Code Four

by Colin Conway

  Garrett tapped the table with a finger. “No. The county investigated that shooting, and the prosecuting attorney ruled it justified. I’ve been cleared.”

  “I’m not arguing that,” Curado said.

  “Then what are you saying I did wrong?”

  Curado lifted his hands in defense. “Relax, Tyler. I’m not saying you did anything wrong. I simply want to ask some questions.”

  He wasn’t sure what Curado’s angle was, but there had to be one. The man’s voice dripped honey.

  “Were you happy,” the lawyer asked, “with the way the city and the department handled your situation?”

  “My situation?”

  Curado didn’t answer. He watched Garrett waiting for him to respond. It was an investigative technique. Ask a question and let it sit. Allow the interviewee to determine their own reasoning and start talking. The interviewer can dictate the course of the interview after that.

  But he wasn’t going to do that. He knew what they were doing so he remained silent. Let Curado answer his question or they could sit here silently.

  Watson’s chair squeaked as she shifted positions. “There was quite a shit storm following your shooting.”

  Garrett shrugged. “Worked out okay.”

  “You mean the settlement?” she asked.

  “What else would I be talking about?”

  “Can you tell us about your arrest for drug possession,” Curado said.

  “I was cleared,” Garrett said. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Watson sniffed. “That case was dismissed. That’s different than being cleared.”

  The small window in the door darkened then as Chief Baumgartner’s face blocked out the light. His eyes filled with fury when they locked onto Garrett.

  Steve Curado rambled for a moment, but Garrett couldn’t hear his words. Instead, his heart raced, and the blood pounded in his ears. It had been a long time since an adrenaline dump bothered him, but at this exact moment, Garrett’s hands began to tremble.

  Baumgartner lingered for a moment, glanced both directions, then headed west—the direction toward the detective’s office.

  Toward Marty Hill.

  Why were two men—both of whom who had always been easily approachable, one of which Garrett considered a friend—suddenly angry with him?

  It didn’t take long for his imagination to turn to Wardell Clint. That mother—

  “Tyler? Officer Garrett?”

  He shook himself from his thoughts and refocused on Curado.

  “I’m sorry,” Garrett said. “Can you repeat the question?”

  “Would you mind explaining the drugs? We tried finding a reasonable explanation for them being in your house—”

  “Under your bathroom sink,” Watson added.

  “—but we didn’t find anything. You were arrested, booked, and the drugs were put on property. Then the charges were dropped. We’d like to know why.”

  Garrett slowly pulled his hands from the table and put them in his lap. It was a move that both DOJ interviewers noted as he saw them glance to each other. He didn’t care. His hands were shaking.

  If Wardell Clint had started talking, it would make sense for Baumgartner and Hill to be angry. However, if Clint had talked, why was he still sitting here with these Department of Justice flunkies and not in handcuffs?

  Garrett’s heart slowed slightly. Because the department hadn’t told DOJ. They wouldn’t want the feds knowing their dirt. They would wait until the suits were gone before they jumped him. That’s how he saw it.

  Which meant he still had a play.

  He looked up and glanced from one DOJ lawyer to the next. Finally, he said, “I know where the drugs came from.”

  “Where?” Curado asked.

  “It’s a story that involves dirty cops.”

  “Who?” Watson asked, leaning forward.

  “The department has known about this and kept it covered up for the past two years. If I tell you what I know, I want immunity and protection.”

  Both Watson and Curado straightened before glancing to the other. Curado picked up his pen and hovered it over his notepad.

  “Immunity?” Watson said.

  “I might say some stuff that ends up implicating myself.”

  “How do we know this is real?” Curado asked.

  The cell phone in Garrett’s left pocket buzzed. He put his hand over it, but it didn’t buzz a second time.

  He had to give them something fast. They would need to get approval for the immunity deal and that would take time—time he no longer had.

  “Butch Talbott and Justin Pomeroy,” Garrett said. “They were detectives here.”

  “We know,” Watson said. “Talbott was killed in Liberty Lake.”

  “His shooter was never found,” Curado added.

  “And Pomeroy committed suicide,” Garrett said. The two feds stared at him. “You knew that?”

  “We did,” they said unison.

  “Did you review the report of that crime scene?” Garrett asked.

  Both shook their heads. “No need. It was a suicide.”

  “You should have,” Garrett said. “Packages of heroin were found with Pomeroy. The drugs found there will match the heroin that Talbott planted in my house.”

  “Planted?” Curado asked.

  Watson rested both of her hands on the table. “How do you know the drugs will match?”

  “Those two were dirty,” Garrett said. “Like I said, the department knew it and they covered it up. They paid me seven hundred fifty thousand to keep me quiet.”

  Both federal agents leaned back in their chairs.

  Garrett’s heartbeat was almost normal again. His worries hadn’t gone away. They were still there, but he felt a new game being played. A game he could win.

  Watson leaned forward. “Why do you need immunity?”

  “You mean aside from the fact that I just admitted taking money to stay quiet about a cover up?”

  Watson waved dismissively. “So maybe you felt remorse and came forward as a whistleblower. Why ask for immunity?”

  “Because when I finish that story, I’ll need a lawyer.”

  “Give us something that we can go to our boss with.”

  Garrett wetted his lips as he thought. He was about to own up to something the department had hunted for two years. But if he could wrap himself in an immunity deal, then Wardell Clint and Captain Tom Farrell could never get at him.

  “Detective Talbott,” Garrett said. “His shooter has never been found.”

  Both feds stared at him.

  “Do I need to draw a roadmap?” Garrett asked.

  “You?” Curado said.

  “You killed Detective Talbott?” Watson said.

  “In self-defense. Yeah. He tried to kill me once before. Him and Pomeroy. They were the ones who ambushed me on patrol. When I stopped Todd Trotter.”

  Watson glanced at Curado then turned back to Garrett. “They ambushed you?”

  Garrett nodded.

  “That’s why no one has ever been arrested,” Watson muttered.

  “Because the shooters were already dead,” Curado said, his voice tinged with revelation.

  “And the department knew,” Garrett added with emphasis.

  Watson lowered her chin. “You can prove this?”

  He nodded even though he didn’t have any proof.

  “That still doesn’t explain why the immunity request.” Watson pressed.

  “I’ve kept quiet for a reason,” Garrett said. “I talk and I jam myself up. I know this. If you want to hear what I have to say, get me an immunity agreement. If not, I’ll leave, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

  “You just admitted it to us,” Curado said.

  Garrett chuckled. “You never read me my rights. We aren’t being taped or recorded. As far as the law is concerned, none of this is admissible. You should know that.”

  “We do know that,” Watson said.

  “Tyler—” Cu
rado began but was interrupted.

  “Get me an agreement. Then I’ll sing to the heavens. You can record the hell out of it.”

  The phone in his left pocket buzzed again.

  The lawyers looked at each other briefly before standing.

  “Wait here,” Curado said. “We’ll go find our boss and discuss this with her.”

  The two lawyers slipped out of the room and pulled the door almost closed.

  Garrett pulled the burner phone from his left pocket and flipped it open. Two new texts from Royal Harjo.

  The first text was bad enough. Think I saw him.

  But it was the second that made him realize his time in the training room was up. EE Def here!

  If Clint or Zielinski grabbed Earl Ellis and brought him in, then his immunity deal wouldn’t be worth the paper it was written on. The feds would protect him from killing a dirty detective in self-defense, but there was no way they would give a deal that would absolve him for the murder of Gary Stone.

  He wasn’t worried about Ellis talking about his drug dealing. Garrett could paint a picture to DOJ that he was working a case. That it was some sort of hangover investigation from his days with ACT. Of course, if he went down that road, he’d need to create a bunch of paperwork to cover his ass. That was something he’d like to avoid.

  It wasn’t a gun that brought down Al Capone. It was some paper.

  Earl Ellis was the only person on this earth who could definitively link him to Stone’s death. So Ellis had to go, and it had to be done quickly before Clint and Zielinski returned to his house.

  Garrett snapped the phone shut, pushed his chair back, and ran from the training room.

  Chapter 45

  “Who were you investigating with the Anti-Crime Team?” Édelie Durand demanded.

  Captain Tom Farrell started to answer, but she cut him off.

  “Before you answer, let me share some things I’ve learned with you. Is that okay?”

  Farrell swallowed.

  “Dana Hatcher doesn’t like you.”

  “I wouldn’t say—”

  Durand held up her hand. “Let me finish.”

  Farrell fell silent again and watched her like a child waiting patiently for a parent to finish a scolding. Normally, Durand would have been more tactful in the way she spoke about Hatcher, but she was out of time. Her flight back to D.C. was in a few hours, and they needed to wrap this up. The time for niceties was a couple days ago. Now was for cutting to the chase.

  “It was obvious in the way she spoke about Chief Baumgartner and you. I took that into account when considering what she said.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “She feels slighted that you got to run the Anti-Crime Team.”

  “It was her idea,” Farrell said. “The chief decided it fit best under my division. I argued against that, but it’s his decision where things like this fall.”

  “She’s not likely to get over it very soon.”

  “That doesn’t seem to be a Justice problem.”

  “It’s not. She had concerns about the team, though, that went beyond it being under your division.”

  “She never voiced these concerns to me.”

  “Then I’ll voice them for her.”

  Captain Farrell flexed his jaw.

  “To confirm, there were four officers on the team. Tyler Garrett, Ray Zielinski, Gary Stone, and Jun Yang.”

  Farrell nodded. “That’s correct. There was also a sergeant and detective, too.”

  “But four officers formed the core team.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Garrett and Zielinski are listed as senior patrol officers. That’s a designation for officers with over five years on the department. Am I right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And Stone had a couple years on.”

  “Roughly. Yes.”

  “With no street experience.”

  “That’s not true.” Farrell wagged a finger. “He had street experience in the FTO car. That’s the field training officer program.”

  “I know.”

  “Then he spent the rest of his probationary period in a patrol car on the street. After that, he was assigned to city hall.”

  “Is that typical? For someone that inexperienced to be assigned that quickly to a specialty position?”

  Farrell paused as if considering his answer. Finally, he said, “It happens sometimes.”

  Durand made a note on her pad. When she looked up, she said, “And Jun Yang? She had less than a year on, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “In fact, she phased out of the FTO program and went straight into the ACT. Isn’t that right?”

  “Well, yeah, but there were—”

  “Is that normal? For a rookie with no experience to make it onto a specialty team?”

  “She had military police experience—”

  “Captain, please. She had no city police experience. So I ask, is that normal?”

  The captain paused again. His answer was the same as before. “It happens sometimes.”

  “If I asked you to pull the records of other recruits, let’s use the last ten years, who were assigned to a specialty detail before they were off probation, how many do you think we would see?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Take a guess.”

  Farrell’s face reddened. “I don’t know.”

  Durand shook her head as she made another note. When she looked up, she asked, “Who selected the members of the Anti-Crime Team?”

  Farrell wiped his face then said, “I did.” A moment passed before he weakly added, “With the input of the chief.”

  Durand leaned forward. “So the chief had input on the team members?”

  Farrell considered his answer before speaking. “I recommended the team. He approved them.”

  “Oh. How many detectives are under you control?”

  “By division?”

  “No. You’re the head of the Investigations Division. I’m wondering how many detectives you have at your disposal?”

  “Fifty-four, but they’re spread across property crimes, special investigations—”

  “Fifty-four,” Durand interrupted. “So you have fifty-four investigators at your disposal.”

  Farrell crossed his arms. “They’re not at my disposal. They have responsibilities.”

  “How many are working the ambush of Tyler Garrett?”

  The captain blanched. “That case has been closed.”

  “I didn’t realize you found those responsible for the ambush?”

  Farrell blinked.

  “Or have you?”

  The captain remained silent.

  “You have an officer who survived an ambush, fought back, and killed one suspect. Yet the additional shooter or shooters was never identified. Even the chief was surprised that they hadn’t been found yet.”

  “It was a county case,” Farrell said. “They were the lead on it.”

  “What about the dead officer in Liberty Lake? His shooter has never been identified either.”

  “Liberty Lake,” Farrell said, “they were the lead on that case.”

  “Two dead officers and no arrests. You’re defending the inability to find attackers of your officers with territorial justification?”

  Farrell’s eyes dropped.

  “I flew to Seattle this morning.”

  The captain nodded but didn’t bother to look up.

  “So you heard that I was over there?”

  He nodded again.

  “Did you know that I went to speak with Jun Yang?”

  Farrell looked up then.

  “She had a lot to say.”

  The captain gnawed on his lip.

  “She said she was brought on for a specific reason. It was a surprising one, actually. One I would never have imagined hearing from a young officer.”

  Farrell rubbed his mouth where he’d bitten it but didn’t speak.

  “She said she wa
s brought on to be a rat. Your rat, to be exact.”

  The captain’s shoulders slumped slightly. He still did not speak.

  “So, back to my original question.”

  Farrell raised his eyebrows. He looked like a man about to vomit.

  Édelie Durand put down her pen and leaned forward. She looked deeply into his eyes. “Just exactly who were you investigating with the Anti-Crime Team?

  Chapter 46

  Clint tapped at the keyboard, then reached for the mouse. The payroll program was a clunky application, and his clearance level as user kept him locked out of several functions. If he was a sergeant, he’d have supervisor clearance, and finding out Tyler Garrett’s current work schedule would be easier. He’d already checked the CAD system to see if Garrett was logged on. Since Garrett was assigned to day shift, he should be listed. He wasn’t, so that meant he was off today. If it wasn’t his scheduled day off, Clint wanted to know the reason he wasn’t on duty, and if it was a single day or more than one. With all his focus on the network surrounding Garrett recently, he hadn’t followed the officer’s movements as closely as in the past. His schedule might have changed. For all he knew, the man had left on a Mexican vacation.

  I should have been on top of this.

  If Garrett slipped the noose because of his own clumsiness…

  “Ward!”

  Clint turned to the sound of his misused name with a scowl. He doubted Marty Hill was back for a second round but was surprised to see Zielinski staggering up to his desk. The veteran officer was breathing heavily, and his face was painted with panic.

  “What is it?” Clint snapped.

  “It’s Farrell,” Zielinski said. “DOJ is going after him.”

  “What?”

  “They’re taking him down,” Zielinski said. “He’s in a room with one of them right now.”

  “You saw this?” Clint asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “Yes.” Zielinski took in a lungful of air and let it out. His breathing evened. “It happened right in front of me, down by the chief’s office. I just finished my interview with DOJ and—”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You must have said something. Otherwise, why did they go after Farrell?”

  “I don’t know,” Zielinski said. “But it was something else. I had the blonde lady with the short hair. The fed with Farrell is a black woman.”