Breach of Honor

by Janice Cantore

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Gretchen asked.

  Leah shook her head, fear creeping into her gut. Her father had a gun safe in the garage with several different types of guns. She’d have to open it up and find something to help her feel more secure. Her guns been confiscated a long time ago, and while they’d planned to file a request to get them back, it wouldn’t happen overnight. She shook away the fear, feeling a little silly and way too paranoid.

  “Who is it?” she called out, stepping to the door.

  “Larry and Grady.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Holding his phone in his hand, Clint itched to call Leah. Seeing her briefly yesterday just to bring bad news was not enough. He wanted to have that lunch he’d asked about, talk to her, have the living, breathing letter writer in front of him. Was it too soon? he wondered, feeling a kind of anticipation and excitement he couldn’t ever remember having. Maybe on his lunch break, he decided. He’d call then and set a date.

  Date. The word gave him goose bumps of anticipation.

  He put the phone in its holder and went into service, smoothly settling into patrol mode. As he traveled streets busy with holiday traffic and listened to routine radio chatter, his thoughts stayed on Leah. Henderson had asked if he thought she would try to get her job back. The question caught him by surprise. His knee-jerk reaction was that no, she shouldn’t. But knee-jerk responses weren’t always the best or wisest.

  Why shouldn’t she?

  He tried to imagine what would have happened if she’d been exonerated at the first trial. She wouldn’t have been fired, he didn’t think. After all, she’d acted in self-defense, hadn’t broken any laws. And as he thought about policy, he didn’t see any failures in her actions, unless the failure to report that Brad had been abusing her could be considered a policy violation. While Clint didn’t recall such a rule, officers were mandated to take a domestic violence report in the field. But their personal lives? Hindsight is supposed to be twenty-twenty, but right now he wasn’t so sure.

  Then again, her arrest and the unfair first trial had exposed malfeasance in the PD and beyond that Clint was certainly glad was gone. Racer and his good old boys, Birch and his corruption—if there was a silver lining, that was it. Clint would never defend a bad cop and believed his department was better for the firings and the retirements of bad guys. The Hangmen were a cancer that needed to be excised.

  Mind switching back to patrol, Clint followed a truck that suddenly appeared and passed him on his right. He punched the plate number into his computer and waited for the return. The truck turned abruptly onto Carlyle, heading south toward Foothill. A wave of apprehension swept over Clint. He wasn’t superstitious, but something about the truck bothered him. It was a rental out of Grants Pass. Clint radioed for backup, intending to stop the truck when he had another unit with him.

  They continued south. Without signaling, the truck abruptly swerved to the right, exiting at Foothill. At the bottom of the ramp he could turn east or west. Clint grabbed the mike and prepared to give dispatch a new direction of travel. Backup would be with him in a couple of minutes.

  The truck approached the stop sign at Foothill but never came to a stop. The driver punched it and turned left, cutting off two cars and nearly colliding with a third. Tires squealed and horns blared as Clint activated his light bar and siren.

  The truck sped east with Clint on its tail. The violations were so egregious that Clint bet the guy didn’t think he’d be pursued. Vehicle pursuits were out of policy in the city of Table Rock. But right now they weren’t in the crowded city center, so Clint would push his luck, praying that the guy did not turn toward downtown.

  He’d keyed his mike to inform dispatch that the truck was failing to yield when in his peripheral vision he caught movement to his right. The huge, cold visage of a semitruck appeared at the passenger window.

  Before Clint could even process what was happening, the semi slammed into the side of his SUV with the force of a bomb. That was the last thing he remembered as the world around him winked into darkness.

  Leah frowned, for the life of her not knowing what Larry Ripley and Grady Blanchard would want with her. At least Duke Gill with his toothpick-chewing, sardonic face wasn’t present. That would have been really annoying. She turned to Gretchen, who nodded.

  “I’ll get it.” A diminutive woman, slightly taller than she was round, Gretchen nonetheless had a great command presence. She strode to the door as Leah stepped out of the way.

  “Can I help you?” she asked as she pulled the door open.

  “We wanted to talk to Leah.” That was Larry’s voice.

  “About what?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Her lawyer, Gretchen Gaffney. Anything you have to say to her you can say to me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The years hadn’t softened his tone of superiority, Leah thought.

  “Our business is with her, not her—”

  “Excuse me, we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

  Leah recognized Grady trying to be diplomatic. He was better at it than Larry.

  “We’re old friends of Leah Radcliff.”

  “Look,” Gretchen started but Leah cut her off and stepped to the door.

  “It’s okay, Gretchen.” She looked from Larry to Grady and back again. “What is it you want?”

  Larry arched an eyebrow. “Is that any way to treat old friends?” In person, Brad’s best friend had not aged well. He looked ten years older, not four.

  “You were never my friend, Larry, and you know it.”

  Larry’s face folded into an expression of hurt.

  Leah turned to Grady. He was off duty and in civilian clothes. Was that so he wouldn’t be intimidating? she wondered. “I don’t know about you.”

  “I think you do. I always wondered about you and Brad. I’m so sorry I never saw any of the warning signs.”

  That comment caught her off guard and made her take a half step back. It sounded so genuinely caring. But then she’d always liked Grady.

  Completely prematurely gray now and balding, he was the same height as Larry but broader and soft in the middle. Leah remembered he was never very athletic, and the physical training required for police work had never come easy for him. Brad normally had no time for anyone he considered “without physical skill,” or WPS. It was Grady’s sense of humor that saved him where Brad was concerned. Grady had moved to Southern California and tried to be a stand-up comedian but failed. When he came back to the valley, “tail between his legs,” as Brad would say, Brad helped him with the physical side of the testing process. Grady always credited Brad with helping him get hired.

  Leah didn’t want to think Grady was a Hangman, but after everything she’d been through, she couldn’t help it. He was never a macho Neanderthal like other friends of Brad. At least, he’d always been funny and nice to her, not superior and irritating like Larry. Now he regarded her with a kind expression. She didn’t want to lump him in with Larry, but seeing them here together was bringing up all sorts of memories. Not good ones.

  “We only want to wish you well,” Grady said.

  “Both of us.” Larry tried to step closer.

  “I may believe Grady, but coming from you, Larry, all I hear is insincerity.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m glad you’re a free woman. You were a good cop. I know what a maniac Brad could be. I never believed for a second that what happened to Brad was not justified.”

  Leah did a double take. Larry had been Brad’s best friend, his partner in crime, to coin a phrase. Was he saying now that he believed abuse was going on and he never tried to stop it?

  “I find that hard to believe. And it certainly doesn’t match your testimony. Admitting to perjury? Trying to convince me that you didn’t belong to the Hangmen when I know you did?”

  His eyes narrowed and he put his hands on his hips. “Careful with
that, Leah. Your lawyer can tell you about slander and libel.”

  “It’s not slanderous if it’s true. You only escaped notice because you’re not a cop.” Leah crossed her arms and glared at him.

  “Friendly warning: drop the Hangmen; they’re done.”

  “Warning or threat?”

  “Hey, hey, hey.” Grady held his hands up as Larry turned away, seeming to Leah a gesture to try to calm everyone down. “This went south faster than the last lap of the Indy 500. We can’t redo the past. You’re free now. And I’m—we’re—in a position to help you, you know.”

  “Help me how?”

  “We know you deserve a settlement with the city,” Grady said. “We can help ease you through the process.”

  “That’s enough.” Gretchen stepped in. “Any legal action my client decides to take against the city is none of your business.”

  Larry turned back, in control now, eyes on Leah, looking at her as if they shared some secret code. “All I’m saying is I think you deserve to be compensated for the injustice done to you, and we can help.”

  An idea struck and she held her hand up as Gretchen started to speak.

  “How about helping me get my job back?”

  It was Larry’s turn to step back. Grady reacted as if she’d slapped him.

  “We believe you’re entitled to monetary compensation, but after all these years away, you really think you can be a cop again?” All pleasantness fled Grady’s features like water running down a culvert.

  “There’s a lot of questions I want answered, so yeah, I want my job back. That wasn’t rent Brad collected for you that night, Larry, was it?”

  Larry backed further off the porch. “Like I said, leave it alone, Leah. You’re free, with a lot of options. Don’t choose the wrong ones.”

  “Is that another threat?”

  “Advice from an old friend.”

  “Don’t disturb the past, Leah,” Grady said, gentleness in his tone. “Right now, you’re a victim people can sympathize with. Don’t make a mistake and become the goat again.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re a bright girl; you’ll figure it out,” Larry said. “And you’re four years older. Think long and hard before you go this route.” He turned for the car, but Grady hesitated. He’d recovered his geniality.

  “Leah, you’ve been through an ordeal no one should have to go through. All we’re saying is think carefully before you make any big decisions.” He turned toward Larry and their car. “Becky sends her love,” he called over his shoulder before he got into his car and left.

  Leah closed the door and looked at Gretchen. “That was odd.”

  “It was. They were fishing for something. I thought you weren’t sure about wanting your job back.”

  “I wasn’t. But now that it’s something Larry and Grady don’t want, I’ll reconsider. My impression just now is that they want me to take a payoff and disappear.” She walked back to the couch and sat. “So tell me, Gretchen: how do we go about getting me my job back?”

  CHAPTER 42

  After promising Leah she would work on petitioning the city for reinstatement, Gretchen left. With her dad off to work, Leah was alone and free, a word that kept echoing in her mind. Outside the day was gray and overcast, but it wasn’t snowing. She wanted to take a walk. It didn’t matter that it was cold. She was free and could go outside, and that was what she wanted to do.

  Before she went out, though, she needed to stop putting off the chore of sorting through her things and finding her old favorites. During her first couple of days home, she and her dad had brought all her clothing from storage, but everything was still boxed up and she’d been procrastinating going through it all, instead wearing new clothes she’d bought in Bend. Her favorite warm pair of boots, jeans, and sweatshirt should be easy enough to find, she thought.

  She found her boots first and then the jeans. The jeans fit loosely but they would do. It took longer to dig out her socks. In the process she came across an Oregon Ducks sweatshirt wrapped around something heavy. She unwrapped it and found a gun case.

  Leah frowned. The sweatshirt was Brad’s. She thought back on the day Clint and others removed her things from the house; the case and the shirt must have accidentally been placed in a box with her things. The case was only big enough to hold a single handgun, something Brad would have used to pack a gun if he was flying somewhere. She knew he’d had a case like this, but this one did not look familiar. It was heavy because it was a secure case, but she didn’t think it was heavy enough to have a gun in it. Odd that an empty, strange gun case would show up in her stuff. She certainly didn’t have a key to open it.

  As she considered the case, the phone rang.

  She set it aside, making a mental note to search for the key later, and picked up her phone, noting that the caller ID said Wireless Caller. She debated answering but in the end decided she wasn’t going to hide. She punched the green phone button.

  “Hello?”

  “Radcliff?” It was a woman’s voice, vaguely familiar.

  “Who is this?”

  “Vicki Henderson.”

  “Oh, what a surprise.” Henderson had been at the coming home party, but they’d not spoken much. Leah had thanked her for getting fired because that had ultimately led to her own freedom.

  “Wish it was for something good. I wanted to fill you in. Clint Tanner has been in a horrible car crash. It took forty minutes to cut him out of his SUV. He’s in the Rogue Valley emergency room.”

  When Clint came to, he couldn’t move. He heard voices, felt pain everywhere, but couldn’t move. And he couldn’t remember what happened. Was he at work, at home? Where am I? he wondered. He tried to open his eyes, but the light was so bright. He squinted.

  “Hey, he’s coming around,” a woman said.

  “Sergeant Tanner?”

  He blinked and the white blurry world came into focus. He was in the hospital. Why?

  Again, he tried to move and couldn’t. Before panic set in, he realized he was on a backboard, with a neck immobilizer, and everything hurt. What had happened?

  “What?” Speaking one word seemed to take all his strength.

  “You were in an accident—do you remember?” The same woman’s voice spoke, close to his ear.

  “Acc . . .”

  “Yeah, didn’t you see the truck?” Another voice. Marvin Sapp, he thought, but couldn’t turn his head to check.

  Clint tried to think back, but everything was so foggy.

  “You have a concussion and maybe a broken arm . . . who knows what else,” the woman said. “We’re sending you to X-ray and then maybe to MRI to see if there’s anything else more serious. If you understand me, blink your eyes.”

  Clint blinked.

  “Great. Now just relax, and let us take care of you.”

  Clint tried to relax as he felt himself being moved by medical personnel. When he shifted his torso slightly, pain shot up his left arm. Yeah, broken, he bet. Why couldn’t he remember what had happened?

  Leah had reached the hospital parking lot before it occurred to her that she might not be welcome. The call from Henderson had elicited an icy cold fear and brought up long-forgotten and horribly painful memories of the day she’d received the same kind of call about her mother. Sun Radcliff had died instantly in the crash and was long gone by the time Leah and her father reached the hospital.

  How was Clint?

  The thought of losing him like she’d lost her mother was something Leah couldn’t entertain. As she made the drive to the hospital, she shoved it far to the back of her mind, relying instead on repeating Proverbs 3:5: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding . . .” Meditating on the verse had calmed her down by the time she reached the lot.

  Now that she was here, though, she didn’t care if she wasn’t welcome. Nothing was going to keep her from Clint’s side. There were four police cars in the emergency room lot, proba
bly most of day shift. Who would be there?

  There was nothing she could do but take a deep breath and face the gauntlet. This was about Clint. She locked her car and walked into the ER. The first two officers she saw were young; she didn’t know them. They were leaving and passed her in the doorway. If they recognized her, they gave no indication. She continued on into the ER. The next officer she saw, she did know. Sergeant Erik Forman, Brad’s old supervisor on SAT. He recognized her immediately, she could tell, and she stopped.

  “What are you doing here?” His eyes widened with surprise at first, then narrowed as he glared at her.

  “I came to see about Clint, if it’s any of your business.”

  He stepped forward quickly enough to make Leah step back. “I’m making what you do my business. You killed my friend in cold blood and then lied about it,” he said, voice low, tone dangerous. “Don’t think you’re going to come back here and pick up where you left off.”

  Leah kept her face blank. Out of practice, it was still her best cop face. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Take it any way you want.” He pushed past her and continued out the door.

  “That could have gone better,” Leah muttered under her breath.

  She turned and saw Marvin Sapp come out of the double doors to the ER exam rooms. He smiled. “Good to see you, Mighty Mite.”

  Leah returned his smile as all the unpleasantness left in the wake of Forman melted away. Marvin’s demeanor served to untie the final knot of fear about Clint that had encircled her heart since Henderson’s call. He was too upbeat for Clint to be dead. Sapp had been in her academy class, and he used her moniker from those days. The nickname had nothing to do with police work; it was left over from her basketball career when the school newspaper called her Mighty Mite.

  “Hey, Pinky.” She stepped forward and gave as much of a hug as his vest and gun belt would allow.

  “Good to see you, but surprised,” he said. “How’d you hear about Clint?”