by Colin Conway
“Some of it,” Wagner said.
“Even some of it ought to scare the hell out of you.”
“Can we come in and talk, Lyle?”
“We?”
Wagner glanced over at Zielinski. “I have an officer with me. After last time—”
“Does he have a warrant? Because the last cops that came didn’t have a warrant, but the assholes touched my stuff anyway.”
“No one will touch your things,” Wagner promised. “But after our last visit together, my supervisor is making me bring the police along.”
“Why?”
“You don’t remember throwing that book at me?”
Lyle didn’t answer for a moment. Finally, he said, “I don’t want the cops in here again.”
Wagner spread his hands. “You know how this works, Lyle. For me to come inside, the officer has to come with me. And I can’t complete my visit without coming inside. If I don’t complete my visit, I can’t sign off on your compliance with our plan, and if I don’t sign off, you could lose some of your benefits.”
“Okay, goddammit. Come in and get your business done.”
Wagner smiled. “Thank you, Lyle.”
He stepped inside and Zielinski followed. Lyle wheeled away, his back to them.
“All right,” Wagner began. “Shall we start with a walkthrough, or do you want to talk first?”
Lyle spun his chair around to face them. “Do your walk—” He stopped, staring at Zielinski. “You!”
Zielinski didn’t respond.
Wagner looked back and forth between Lyle and Zielinski. “What is it?”
Lyle pointed. “He’s the one who touched my stuff. He threatened to take me to jail for exercising my First Amendment right as an independent journalist!”
Zielinski rolled his eyes. “Again with the journalist thing, Lyle?”
“I have a blog!”
“My sister’s kid has a blog. It’s about snakes. He’s nine.”
“That’s not the same thing,” Lyle yelled. “Not the same at all.”
“Pretty much.”
“Not the same!”
“Okay, okay,” Wagner interjected, stepping between them. “Let’s bring it down a bit, gents.”
Lyle waved the finger he was pointing. “I don’t want that jack-booted thug in my private residence!”
“Easy, Lyle,” Wagner said.
“I have Fourth Amendment rights!”
“I know you do and we’re not going to violate them, or any of your rights.”
“We? You’re with them now, Lindsay?”
Wagner shook his head. “No. I meant we in the sense that both of us are here. That’s all.”
Lyle looked at him suspiciously, saying nothing, his finger still directed at Zielinski. The officer crossed his arms, and leaned back against the wall.
“You know me,” Wagner continued. “I’m trying to help you, like always.”
“Then why bring the military branch of city government here?” Lyle’s voice rose.
“I told you,” Wagner said. “My boss is making me.”
“Your boss is in on it, too?”
Wagner hesitated. “How about this, Lyle? The officer will stand right there. He won’t touch anything. He won’t say anything. He’ll just stand there like my boss requires while you and I take care of our business together. I’ll make sure everything is good here. If you need anything, we’ll figure it out. That way, I’ll know you’re all right, and you’ll be sure to get your full check next month. Does that sound okay?”
Lyle seemed to consider the idea. Finally, he lowered his finger. “Fine, but he stands there, says nothing, and touches nothing.”
Wagner held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
Lyle’s eyes narrowed. “The Boy Scouts are an arm of the Catholic Church and a recruitment pool for the Templars.”
“Good thing I was never actually a scout, then. But I do promise, okay?”
Lyle watched him for a moment, then agreed.
“Great,” Wagner said. “Now, I’m going to do a quick walkthrough, all right? Then we’ll talk.”
“Fine.”
Wagner left the living room for the kitchen. Both Lyle and Zielinski watched as the social worker checked the cupboards and the refrigerator. “Is Marcy still doing your grocery shopping for you?”
“She’s the only one I can trust.”
“Well, she’s doing a good job.” Wagner left the kitchen and headed down the hall.
As soon as he was out of sight, Lyle’s gaze snapped to Zielinski. “I know what you’re up to,” he said in a hushed voice.
“Six-one,” Zielinski said. “Since high school.”
Lyle frowned in confusion. “Is that some kind of code?”
“Yeah. It’s called the standard measurement system.”
Lyle scowled. “That’s what you say.”
“It is.”
“I’m going to write a story about you and that other cop.”
Zielinski raised his eyebrows and gave him a sarcastic look. “What, like a love story? I don’t go that way, Lyle.”
“No!” Lyle said through clenched teeth. “A journalistic blog entry, detailing the number and exact details of all of the constitutional violations you both committed two days ago. I made notes!” He grabbed a composition book from the coffee table and held it up.
Zielinski nodded. He supposed a blog post on crazy dot com was better than a demeanor complaint to IA.
“Once the citizens of Spokane read what kind of abuses are being perpetrated by the police in their name, you guys are finished.”
“Yeah? Think they’ll disband the department?”
“Yes!” Lyle hissed. “The Department of Justice will come in and put you under a Consent Decree and root out all the bad cops.”
“All of us?”
Lyle pointed again. “All of you! You, and that college boy that came with you, and Chief Baumgartner, who I know for a fact is a Freemason, and that murderer Tyler Garrett, for starters.”
Zielinski fell silent, surprised.
“You’re all a bunch of murdering thugs conspiring to turn this town into the fascist capital of…”
Zielinski tuned him out, his mind spinning around how Lyle had just lumped him in with Tyler Garrett. He was nothing like Garrett. At best, Garrett won the lawsuit lottery and got money he didn’t deserve. At worst, he was a murderer, just like Lyle claimed. All Zielinski did was work his ass off every day, scratching by while assholes like this got free money from the government.
“Are you even listening to me?” Lyle snapped. “You have to listen to me. I pay your salary.”
A bevy of comebacks to the oft-repeated phrase flashed through Zielinski’s mind.
Here’s your nickel back.
Or I want a raise. I deal with difficult people too often.
Or his personal favorite, Since you’re on government assistance, it’s more like I pay your salary.
He knew he shouldn’t say anything, that he was pushing his luck, but he couldn’t help it. He lowered his voice to a growl. “You write any more of those stupid letters, Lyle?”
“Fuck you!” Lyle screamed. “I can write as many fucking letters to as many fucking people as I fucking want! First Amendment!”
Wagner reappeared in the living room, an expression of concern painted on his face. “What’s going on?”
“Fuck you, Lindsay!”
Wagner held up his hands. “Whoa, Lyle. What’s—”
“Fuck you!” Lyle repeated. “Fuck you and your beard!”
Zielinski watched the scene unfold, torn between enjoying the show and wondering what the hell he’d been thinking. Like he needed any more trouble. When Wagner glanced askance at him, he gave him an innocent shrug.
Wagner turned back to the man in the wheelchair. “Lyle…”
“Get out of my house! I’m blogging about this! Get out!”
Wagner hesitated. “I need to finish my visit.”
“Get out, get out, get out!” Lyle screeched.
“All right.” Wagner moved to the door. Zielinski followed. Once they were outside, Wagner pulled it shut. Then he looked at Zielinski. “What was that all about?”
“He seems angry,” Zielinski said, turning and heading down the walkway.
Wagner followed. “I know, but…I haven’t seen him like this since before we got him on his medication.”
“Maybe he’s off his meds.”
“Maybe,” Wagner said doubtfully. “But I checked his prescription bottles, and the pill count is right.”
“He could be flushing the pills down the john.”
“I suppose so. He’s never been resistant to taking medication before, though.” Wagner looked more closely at Zielinski. “Did you say anything to him to set him off?”
Zielinski stopped at the social worker’s car. He met Wagner’s gaze. “Let me ask you this. How exactly am I supposed to know what will set off a crazy person?”
Wagner frowned at the word crazy. “You weren’t supposed to say a word. I promised him.”
“Yeah, well, he engaged me in conversation. Not answering might have set him off, for all I know.”
Wagner watched him for a moment, considering. “Are you going to write a report about this, Officer…” Wagner stared at Zielinski’s silver nametag. “Zee…Zil…”
Zielinski sighed. He wanted to clear the call One-David, but he realized he needed to cut paper, even if the report was just to cover his own ass. “Yeah, I guess I will, since he’s either crazy or off his meds. Or both.” An idea occurred to him to keep from having to return to Lyle’s house again. “I’ll flag Officer Stone in Special Police Problems on the report. He knows the situation.”
Wagner scrunched his eyebrows. “How?”
“Some letters Lyle sent.”
“More letters?” Wagner sighed. Finally, he said, “I guess I’ll try again tomorrow when he’s hopefully calmer.”
“Perfect,” Zielinski said. “Tomorrow’s my day off.”
Wagner gave him an incredulous look.
Hell with it. What’s done is done.
He turned and walked back to the patrol car, leaving Lindsay Wagner behind.
CHAPTER 21
Chief Robert Baumgartner parked in the Emergency Vehicles Only spot near city hall. He drove a black, unmarked SUV, a model only K-9 and SWAT drove. Most of patrol was outfitted with Ford police interceptors while detectives and administrators drove the less expensive Chevy Impala.
Baumgartner wasn’t elitist about his vehicle choice. Rather, it was practical. The new Taurus-based interceptors for patrol were smaller than its predecessor, the Crown Victoria, and the Chevy Impala detectives and administrators drove was smaller yet. He’d ridden in both vehicles, and it was uncomfortable for any length of time. His large frame fit in an SUV, plain and simple. Driving one was a perk he allowed himself as chief.
He locked the car and walked toward city hall, strolling casually. An advantage of his six-foot-three frame was that his strides ate up a lot of ground. Even if he was in a hurry, he didn’t appear to be. That was important. When people watched him, they needed to feel confident. How he carried himself, including how he walked, mattered.
At the entrance to city hall, the security guard waved him around the screening station. Baumgartner nodded in acknowledgement and headed for the elevators. He rode up to the seventh floor, exchanging brief pleasantries with people getting on and off. Those he knew, he called by name, sometimes reaching into his memory for conversations or events he’d shared with them in the past and then making references to those touchstones. It let people know he remembered them, and that made them feel important.
When the doors opened to the seventh floor, he made a beeline past the desk of Charlene Mapes toward Officer Gary Stone’s small office. Stone was situated at the far end of the floor, about as far away from the mayor’s office as he could possibly get. The door stood half closed. Baumgartner tapped on it and pushed it fully open at the same time.
Stone looked up from his computer. A nervous expression flashed across his face. He clambered to his feet. “Chief?”
Baumgartner waved at him, stepping the rest of the way into the small office. “Sit down, Gary.”
Stone lowered himself into his chair, sitting with his back erect and his hands folded.
Baumgartner closed the door. “I have a question for you.”
“Sir?”
“This thing with Councilman Armstrong…did you know anything about that?”
“No, sir.”
“Not a peep?”
“No.”
“What’s his reputation?”
Stone swallowed, looking mildly uncomfortable. “I mean…there was talk that he was…unpredictable.”
“He voted for the highest bidder, you mean?”
“I hadn’t heard that specifically.”
“What about kickbacks?”
Stone shrugged. “That part I don’t know.”
“I know about him being a little shady,” Baumgartner said. “He was in the construction business before he got elected. But is this all smoke, or is there something more?”
“Chief, I…”
“As in outright criminal behavior, Gary. Any rumors of that?”
Stone shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. You want me to look into it?”
“No,” Baumgartner said. “Just keep your ears open.”
“I will.”
He looked around the bare office. “And hang a picture in here, for Christ’s sake. Frame your academy certificate if you have to, but make it look like you’re planning on staying for more than a week.”
“Yes, sir.”
Baumgartner nodded and reached for the door. “Keep up the good work, Gary. I’ve got you down here for a reason. You know what that is?”
Stone looked afflicted. “Yes. I mean, no. No, honestly, I don’t know.”
“Because you’re you,” Baumgartner said.
He left Stone to ponder that and walked as slowly as possible toward the mayor’s office.
Along the way, he wondered why Stone seemed so nervous of late. Was it something going on in his personal life? Or had looking into the Hahn letter disturbed him that much? Baumgartner suspected the latter.
Not that he blamed the guy. He didn’t like it, either. But sometimes things had to be handled a certain way to keep the whole structure from falling apart. It might not feel entirely right, but it wasn’t entirely wrong, either. If it preserved the department or his officers, then that was an ambiguity Chief Robert Baumgartner was willing to endure.
Stone would get past it, just like he had once upon a time. He’d just have to make a point of helping the kid along.
Too soon, he stood at the desk of the mayor’s receptionist. Charlene Mapes noticed him immediately but pretended she didn’t for several long seconds. Then she feigned spotting him.
“Chief,” she said, deadpanning. “I thought I recognized that cologne.”
Baumgartner gave her a small but friendly smile. “If I knew you liked it, Charlene, I would have gone with a little extra this morning.”
“Oh, I didn’t say I liked it,” Charlene said. She pushed a button and spoke into the mic on her headset. “Mister Mayor, the chief is here to see you.” She hesitated, then glanced at her watch. “Yes, sir. About seven minutes late.” She paused another minute, then surprised Baumgartner with an actual hint of a smile. “Yes, sir, he is. Okay, I’ll send him in.”
They were making fun of him, Baumgartner realized then.
You assholes.
“The mayor will see you now,” Charlene intoned, then turned back to her computer.
Baumgartner didn’t bother thanking her. He headed toward the mayor’s office. Bad enough he had to ruin two or three breakfasts a week spending them with the ma
yor, but now him and his stodgy assistant were cracking wise about him while he stood there?
He forced the anger down and opened the door.
Sikes was behind his desk, red-faced and with a small trickle of sweat on his brow.
A workout lunch, Baumgartner thought.
“Chief! Come in.”
Baumgartner approached the desk and sat in the seat opposite it without being asked. Then he waited for whatever Sikes had planned.
The mayor held up the newspaper. “Did you see this?”
“It’s a newspaper,” Baumgartner said. “I’ve seen one before.”
Normally, a sarcastic reply like that would elicit one of Sikes’s famous mayoral scowls, but today, he only grinned. “It’s not just a newspaper. It’s today’s newspaper. Filled with gifts from the political gods.”
“Armstrong, you mean.”
“Yes, Armstrong, the crooked fool. And Buckner, too, still giving interviews defending his right to bang the babysitter.” Sikes slapped the newspaper down with satisfaction. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’ve got a serious case of schadenfreude going on there.”
“Listen to you, with the big words. Aren’t you the one chief left in the state without a college degree?”
Baumgartner shrugged. “I don’t need a college degree to use my library card.”
“Who goes to the library anymore? But I’ll tell you what, Chief. You’re right. I am enjoying the hell out of watching these idiots squirm in the public eye, all of their own doing.”
“Hoisted on their own petard.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Baumgartner said. “A little Shakespeare.”
“Very little.” Sikes’s scowl returned briefly. “You’re not glad to see all this?”
“I told you how I felt at breakfast the other morning.”
“No,” the mayor said. “Not the individual stuff. I mean all this chaos. Don’t you just love it?”
Baumgartner blinked. As a career police officer, the very essence of his job was imposing some measure of order onto chaos. It was that way when he stumbled into his first patrol call and when he worked his first case as a detective. When he moved into leadership, nothing about that element of the job changed. His role was always to try to control bedlam, or at least mitigate it.