by Colin Conway
“Is my friend?”
“You’ve been calling me Maggie. Only my friends call me Maggie, right?”
“As a councilwoman, you’ve got a good thing going, Margaret. Why would you poke the sleeping dragon?”
“Baumgartner’s getting dangerous. Scratch that, he is dangerous. He’s consolidated a lot of power. I think he’s seen what the sheriff has done in the county and he wants to sit on a throne like that.”
“He’s never going to get a throne like that. The sheriff is elected. The chief is appointed. By me.”
“That’s all well and good, but you know just like I do that you can’t fire the man, even if you wanted to.”
Sikes looked hurt by her comment. “I could fire him.”
“No, you couldn’t. There would be serious public outcry. He’s the most popular man in the city right now. More than you. More than the president.”
Sikes yanked his tie to loosen it further.
“That’s why I’ll lay the crime stats at his feet,” she continued. “He’s responsible for the safety of this city. I’ll paint him as an ineffectual defender of the public. Of course, you’ll run to his defense. He’s your guy after all. That’s only right.”
“Why should I do that?” the mayor asked, throwing his hands up. “It’ll make me seem like a pussy.”
“You’re only doing it until you turn and stab him in the back, just like they did to Caesar.”
Sikes furrowed his brow. “Wouldn’t I be Caesar in this example?”
Patterson waved his concern away. “You’re overthinking it. Pick a different tale. It doesn’t matter. You get the point.”
“He’ll argue it’s the budget. They always do.”
“Let him argue it. I want him to engage. If the big strong policeman stands up in front of the city and says he can’t do his job because of the budget, you know what he’s admitting to?”
“What?”
“That we’re stronger than him. That we made his job tougher because of a spreadsheet.”
For a long moment, Sikes considered what she had said. He then smiled and said, “So. Maggie. The enemy of my enemy, huh?”
CHAPTER 27
Ray Zielinski wandered into the detectives’ division. He spotted the fabled coffee station right away. The rich aroma of some kind of expensive blend told him it was a cut above the convenience store swill he’d been drinking his entire career in patrol.
Good coffee and plain clothes. No wonder these guys never seem to leave the station.
Finding his way to Major Crimes wasn’t as easy as discovering coffee Mecca, but after one wrong turn, he located the bullpen. Veteran Detective Marty Hill sat at his desk near the open doorway, his left leg propped up on a second chair. He saw Zielinski right away.
“Hey, Ray. Come to hang out on your day off?”
“How’d you know it was my day off?”
Hill gave him a knowing smile. “Come on.” He pointed to Zielinski’s jeans, shirt, and hiking boots. “Street clothes during day shift hours? Gotta be a day off.”
Zielinski nodded. Of course. He motioned toward Hill’s leg. “What’s up with that?”
“Surgery,” Hill said. “Just came back today for light duty.”
“What happened?”
“Shot knee.”
“You got shot in the knee?”
“No.” Hill smiled. “My knees are shot. Doctor says the combination of football and all those years of SWAT runs—”
“Okay,” Zielinski interrupted. “Listen, is Ward Clint around?”
Hill stopped, slightly surprised. Then he shrugged. “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him yet.”
Zielinski stood there, glancing around, then looked back to Hill. “Where’s his desk?”
“In the back.”
He muttered a thank you and headed that way. Behind him, he heard Hill say, “Nice talking to you, Ray” in a mildly sarcastic tone.
He found Clint’s desk tucked in a corner. The surly detective wrote furiously in a notebook as Zielinski approached. Clint’s bushy hair was noticeably longer than the tight afro Zielinski had always seen him wear. The detective glanced up, registered who he was, and immediately closed the notebook.
“Officer Zielinski.”
“Hey, Ward. I—”
“Don’t call me that.”
Zielinski hesitated. “Uh…”
Clint gave him a hard look, his eyes a little bleary. “My name is Wardell, not Ward. Maybe you didn’t know that, so I’ll give you a pass. But it doesn’t matter, because as far as I know, we’re not on a first-name basis, anyway.”
Zielinski didn’t respond immediately. How was it that he always tended to forget how abrupt Clint was? He’d only had a dozen or so interactions with him over the years, most of them at crime scenes. The man was always hyper-focused, so their exchanges were brief and professional.
Maybe he has a point. Maybe we don’t know each other well enough for this conversation.
His next thought was that he should introduce Clint to Lyle Bunney. The two of them would have a lot to talk about.
“What is it?” Clint asked. “You’re clearly on days off with time to burn, but I’m busy. What do you want?”
Zielinski glanced around for a chair. Another detective’s nearby desk sat empty, so he reached for the chair. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Plan on being here that long?”
Zielinski let go of the chair. “Listen, I need to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
He looked around the nearly empty bullpen. He’d always figured detectives spent most of the day at their desks, but aside from Hill, only two others were there. They were well across the large room, but it was possible that they would overhear him.
“Maybe we could step into one of the interview rooms for a second?”
“Why? Are you investigating me for something?”
“No!” Zielinski lowered his voice. “I want to speak privately.”
“Then you picked the worst place to do it. Between eavesdropping motherfuckers out here and listening devices in the interview rooms, there’s no such thing as a private conversation.”
Zielinski thought about it for a minute. Clint was infamous for his conspiracy theories when it came to the machinations of the police department and city hall. Zielinski wasn’t sure how much of it was department legend at this point and how much was true. He could see that Clint believed what he’d just said, though.
“I need to talk to you about Garrett,” he said, keeping his voice low.
Clint leaned back in his chair, away from Zielinski. “Garrett who?”
Zielinski frowned. “Tyler Garrett. Come on, man.”
“Why would I give a backwards shit about some patrol cop?” He tapped the badge on his belt. “See that? It says detective.”
“You worked his shooting.”
“I work a lot of shootings. World’s a messed-up place and people try to kill each other all the time.”
“I was there,” Zielinski said, pressing on.
“I know.”
“I was the first backup officer to arrive on scene.”
“I know that, too. What’s your point? You want a sticker or something?”
“Why are you being such a dick?” Zielinski growled.
“Why are you wasting my time?”
Zielinski gritted his teeth, fighting off the anger. “Something was wrong with that shooting. I knew it then, and I know it now.”
Clint stared at him, saying nothing.
“Not just the shooting,” Zielinski continued. “All the stuff that came after, too. Something’s wrong. The whole thing reeks.”
Clint’s hard stare didn’t relent. “You get promoted to Internal Affairs and I didn’t hear about it?”
“No, goddamn it!” Zielinski kept his voice low but forceful. “This has been bothering me for a long time. Either Garrett was dirty somehow,
or the department played him dirty. Or maybe the department covered up for him. I don’t know. I just know something’s dirty, and I’m trying to get my head around it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s eating at me.”
“No, why are you bothering me with this bullshit?”
Zielinski took a deep breath, reining in his frustration. He wanted to punch Clint right in the mouth but throwing fists with this man wasn’t going to get him any answers. “You investigated the case.”
“I shadowed. County investigated.”
“The county couldn’t find chocolate in a Hershey’s factory,” Zielinski said derisively.
Clint didn’t smile, but his mouth twitched.
“You investigated, and even though you’re such a prick, everyone knows you’re good at what you do.”
“Prick?” Clint repeated.
“Look,” Zielinski said, keeping his voice as even as possible. “I know you had to see it. Something’s dirty about it all. Tell me I’m not crazy. That’s all I’m asking.”
Clint shook his head. “I don’t know anything more than what is reflected in my reports. I don’t know if you’re crazy or not, but your suspicions about this case are not accurate.”
Zielinski stared at Clint, trying to decide if he believed the man. Conspiracy weaving aside, Clint’s reputation as one of the best, if not the best, detective on the department was fairly universal. He wasn’t going to win any popularity contests, but if a case could be solved, he’d solve it.
How could he not see the problems with Garrett and all that happened?
Zielinski glanced down to the notebook Clint had been writing in when he’d approached. “What’s that?”
“A notebook.”
“Doesn’t look department issued.”
“You work for the quartermaster now?” Clint snapped. “I use my own notebooks sometimes. What do you care?”
“I don’t,” Zielinski admitted.
“You got any more Oliver Stone conspiracy shit you want to spin for me, Officer Zielinski, or can I get back to doing real police work?”
Zielinski sighed, defeated. “Yeah, fine. Sorry to bother you.”
“Sorry doesn’t bring back the five minutes I just lost.”
That was finally too much for him. “Yeah, well, you can bill me for the time,” he snarled. “There’s a long line of assholes trying to get into my pocket as it is, so you might as well join the party.”
Clint didn’t reply.
“Ah, forget it,” Zielinski muttered, flicking his hand at Clint and turning away.
He walked out the way he’d come, through the bullpen. Detective Hill pointedly ignored him when he stalked past, making it clear to Zielinski that he was oh-for-two on the day.
CHAPTER 28
Gary Stone dropped into his office chair and turned to look at the empty back wall. He was still reeling from that morning’s meeting with Chief Baumgartner. After getting his ass chewed for not immediately calling him about Betty Rabe’s suicide, he returned to city hall and collected his interoffice mail. He was still trying to process where the chief got off treating him like he did.
He had always done exactly what the man asked. Whenever given a task, Stone completed it in a manner that was professional and unlikely to need follow-up by anyone else. It was a quality he took great pride in. It was also a trait that his former employers in the private sector appreciated. No one had ever talked to him the way that Baumgartner did earlier that morning.
It was uncalled for.
True, he’d never seen the chief in that way before so perhaps it was an anomaly. Maybe he was having a bad morning. If Baumgartner was experiencing any of the reservations that Stone had concerning not entering the Rabe report directly into the system, then he would be tense. He’d likely take it out on the only person he could, which would be Stone. Baumgartner couldn’t take it out on the mayor. Shit doesn’t roll uphill.
Stone’s thoughts returned to the previous night when Tyler Garrett visited his house. Garrett’s comments now seemed to hold more weight. They’ll hang you out to dry.
Tyler Garrett was the man Stone had always seen as the epitome of a police officer. If he was telling Stone to watch out, then he should probably do exactly that. But Garrett’s outlook on the world was now jaded. How could it not be after all he’d been through? Shouldn’t he take that into consideration when listening to Garrett’s advice?
However, the guy had already protected him with his handling of the business card he found during his investigation into Rabe’s suicide. Then Garrett came by to give him the heads-up on the action he’d taken. Tyler went out of his way to help Stone. Jaded or not, his advice should at least be taken for what it was—concern for a colleague.
But then Stone remembered Garrett standing over his report with a cell phone in his hand.
If he was worried about a coworker, a brother in blue, then why take pictures of his handwritten interview report? Stone was fairly certain that was what Garrett had done while he was in the bathroom. Even if he hadn’t admitted to it, he didn’t deny it. Stone wondered how Garrett could think that action was helping him out. How would him having a copy of the report benefit Stone?
He shook the thoughts from his mind and turned his attention to his interoffice mail. He quickly sorted through it. There were a couple pieces of junk mail. Then there was a report from Ray Zielinski about another contact with Lyle Bunney. Charlie Bravo, Stone thought angrily, and set the report to the side. He returned to his mail, quickly prioritizing what needed his attention and what didn’t.
“Hey, boy-o,” Jean Carter said.
Stone lifted his head to see her leaning around the corner of his office. She wore a light blue sweater and dark blue pants. He smiled.
“Got big plans for the weekend?” she asked.
“No. You?”
“Nope. Coffee or a drink? If you’re not busy, that is.”
“Definitely.”
Jean glanced around. “Stay alert. Sikes is on the warpath this morning.”
Stone’s smile faded. “About what?”
“Who knows? But I gotta go. I’m in enemy territory. Bye.”
He paused for a moment and looked out his window for any sign of the mayor. Not hearing him either, Stone grabbed the Lyle Bunney report. It was a single page write-up on an assist agency call. He wanted to rip on Ray for the short write-up, but it had been a simple call and wouldn’t need more than that. Zielinski’s writing was tight and economical. Stone noted the report number. Since this was an informational copy, he didn’t need to take further action.
He tossed the report in the recycle bin and dismissively muttered, “Charlie Bravo.”
“Who’s Charlie Bravo?” the mayor asked, stepping into his office. His voice was low and demanding. His light brown suit looked fresh and his tie was in its proper place. It was still early, and the day had yet to take its full toll on his appearance.
“Sir?”
“Charlie Bravo,” the mayor said, closing the office door. “Who is that? I heard you say it.”
When the mayor repeated Charlie Bravo, a part of Stone really wanted to punch Ray Zielinski in his mustache.
“It’s a band,” Stone lied.
“A band?”
“Jazz fusion.”
The mayor’s face scrunched. “Of course. Sounds like your type.”
“What?”
“Some kind of wimpy music. You’d like that stuff, wouldn’t you? So tell me, Gary, why didn’t you give me the heads-up about the girl killing herself?”
Stone stared at the mayor, partly because he was caught off guard by his abruptness, and partly due to the insult over his favorite type of music.
“Don’t just sit there like some sort of turd on a log. Tell me why you dropped the ball on this. I had to hear the news from Baumgartner.”
“Yes, sir, she killed herself.”
The
mayor threw his hands in the air. “No kidding, Gary, I just told you that. Are you just parroting what I say? I’ve got an idiot chief of staff to do that for me. Why do I need two parrots?”
“You don’t, sir.”
“That’s right, I don’t. I already talked to you about this. Help me and I can help you, but all I see is you sitting here in this, this, what the fuck is wrong with your office, Gary? Why don’t you have any pictures in here? Looks like a prison cell. Do you think being here is a jail sentence?”
“No, sir.”
“I can make it feel that way, if you want.”
Stone remained silent.
Sikes wiped a finger under his nose. “Who else knows about the girl’s letter?”
“The chief and me.” And Garrett.
“No one else?”
“No one else,” Stone repeated. There was a pause and he knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but he said, “Except maybe your staff.”
“My staff?” Anger flared in the mayor’s eyes. “My staff has nothing to do with this.”
“Well, someone saw the letter, right? Someone directed it to you before it got to the chief. I’m just saying.”
The mayor’s face reddened. “Listen, smartass, my people know how to do their job, which is more than I can say for you.”
Stone stood, pushing his chair back. “I know how to do my job, sir.”
The mayor smiled, and his head began to bounce side to side, like a boxer preparing to enter the ring. “Growing a pair now. Nice.”
Stone stared at him. Sikes was enjoying the conflict and Stone knew that he’d gone too far by challenging him.
“Maybe you can get a little hair on them, too, huh?” Sikes wriggled his fingers in front of his own crotch.
“Excuse me?” Stone said.
“That’s right. Get them all swelled up with your pride.” Sikes jabbed a finger at him. “Lemme see the report on the girl.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Why not?”
“I gave the only copy to the chief. You’ll have to get it from him.”
The mayor began to bob his head again as he thought.