by V. K. Powell
Leaving couldn’t come soon enough, but telling Leonard would only make her life more difficult in the interim. “I do appreciate the opportunity, but I think someone else might be a better fit.” Truthfully, she wanted to dodge the undercurrent of trouble Bennett Carlyle represented.
“I’m sorry, Kerstin, but I must insist you see the project through.” The comment was almost shocking in its finality. He dodged a stack of drawings on his way to the door, signaling the end of their meeting.
She hated losing to Parrish, but she’d run out of professional excuses and wasn’t about to admit any personal motivation. He’d forge any weakness into a spear and gut her at every opportunity. No camaraderie or organizational support in this company. “I’ll do my best.”
“You always do.” He slammed the door behind her, and she walked to the elevator, baffled. Everything about their meeting seemed wrong, even the final result. She had no choice, but why should she choose between career advancement and dredging up the past? She just wouldn’t discuss their history with Bennett. Her work on the substation project needed to come first for so many reasons.
She stepped into the hectic flow of foot traffic and the cacophony of smells on the street, jittery and unsettled. Normally, she would bury herself in work or blow off steam with a willing companion, but work was part of the current problem, and the club didn’t open until later. Damn Bennett Carlyle for barging into her life at the most inopportune time and screwing up her carefully choreographed plans. Without making a conscious decision, she automatically joined the frantic pace of commuters and shoppers, elbowing her way forward step after step toward no specific destination. Maybe Bennett would secure a replacement on her end so they could avoid this whole unpleasant predicament.
If not, then what? She’d held her own against the most meticulous clients. Ms. Carlyle would be putty in her experienced hands. Kerstin stumbled at the thought. What was happening to her? She never walked unless absolutely necessary and then only with an endpoint and a goal. Walking served only three possible purposes in her opinion—idle thinking, wasting time, or making her late—none of which ever appeared on Kerstin’s agenda. She hailed a taxi, and when the driver stopped in front of her building, her mood and situation remained unchanged. Thank you, Bennett Carlyle. Her life had twisted awkwardly back on itself and bumped into the past.
Chapter Three
Bennett stared at her image in the full-length bedroom mirror the next morning and searched for an internal shift in her feelings. Nothing. The silver double bars positioned midway on her collar sparkled in the morning sun like her lieutenant’s bars, but these carried more weight and responsibility and a far greater chance of failure. Her stomach churned uncomfortably, and she pressed a hand against her midsection. She could handle police work, but overseeing an architectural project filled her with dread, and not just because of Kerstin. She’d pitch another reassignment appeal to the chief this morning and hope for the best. She finished dressing and started toward the living room.
She paused at the cottage door and glanced back. Only a couple of sweatshirts and a pizza box littered the otherwise clean space. Not bad for her. Mama, Stephanie, and Dylan, the women in the family with style sense, had redecorated in Bennett’s preferred mid-century modern style before she moved in two years ago. The living area was just large enough for her favorite Eames chair and ottoman, a sofa, one side chair, and two barstools at the peninsula slash dining room. She loved the cottage and the proximity to her family, but looked forward to sharing her life with someone else long-term in a home large enough for her own family.
On the way to her police cruiser, she waved at Mama and G-ma restocking the food truck for today’s run.
“The new bars look good, honey,” Mama called and blew her a kiss.
“You need some help?”
“We’re fine, taking our time. You run along. Have a good day.”
She drove slowly toward the downtown municipal building, second-guessing her decision about talking with the chief at every turn. She’d known Pete Ashton since she was a kid and rode with Mama to pick up her father after a shift. Pete had worked with her dad, eaten meals in their home, and stood with the family when her father was killed. Pete had earned the reputation as a fair and respected chief, so why was she worried? Perhaps because she took orders and performed every assignment without question no matter how unpleasant or dangerous, until this one.
Walking slowly toward the chief’s office, she considered whether her unusual case of nerves resulted from a desire to surrender or retain the project. Work was work, but this job obviously contained an emotional element beyond fear of failure or she wouldn’t be questioning her motives. She took a deep breath and knocked on the chief’s open door.
Pete Ashton waved her in as he ended a phone conversation. “Have a seat, Captain Carlyle. I like how that sounds, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The railroad tracks are a nice addition to your collar. Your father and grandfather would be very proud.”
A hitch in her breathing delayed Bennett’s response. “Thank you, sir. I sure hope so. And I hope you still feel the same after I have my say.”
He motioned her to a chair in front of his old seventies-era desk, gray metal with Formica top, which he boasted working at since he was a sergeant. “The substation assignment revisited?”
She wiped her sweaty hands down the legs of her uniform pants and nodded. “I’m a street cop, Chief, and you need an experienced administrator for the renovation. The project is too important to leave to chance, and I need time with my new command, to find out what’s working in the district and what isn’t.”
“I’ll tell you what’s not working, the cramped space at the Parks and Recreation building. You’ve got no place for temporary detention or interrogation and no weapons security. The list goes on and on. We have federal forfeiture money to remodel a building into our first district station, your station. This is a big opportunity, Ben.” He scratched his graying mustache as if considering another possibility. “Are you afraid you can’t handle the job?”
Was she so transparent, first Jazz and now the chief? Did she simply want to follow the safe, traditional path of a new captain’s command, or was she trying to honor Kerstin’s wishes? Maybe she wanted to avoid resurrecting old feelings by working with Kerstin. More likely, her hesitation was a combination of all those reasons. No point denying what seemed obvious to the chief. “Maybe that’s part of it, sir, if I’m totally honest.”
“If I didn’t think you were capable, I wouldn’t have promoted you. I have confidence in you, Ben. The project is a joint effort, so I’m not throwing you to the wolves. You’ll have city planners, finance, and public-works guys on the committee.” He stood. “And I support your recommendation of architect.”
Resigned to beginning her promotion with an unorthodox assignment, she replied, “I’d like one final conversation with her, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. She’ll be back in town sometime tomorrow.”
Bennett followed him toward the door. “Back in town, sir?” She wanted to ask where Kerstin had been, where she lived, but those questions were extraneous to the job. And maybe he was referring to Kerstin’s replacement.
“Don’t you know this young lady? She went to school here. I remember her vaguely. What’s her name? Kerry? Kelly?”
“Kerstin? Kerstin Anthony.”
“You two hung around together in high school. Happy reunion.”
“Yes, happy,” Bennett murmured. So, definitely Kerstin. Bennett had mixed feelings about working with Kerstin, but she’d just have to deal with them.
“My admin will contact you about your next meeting. If I don’t hear otherwise, we’ll sign the papers in the finance department, and then I’ll send her over to you. If I can help grease the wheels, don’t hesitate. And thanks for your service, Ben.”
She straightened and shook his hand, feeling both proud and nervous. She’d b
e plowing uncharted territory because she knew absolutely nothing about architecture or remodeling buildings. The Carlyle name and her reputation depended on her learning quickly. An image of Kerstin’s disappointed face flashed through Bennett’s mind. At least she’d attempted to honor Kerstin’s wishes.
Bennett drove to the Parks and Recreation building that served as the district’s temporary station to attend a few lineups and introduce herself to the troops. As she pulled into the employee parking lot, she spotted Jazz getting out of her blue Crown Vic.
“Thought you’d beat me here on the first day?” She slapped Jazz on the back as they walked together toward the police entrance at the side of the building.
“Making a good impression on my new captain. I hear she’s a real hard-ass.” Jazz grinned and held the door open for her. “Turn left. Lineups are in the big room near the end of the hallway.”
“Thanks, Jazz. Give me the full tour after?”
Jazz nodded and again held the door for Bennett to precede her into the midsized office that served as the assembly room for daily troop lineups.
“Squad, attention-huh!” The day-shift sergeant brought his troops from the relaxed parade-rest position to full attention and then joined them in formation.
“As you were,” Bennett said. “Carry on, Sergeant. I’ll address the squad at the end of your briefing.”
While the sergeant read alerts from overnight, a list of new warrants active in the district, and the zone and vehicle assignments, Bennett rehearsed her prepared speech and then dismissed it as too formal.
“Now, I’ll turn it over to our new commanding officer, Captain Bennett Carlyle.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Bennett scanned the officers’ faces, registering expectation from the rookies and indifference from the veterans. Promotions challenged everyone, especially women, but it was her responsibility to set the tone and be an example for her district. The old adage Do as I say, not as I do wasn’t how she operated.
“I’m humbled and excited to be your new district captain. Some of you know me and how I operate, and the rest of you will learn. The short version, I say what I mean, support my troops, and don’t mind getting my hands dirty. I come from a family of cops and can’t imagine not working the street. That being said, the chief has other plans for me at the moment, but it’s all good.” She motioned Jazz closer to her side. “Most of you know Jazz Perry, a sergeant in the district for several years and now your new lieutenant. She’s one of the most dedicated and knowledgeable officers I’ve ever worked with. Lieutenant Perry will manage the operational side of things while I work on building a new substation for our district right across the street.”
A collective yelp went up from the officers along with a few comments.
“It’s about time.”
“We need locker rooms.”
“Weapons storage.”
“How about showers, Cap?”
She nodded and waved for them to continue. “What else?” For the next several minutes, they fired off suggestions, and she made mental notes. The officers had strong feelings about the substation and wanted to be proud of their new headquarters.
“Thanks, guys. I’ll look at the building plans and compare it to your list of demands.” The squad chuckled. “I hope our new place will have everything you want and more. The chief wants our first station to be a showpiece, so it’ll be fully outfitted. Any questions for me?”
The room was quiet for a few seconds before one of the veterans asked, “Is it true Captain Warren was driving drunk, caused a personal injury accident, and resigned?”
His sergeant shot him a scathing glance.
“It’s fine, Sergeant. I prefer facts to rumors. If you have questions or concerns, feel free to ask. I won’t hold it against you.” She turned her attention to the questioner. “Yes, that’s true, and my quick promotion assures continuity of the substation project. Any more questions?”
No one else spoke.
She looked at Jazz. “Anything to add, Lieutenant?”
“Only that I look forward to continuing to serve District One with all of you.”
“Lieutenant Perry and I will be in close contact about operations and the building project. If you need anything or have questions, let her know.” She nodded to the sergeant, and on the way out, she said, “I’ll see you in the field.”
As the door closed behind them, Bennett heard someone remark, “That’ll be different.”
Once in the hallway, Jazz directed Bennett to the right. “I’d much rather have my job than yours.”
“Seriously. I understand cops and crooks, but that’s about it.”
“You’ll be great. Stand here for the tour.” Jazz indicated a spot halfway between the assembly room and the door they’d entered and pointed to the left. “That small office at the end of the hall is yours and mine. Pretty tight, but it’s adequate.” She slid her finger in the air along a series of partitions. “And those are the sergeants’ cubicles. Three, sometimes four, sergeants share each unit, and before you ask, yes, it’s too cramped.”
Bennett looked from Jazz down the long hallway past each cubicle and back to her sister while mentally reviewing the district roster she’d studied last night. “This is an awfully small space for—”
“Don’t bother doing the math. It doesn’t add up no matter how you cut it. We’re like sardines, and tempers sometimes flare from lack of usable space.”
“And this is all?” She couldn’t believe the confined quarters these officers had endured for the better part of two years.
“Actually, we have one more room.” Jazz walked down the hallway past the assembly area to a door across from the captain’s office. “This was Captain Warren’s conference room, which he always locked unless he was using it.”
Bennett tried the doorknob, and a flash of anger caught her off guard. “Okay, this ends now. Your first official duty as my second in command is to send a memo to the sergeants offering this room for immediate use, twenty-four seven. Get a simple Velcro sign for the door we can flip to indicate it’s in use or available. If we leave this vacant when our guys desperately need private space, we’re being callous and irresponsible.”
“Aye, aye, Captain. Warren was nothing if not irresponsible.” Jazz rattled her keychain but didn’t look at Bennett until she located the right key to unlock the door.
“Something you need to tell me?”
“You won’t have to work hard to be a better captain than Warren, but you’ll have a lot to make up for.”
“That bad?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to Pete?” The question was reflex. Jazz followed the rules and didn’t violate the blue wall of silence or ask for favors. When Mama and Pa adopted her, she kept her last name out of respect for her mother and to avoid any preferential treatment as a member of the Carlyle family. She’d fought hard to overcome her childhood in foster care, challenging teenage years, and being female in the police department. “Sorry, Jazz. Dumb question. I know how the game’s played.”
Jazz shrugged. “Buy me a sandwich? Ma Rolls should be in the parking lot by now. I didn’t get breakfast, and G-ma shot me a killer look.”
“Least I can do.” Bennett’s phone vibrated, and she glanced at the text from the chief’s secretary.
Meeting with architect scheduled 1000 tomorrow, your office.
“How about I buy and you fly?”
“I’ll meet you in the break area in ten minutes, or as fast as G-ma turns me loose. She’s on one of her ‘all my grandbabies should be settled down’ rants today.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll steer clear.”
Jazz grinned, and Bennett handed her a twenty. “I expect change.”
After a quick sandwich and further logistical discussions with Jazz, Bennett slowly opened the door to her new office. The space seemed harmless enough, but over the threshold lay potential booby traps she couldn’t imagine until she
stepped into them. She scanned the room, expecting an ambush or possibly someone with an answer to the recurring question. Was she ready?
The office walls were stripped bare; not even a district map adorned the gray surfaces. A large calendar occupied the center of a dark wooden desk, and a black leather chair rested on its side behind it. She calculated the time of Warren’s arrest Sunday morning with the arrival of first shift. He’d vacated in a hurry before anyone got wind of his situation. All the desk drawers were empty, nothing to indicate the status of the district, pending disciplinary issues, mood of the troops, or even current crime statistics. Warren hadn’t been much of a team player, and she was glad the department was rid of him.
She righted the overturned chair, sat, and breathed deeply for a few minutes, thinking about her father and grandfather. At each new phase of her career, she took time to express gratitude for those who’d sacrificed for the life she was blessed to live. She dug into her shirt pocket and retrieved the .380 shell casing from her father’s murder. The full metal jacket shone from hours of rubbing between her thumb and fingers. The firing pin indention in the primer seemed so small to have caused so much damage—a good man’s life ended, a family torn apart, the police community shocked and grieving, and her own life still impacted by the consequences. She looked toward the ceiling. “Help me not screw this up.” She rolled the casing between her palms one final time and returned it to her pocket.
Pulling a blank notepad from the bottom supply cabinet, Bennett listed the few things she needed to claim this place as her own. She’d bring family pictures, an inspirational saying to motivate the troops and herself occasionally, and her father’s badge encased in Lucite. She ripped the edge off the paper, slid it into her pocket, and idly scribbled on the pad. Thoughts of her pending meeting with Kerstin returned, and she bore down on the pen.