According to the reporter, at least a couple hundred people gathered in front of 300 Indiana Avenue in protest.
There is police presence, but no one in riot gear. DC police are smart enough not to incite a riot, but they sure as hell know how to handle one if it breaks.
No chief out there, though. Fucking Wightman was the deputy chief, and now he’s the man. The one with the sword over my head. He was doing his job, and him pushing me out was better than the alternative. But fuck Wightman anyway ’cause he’s all about politics and catering to what that crowd is chanting out there. He sure as hell ain’t gonna back up Al. It’s only a matter of time before he finds out I’m the investigator working for the defense. Gonna have to watch myself on this one.
This one is close to home. Something like this hasn’t happened in DC for a while. Now it involves someone I care about. I don’t doubt Luna that the kid had a gun, ’cause I know Al wouldn’t lie to me, but maybe he just thought the kid had a gun. How the hell am I going to work this thing? I’m gonna have to call Tamie Darling. But first I want to get with Freudiger at IA.
My cell rings.
Leslie.
“I was just going to call you,” I answer.
“It’s a clusterfuck, and it’s all going to turn on Al real fast.”
“Are you saying he might get indicted?”
“Frank, this isn’t Baltimore. I’m not saying the US attorney’s office isn’t getting pressured by the mayor and probably the chief, but things like this don’t move that fast here. It could take months, but it can happen. Especially with all the attention it’s getting now.”
“So now what?”
“I need to prepare Al for the worst. He’ll be on admin leave for a while. His name will eventually leak.”
“But you don’t think they’re going to get a grand jury on this right away?”
“Anything can happen, Frank, but I seriously doubt the US attorney’s office will move that fast. They will move, though. Where are you?”
“At home, but I was going to call you because I should get with Johnny Freudiger, see what he can share. Al’s CI, too.”
“IA doesn’t have to share anything with you. But you need to be careful what you say to Freudiger.”
That pisses me off, but I try not to sound like it does.
“I know how to talk to Internal Affairs, and I go back with Freudiger. He’ll probably give me what he can.”
“If or when they indict him, I’ll get a discovery package from the AUSA, so I think it’s best that you stay away from him. They don’t know any more than we know.”
“I don’t want to stir anything up with you, Leslie, but I think it’d be in Al’s best interest, probably yours, too, if I just work for Al. I don’t mean keep you out of the loop, just not be on your books for this one.”
“What? No! You report to me. The last thing I want is you going off on some rogue investigation. This is by the book.”
Rogue investigation. That’s funny, and a bit dramatic, but not altogether untrue. She did catch me, after all. Or rather, from what I remember of that night, I stumbled into her house at, like, four in the morning with bloodied clothes and a backpack full of narcotics. Blacked out after. You might say I gave myself up on that one. She kicked me out of her house and her life. I’m sure, even though I later confessed, that it was something she already figured out for herself. She’s no dummy. Point is, I don’t use now. But I do, on occasion, break the rules.
“I don’t work that way anymore,” I lie.
“Track down his CI for me. She needs to be interviewed before they get to her,” she orders, like she refuses to acknowledge what I said.
“I’ll keep you informed with everything. Don’t worry,” I try to reassure her.
“By the book, Frank.” She disconnects, I think ’cause she wants to get in the last word.
I search my phone contacts. I still have a cell for Johnny, but I don’t know if it’s good anymore. It’s from when he worked Major Crimes out of headquarters. That was a few years back. Most detectives stick with the same number, especially if it was their personal phone.
I tap it.
Couple of rings and “Freudiger,” he answers.
Twelve
Johnny agrees to meet me, but on the street a couple of blocks from their office.
“I’ll be in a dark-gray Chevy parked on the west side. Park ahead of me at the fire hydrant. I won’t give you a ticket.”
He’s probably already there, eating lunch outta his car.
Lunch-hour traffic. Always a bitch, and where we’re meeting is through downtown.
I get there, see his vehicle on the right, pull up to it, and roll down the front passenger window. When he sees it’s me, he rolls his down.
“Frank.”
“How’s it going, Johnny?”
“Park in front of me.”
I nod, roll the window back up, pull my car ahead and back into the space, careful not to tap his bumper.
I step out and lock the door, walk to the passenger side of his vehicle, open the door, and slide in.
We shake hands.
“Been a while,” he says.
“Yeah. Wish we were meeting under different circumstances.”
“Me too.”
His olive-green suit jacket is folded neatly on the back seat, along with an overcoat. I think he’s around my age, but I’ve never asked. He keeps his hair tight and his face clean-shaven. Not like it was back in his District Vice days. Still married, I think, but don’t ask, and with three kids. I believe all girls.
“Why so clandestine? Is this like a back-channel kinda meet?” I ask.
“You might call it something like that. Only reason I agreed to meet with you is because of our history. A courtesy of sorts.”
“Didn’t know our history was all that good,” I joke.
“We had a few good times, back when I was allowed to have a good time.”
“Buffalo Billiards?”
“Damn, that place still around?”
“For the life of me I don’t know. They had the best turkey burgers in town, though.”
“Yeah, and waitresses. You still living on Twelfth?”
“Yep.”
Maybe not married anymore.
“Place has to be worth something now, right?” he asks.
“A lot more than I paid when it was nothin’ but a broke-down shell.”
“Damn. Wish I had the vision you had. Would have invested in all those shells off Seventh, near the convention center.”
“Coulda retired early if you did that. Me too, for that matter.”
“You did retire early.”
“Yeah, but just saying. With a lot more money.”
Nods and sips expensive water out of a plastic bottle. Sets it back in the pocket of the center console.
“Heard rumors about your early retirement.”
Oh fuck.
“Rumors? What kind of rumors?” I’m afraid to ask.
“Everything from you weren’t really MPD. You were an undercover fed.”
I belch out a laugh.
“Yeah…to something about you fucking one of the lieutenants at NSID and she went psycho on you.”
“Now, that one’s ridiculous. And even if we were, why would that make me wanna retire?”
“So, then, you were a fed?”
“You’re too smart to fall for that shit, Johnny, so quit busting my balls.”
“Ha! You still working for Leslie, though, right?” he asks.
“No, not anymore. I’m just helping out a friend on this one. She’s the one who called me, though. I’ve been outta the loop, so I didn’t even know about it.”
“I don’t know Al like you do, but he has a good record.”
“That gonna help at all?”
“Fuck no.”
At least he’s being honest.
“So I take it you’re getting a lot of pressure on this one.”
He doesn’t answer
, but sort of shrugs. I’ll take that as a yes.
“Anything you can tell me about the decedent?”
“Come on, Frank.”
“I thought you knew that’s why we’re meeting?”
“Yes, but doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you shit.”
“Arthur Taylor, right? He got a record, part of a crew? Give me something, man.”
“He’s not spic-and-span, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Gun charges?”
Shrugs.
“You think it’s at all possible that someone was with him and snatched up the gun after he got shot?”
“Anything’s possible, but there’s no evidence to show that, so I work with what I have.”
“Are you going to work on it or just go with what you have?”
He shoots me a look. “You know me better than that, Frank. Last thing I want to do is fuck up his life.”
“But there’s no leads, anything that might work in his favor?”
“Unless there’s something you can tell me, no.”
I’d give up the CI if I knew she was a good witness. Why doesn’t he ask me about her?
“I’ve worked dozens of officer-related shootings, Frank. Almost all of them are found to be justified. A few not so much, just plain stupidity. Others, fucking criminal, officers that never should have gotten in the department. As far as the public’s concerned, they don’t give a fuck that almost all the shootings are justified.”
I don’t want to go there, into all that shit, so I say, “Al’s not stupid. Nor is he a criminal.”
“There are others, and I’m not saying Al is one, where they really think the person had a weapon. It was nothing more than a cell phone, a wallet, or a shadow. Kid wasn’t holding anything and nothing dropped near him, so…”
“I can’t believe that. He’s a good cop. Well trained. Been involved in more close calls than you can imagine. Never had to shoot. Force, that’s a different matter.”
“There’s no evidence.”
“His blood come back clean?”
“I can give you that. Yes.”
No alcohol. Now, that’s a fucking miracle.
“How fast is this going to move?” I ask.
“Like every other police shooting.”
“So he’ll be on admin leave for a while?”
“I can’t say one way or the other, Frank. I will say that I’m not the one pressuring the US attorney’s office. And from my experience, they won’t kowtow to it anyway.”
“I know it’s not worth shit, but I believe him.”
“Yeah, well, I wish that meant more, too.”
He’s holding something back.
“How much time does he have? The truth. Please.”
He looks at me, shakes his head ’cause he knows I saw right through him after what he said last.
“I know how the US attorney’s office works, too, Johnny. I also know it doesn’t have to go GJO, and MPDC doesn’t always listen to the AUSA. You just admitted there’s pressure. A detective gonna try to walk a warrant through? Arrest him that way? Something quick to pacify the mayor’s office?”
His lack of an immediate response confirms it.
“That’s what’s going to happen, right?” I say.
“You only have a few days. I can’t say much more than that.”
“Fuck you guys, Johnny. You know a grand jury investigation is the right way to go, not cave in to the fucking pressure, make a big mistake with a man’s life.”
“It’s a different climate nowadays. You know that.”
“Yeah, it is, but that doesn’t make it right. So, about how much time?”
“A few days.”
“A few days like three? A week? What?”
“A few days, Frank. Listen, it’s not up to me. It could be a week. It could be more. That’s it.”
“Will you at least give me a heads-up so I can be there for him?”
“You know better—”
“That’s all I ask, brother.”
A nod is all he gives.
“Why’d you hold this from me?”
“’Cause I can be an asshole. Part of my job.”
“Who’s the homicide detective that caught the case?”
“Lori Rattan.”
“Who the fuck is that?”
“She’s a rookie detective, but she’s good.”
“Can you give me her cell?”
“Dammit, Frank, you’re asking too much of me.”
“I can do a bit of digging and get it myself. It’s just easier if you give it to me.”
“This didn’t come from me. You had to dig for it, all right?”
“Of course.”
First thing I do when I get to the car is call Leslie. She needs to know about the pending warrant. I also have to convince her to keep it between us. Al hears about that, it might be enough to put him over the edge. Better to let it be a surprise or, if Johnny still has a heart, he’ll give me a heads-up before they come knocking at the door so I can be there.
Thirteen
After I make dinner I turn on the local news. Finally mounted a new TV on the wall. It took me a while after my house was burglarized and most everything, including the television, was stolen. There was a time when the thought of having one there would be a constant reminder that I was a victim of a crime, so it took me a while to replace it. I don’t usually watch the news, but I feel compelled to now. Sometimes these guys come up with witnesses before the police do.
After the local weather and a few commercials, they cut to Paul Wagner on the scene of an accident. Apparently, a uniformed officer who was working traffic on Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown was struck by a vehicle. Hit-and-run, according to Wagner. Vehicle was identified only as a four-door black sedan, occupied two times, last seen heading east on P Street. Uncertain if the officer was intentionally targeted. The officer was hospitalized and is in critical condition. Damn.
After that, the latest on the government. I watch until the end. Nothing on the shooting. Too many other things going on locally and in this fucked-up world today. I turn the TV off and get on my cell to call Tim Millhoff, a buddy of mine at Homicide, see if I know the officer who was injured.
“Millhoff,” he answers.
“What’s up, brother?”
“Same, same. Stack of open cases piling up on my desk, that’s all. What’s going on with you?”
“Just saw the news and wanted to know if you have the name of the officer in the Georgetown hit-and-run.”
“Yeah, Devon Jones. Probably no one you know. He came on after you retired.”
“How is he?”
“Stable.”
“Good to hear. Appreciate the info.”
“You talk to Luna?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’m helping him out on this one.”
“Shit. Good luck. Seems cut-and-dry to me.”
“He said there was a gun and then there wasn’t a gun. You know Detective Rattan?”
“Of course.”
“She working it for witnesses or any other leads?”
“Just like every other case. Unfortunately, I don’t know how much more can be done on this one. Like I said—”
“Yeah, I know what you said,” I interrupt. “I was going to give her a call later. You mind giving her a heads-up that I’m okay, so she’ll be more inclined to talk to me?”
“Fuck, who says you’re okay?”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, I’ll tell her.”
“Thanks, bro. I’ll keep that officer in my prayers.”
“Yeah, and I hope it works out for Luna. He’s a decent guy.”
“I hope so, too. Talk later.”
“Yeah.” He disconnects.
Good to hear that the officer is stable. Not so good to hear that the general feeling with respect to the shooting is the case being closed. I’m beginning to question whether there was a gun. Not whether Al thought there was one, though. I’ve been in a coupl
e of shootings. I know how fast it happens, but also how the time slows down. But this wasn’t your average shooting. Al was not being shot at. He merely reacted to what he said was a threat.
Tamie is the obvious next step. Still, where will that lead if she didn’t see anything?
It’s not an image I want to have just before bedtime, but I can’t get the Polaroid of her outta my head. And then, out of nowhere, Playboy pops in.
He’s like a monster leaping out of my closet.
I down a Klonopin with a shot of Jameson, with the hope it’ll ease my racing mind and erase these unwanted images. One good thing is I do get tired earlier now, for obvious reasons, not to mention fall asleep faster.
I hit the sack with that last thought in my head. Sleep.
It’s still dark when I wake up, a vivid memory of a dream with me.
I’m in my small front yard, stretched out across the green grass. On my stomach, I scour between the blades of grass, like it’s an indoor carpet, searching for tiny bits of fallen cocaine, and I’m hopelessly picking between the blades with my fingers.
I don’t check the time because I’m afraid to know.
Fourteen
I manage a couple more hours of sleep. The dream stays with me. After I shower, I hit the floor for three sets of push-ups and crunches.
Coffee doesn’t work, but I have it anyway, along with grapefruit, which I still order by the crate from a Florida farm. A lot of acid going into the stomach, so I pop a Pepcid after.
About an hour later I get to Al’s house. Curtains still drawn, with no sign of light inside. It’s still morning, but not so early that I’m worried about waking him up. He’s always been an early riser, but he’s been hitting the bottle hard, so that might make a difference.
A couple of hard raps on the door and I hear footsteps, like his feet are dragging along the wooden floor.
Door opens.
Looks like he’s wearing the same clothes. He stands inside, a couple feet away, but I can still smell his foul breath.
“Dude, you gotta brush your teeth,” I say.
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