entire crowd began to move as one out onto Waterman Avenue.

  A spontaneous, heartfelt, unstoppable parade.

  It snarled traffic on Pawtucket Avenue, Waterman Avenue, Taunton Avenue, and a host of side streets. It moved down Waterman, gathered more people, spurred on by the emotion of the moment.

  They made their way to Bovi's, some in an attempt to ease the pain of injustice, some for the inevitable free drinks. It did not matter; they made the best of a bad situation.

  The intent was not to forget tragedy in the death of a young man, but only to mitigate the revulsion of political ambition trying to destroy a good man.

  Chapter 41: A Message of Help

  Chris Hamlin walked into the office, finding Josh already there.

  "Early for a change, what's the special occasion?"

  "I slept here last night. You'd be surprised how comfortable that couch in the back of the surveillance van can be.” Josh yawned, sipping his coffee, and leaned back in the chair.

  "Josh, maybe it's none of my business, you and Keira belong together, whatever it is, don't mess that up."

  "You're right," Josh replied, standing and walking to the coffee pot, "it isn't your concern. She made her choice."

  "Is this about what that rat fuck Beansie said? Christ Josh, that asshole would say anything to get himself out of shit. There is no fucking way Keira has anything with Harris. I can't believe you even imagined that's true."

  Josh turned and looked at Hamlin, "I don't know what's fucking true anymore, she's been spending a lot of time, and I mean a lot of time, with him. Now Beansie tells me he saw her pick him up at Bovi's."

  "Listen to me," Hamlin interjected. "Do you think for one minute, if Keira were having an affair, she'd go to Bovi's? Half the cops on the department live in that place off-duty, not to mention the fire guys, lawyers, and a million others that know you both. She is not stupid. More to the point, she is not the type. Whatever she saw in you, I will never understand."

  Josh returned to his desk, brought up his email on the computer, and started sorting through it.

  One email jumped out at him. He did not know the address, clearly intended to catch his eye, bwareofonyfriends@hotmail
.com. The subject line read, 'You are surrounded by rats'.

  He opened the message,

  "Josh,

  There is someone providing information to Collucci.

  He says he has something he will use to destroy your credibility.

  It is coming from someone close to you, another cop perhaps.

  If I get more, I will pass it on. Check your email closely; it won't be from the same email address. A friend."

  "What the fuck," Josh muttered.

  Hamlin, looking over her glasses at Josh, asked. "Something else wrong?"

  "Somebody here has a fucking real bad sense of humor, trying to fuck with me over this shit, come here, take a look."

  Hamlin came over and looked at the screen display, "I don't know Josh, not many guys here would know enough to go to a onetime use email. Keep an eye out for more and forward me that email, I can trace the IP address in the header info and see where it came from."

  Walking back to her desk, she paused a moment and then said, "Can you think of anything they might have that they could use?"

  "I can't think of anything right now except my wife may be having an affair, and suddenly the US Attorney may have some shit on me. This just keeps getting better and better." Josh sighed, sinking back in the chair.

  "Josh, there's no way Keira has anything to do with this, and she's not having an affair with Harris or anybody else," Logging into the computer, and retrieving the forwarded email message, she looked at the header information.

  A short time later, after reaching out to contacts at the local cable company, Hamlin got up from her desk. "Come on, let's go for a ride. We have something to check out."

  "Where are we going?" Josh asked.

  "The library on Grove Avenue, the email was sent from there this morning, and they put surveillance cameras in since the fire last year."

  Heading out the rear private door from their office, they ran across Chief Brennan coming up the stairs.

  "And where are we off to now boys and girls? I do hope we are keeping away from any additional controversy for a bit." Smiling and drawing on his ever-present cigar, "And Sergeant.”

  "Yes sir?" Josh replied.

  "Relax son, no need for such military formality, it's just us," the Chief continued, "don't worry about them DC agents. I read the reports. You did it by the numbers and there isn't any way they are even gonna get an indictment, let alone a jury to believe anything other than a justified shooting."

  Continuing up the stairs, the Chief said, "You did a great job Josh, remember that. This department is behind you all the way.” Motioning for them to continue, Chief Brennan headed into the building.

  Josh looked at Hamlin, "he's like our own Buford Pusser isn't he?"

  Hamlin replied, "He always plays that naive small-town Police Chief act, but he is very smart, and most importantly, loyal to his cops, well the good ones anyway. He never forgot where he came from, unlike some of the brass we have here."

  Getting into the undercover car, they headed over to the library. Parking in front, Hamlin looked at the external surveillance cameras and said, "If we're lucky we can isolate the time frame on the digital recordings and match them to the range of time the sender was in here. The Internet provider couldn't tell me how long the user was on, but they gave me enough with the header information to show the time the email was sent.”

  “I bet whoever it was, created the email address here and then sent the email. So we'll look at 30 minutes or so prior to the time stamp in the header information."

  Walking into the library, they headed over to the main desk. A young woman looked up and said, "How can I help you?"

  Hamlin feigned a serious look, and said, "Is Ms. Johnson in? I am Lieutenant Hamlin from the police department. We need to take her back to prison."

  The young woman appeared startled and started to reply, when a voice from the back room said, "Don't pay any attention to her, Becky. Lieutenant Hamlin is just kidding. She is really here for her GED classes."

  A tall, well-dressed, 60ish black woman came from the back office carrying a pile of books and CDs. Handing them to the young woman she said, "Could you please return these to their proper locations, Becky, while I deal with the comedienne here."

  Looking at Hamlin, “So how is my favorite illiterate? I see you found the library. Do you need to use the restroom, or are you ready to learn to read?" coming around the counter to hug Hamlin.

  "Josh," Hamlin said "this is Vera ‘Aunt Jemima' Johnson. We served together in Viet Nam. She used to do my laundry and make my bed."

  Johnson smiled and said, "actually Josh that is true. Miss 'I went to a fancy girls school' did not know how to do laundry or make a bed. If I hadn't done it for her, she'd have never survived, even the guys stirring the honey pots smelled better." Letting out a huge laugh and then looking around to make sure no one noticed.

  "How are you Chris?" Johnson asked

  "I am well, V. We need to get together soon, how about dinner on Friday?" Hamlin said, holding Johnson's shoulders.

  "At a restaurant, or do you expect me to cook like usual?"

  "I'll buy the groceries and vodka."

  "Okay, I'll cook, make it around 7. I'll email the shopping list, and you can drop the stuff off here on Thursday around 5,"

  Looking over at Josh and then back at Hamlin, "So what do I really owe this visit to? I am sure it's more than weaseling a dinner invitation."

  "We need to look at the surveillance video from this morning," Hamlin answered.

  "Okay, I'll show you where they are, but as for operating it, you are on your own. I still have a rabbit's ear antenna on my TV, and I pay for cable," turning and heading back into the inside office.

  Chris and Josh followed her into the back room. She pointed to the recorder. Chris retrieved the DVD and replaced it with a blank one.

  “I put a new disk in V, so the camera will continue to record. I’ll get this back to you on Friday.” Turning as she left the office she added, “Don’t forget to send me the grocery list. Looking forward to it.”

  “I am putting it together now, Miss Mooch. See ya’ later.”

  They went directly to the station and into the SIU office.

  Chris took the disk from her notebook and placed it in the DVD drive.

  Waiting for the program to recognize the media, Chris brought up the email header information she got from the Internet provider and looked at the send time.

  The Windows Media player queued up the first MPEG file. Chris hit the play button and noted the time on the surveillance camera time/date display. Scrolling rapidly, moving the time-lapse images to one-hour before the email send time.

  Watching the images, she scanned forward quickly. Stopping on one of the images, she noticed a familiarity about the person. "Josh," she called, "come here and look at this, does he look familiar?"

  "Ah yeah, that's Frank O'Malley. He goes there every day." Josh answered, "He has an odd way of reading email. He has the librarian print it out for him. He prefers paper. I doubt he would even know how to create an email. I created his for him. FrancisPOMalley.GSGTUSMC@hotmail.com. It's not him Chris."

  Chris continued up to the time in the email header. No one entered the library except Frank.

  "There's nobody else." Chris sighed, slumping back in the chair.

  "Did you adjust for UTC?" Josh smiled.

  "What the hell is, oh shit, I completely forgot," the notion clearer in her mind, "the email time stamp is in UTC." UTC being Universal Time Coordinated, a method for synchronization across time zones.

  "So my genius Lieutenant, if the email is time stamped 14:45 UTC that would be?" Josh opened his arms in a questioning gesture.

  "East coast is UTC-5, right?" Chris answered, moving back to the computer. "I've been looking at 13:45; I should look at 8:45, no wait. Frank came in at 9:00 our time. It must be before that. I need to look at 8:15."

  "Ah, my little girl is growing up, she can add and subtract." Josh
replied and went back to reading reports.

  Flipping Josh the bird, Chris returned to the search screen, adjusting for the time difference. At 8:35, she found what she wanted. Two individuals entered within moments of each other, just before Frank O'Malley.

  One was a woman, about 25 years old. Chris followed her progress from the camera on the exterior to the one monitoring entrance doors. She grabbed a few frames to create an image she could enlarge and enhance.

  "Too bad they don't have cameras inside." Chris said with a hint of frustration in her voice.

  "Ah, they'd have to get rid of Orwell's 1984, and all those other inconvenient references to privacy wouldn't you think?" Josh answered without even looking up.

  She ignored Josh and examined the other individual. This one was male, wearing a military fatigue field jacket and dark-rimmed glasses. Something else was odd about him, but she could not quite put her hand on it. She grabbed some frames for this one and then brought both subjects up in Photoshop.

  After using the available tools, two clear images emerged.

  Josh and Chris studied them.

  Nothing.

  Switching between the full image and the enhanced facial ones, it suddenly hit her. "Son-of-a-bitch," Chris said, punching Josh.

  "Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Josh replied.

  "Look at his pants and shoes, look at his fucking pants and shoes." Chris yelled.

  Josh looked at the picture, back at Chris, and then studied the image a bit more. "They're dress shoes and pants," Josh said. "The guy is wearing suit under the field jacket. I bet the glasses are probably fake."

  "Now you get it," Chris exclaimed. "I bet that bastard is a Fed, he's the sender."

  "Or she is the sender, and they're trying to spook me into something," Josh replied, "or they know she's trying to give me info."

  "Jeez, you're a fucking conspiracy theorist on steroids aren't you?" Chris said, "Do you think Frank might remember them?"

  "He might. I will ask him when I see him later. So now what, we still don't know who the woman is, or if she is even involved, so all we have is a plot line for a spy novel."