by Colin Conway
He thought for a moment, then answered, “I’m glad you understand the full ramifications of that investigation now. That’s good.”
Hill took in his words, then shook his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I guess that’ll have to do.”
Clint looked back to the victim, working his jaw and saying nothing.
“I get it, Wardell,” Hill said gently. “Keep trying.”
The two of them were silent for a few moments. Then Clint turned back to Marty. “Can you give me your opinion on something?”
“Sure.”
Clint pointed to the victim’s forehead. “What do you think about this entry wound?”
Hill walked over. He shined his LED flashlight onto the dead man’s forehead and bent to look closely. After a moment, a warm smile broke across his face. He suppressed it before straightening up to answer Clint.
“That,” Hill said, “looks like a contact wound to me.”
“Yeah,” Clint answered. “Me, too.”
Chapter 60
Tyler Garrett sat on the edge of his bed.
This isn’t so bad.
Today was his first day at the state penitentiary in Walla Walla. Up until now, he’d been housed in the Spokane County Jail. After his conviction and sentencing was complete, he was transferred here.
The in-processing was quick and efficient. No one asked him any questions beyond the basics—food allergies, medical needs, that sort of thing—before he was whisked to the quartermaster. He was given a white uniform and told to change.
When he was done, he was just a number in the system.
Garrett leaned back, put his hands behind his head, and lifted his feet to the wall.
His room contained a single bunk, a sink, and a toilet. He wasn’t going to have to share with another inmate. This was done due to his law enforcement background. That was fine with him, but he wouldn’t have cared if they roomed him with another man. It would have been an opportunity to have another soldier.
But he was fine being alone. It would give him time to think and make plans.
He knew he could survive in here. Better than that, he could thrive in here.
Garrett had the skills to create a network of men through manipulation, intimidation, and (if need be) negotiation. He wasn’t afraid of the others inside these walls and he was less concerned with those guarding it.
It was all about learning how a system functioned then inserting one’s self into it. He just needed to pay attention for a bit, see who did what, who was aligned with who, and begin to move the pieces around the board. Same as the department. Same as the street.
He stood, walked over to the sink, and ran some water. When it didn’t get any warmer, he splashed some of it onto his face. He dried off with the front of his shirt.
There was no mirror for him to see himself, so his fingers touched the jagged scar across his cheek.
That was a moment of weakness.
Instead of putting the gun under my chin, I should have surrendered.
It would have been the same result as what he had now. Except no scar, and Clint wouldn’t have dislocated his shoulder.
At least he got to kick Ray Zielinski’s ass before it all went down.
Garrett chuckled to himself.
When he sat on the bunk again, his mind drifted back to his court case.
Angie and the kids never came to the trial. He didn’t expect them to. Tiana came every day, though. When the verdict was read, she wailed in anguish.
His attorney, Pamela Wei, had suggested a speedy trial. She wanted to push the department and the prosecuting attorney into court. Her argument was that it gave them less time to prepare. She hoped to catch them flat-footed. Garrett agreed with the strategy. It didn’t work, though, and he was found guilty.
For the Ocampo murders only.
He pretended to be shocked and outraged after the verdict was read, but as the trial went along, he realized the jury was going to find him guilty. It should have been obvious to him. He was a black cop on trial in Spokane, Washington. The outcome was almost guaranteed before he stepped into the courtroom. Wei had even told him to prepare himself that such a thing was a possibility.
Now, they were playing the long game and it was important to steel one’s mind for it.
Even though he lost this case, he won by learning just how much the department really had on him—which wasn’t much.
The department didn’t charge him with Butch Talbott’s murder. Probably because they knew it was committed in self-defense. Charging him would have been a loser’s bet.
And they had no way to prove he was involved in Justin Pomeroy’s.
Wardell Clint may have suspected Garrett of orchestrating Gary Stone’s murder, but the man couldn’t prove it. The only way he could tie it to Garrett was Earl Ellis. That lead was dead now, which meant that that conspiracy would remain forever unproven.
The murders of Sonya Meyer and Ezekiel “Skunk” Hetzel were never even mentioned, which meant Clint and his team had nothing to connect them to him. Therefore, those murders would only be connected to Garrett in one of Wardell Clint’s conspiracies.
He believed that everyone would want to connect all sorts of murders or crimes to him. The more the merrier. Let them believe he was the devil because if they believed he committed all sorts of crimes, then they couldn’t prove any of them. It would clog up their thinking and blind them to what was important.
After his sentencing—he’d been given life—Wei immediately got to work on his appeal. She rightfully argued that the bulk of the case against him was based on circumstantial evidence. The only witness to put him at the scene of the Ocampo murders was an elderly woman—Nona Henry. She looked ill on the stand, and Wei suspected she wouldn’t be around come appeal time.
The heart of the prosecutor’s case rested on two pieces of evidence.
The first was a bullet match from a gun they never found. They couldn’t prove it was Garrett’s gun, anyway.
The second was a picture of Tyler Garrett with Nona Henry’s circle around his face.
Clint built a hell of a case with the little he had, but time would be in Garrett’s favor. Not only did he believe this, so did his attorney.
The delivery slot on his door clanged opened, and a cardboard tray was inserted. On it was a sandwich and a carton of milk. Nothing else.
Garrett yelled, “Hey guard!” and stood.
“Yeah?”
He bent over the tray to look through the delivery slot but could only see the duty belt around the guard’s waist.
“When do I get into gen-pop?” General population. Where the rest of the inmates were. He needed to start learning the system and networking. That was crucial.
“You’re in solitary, man.” The guard’s voice was deep and hard.
“Yeah, I know,” Garrett said, “but it’s only temporary, right?”
The guard laughed. “You’re in there for life, player. You’re never getting anywhere near gen-pop, ever.”
Garrett’s face fell.
“But you’ll get an hour outside tomorrow,” the guard said. The delivery door slammed shut with a clang.
Garrett took his tray back to his bed and opened the sandwich. Peanut butter. He crinkled his nose then shrugged.
He scooched across the bed until his back was against the wall. He stared at the wall across from him for a long while. At first, it seemed like it was closing in on him, but he brushed that thought away. He bit into the sandwich and glanced around while he chewed.
“This isn’t so bad,” he mumbled defiantly. “Not bad at all.”
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
While this police procedural is based in a real city and mirrors reality in many ways, it is absolutely a work of fiction. The authors have taken a great many creative liberties in the interests of telling the story of this series. For instance, no characters are directly based on anyone, with the exception of some positive homages don
e with permission. No actual incidents are rendered here, either. Some police codes or procedures are slightly different than in reality. Additionally, the political structure and history of both city government and the police department has been modified for dramatic purposes. While we’re certain that astute readers will notice those differences, we’re equally confident they’ll forgive the discrepancies.
The authors—both of whom have seen the world through civilian eyes and also worn the badge—hold what may be an unpopular opinion due to its lack of polarity. We believe that there is a deep and compelling need for police reform in the United States. The institution itself and its role in our society must change. But we also believe this is not an indictment of the thousands of men and women who toil honorably in law enforcement. Their dedication, bravery, hard work, and sacrifice stands as a stark counterpoint to those few who dishonor the profession, and for that matter, in contrast to a broken system itself.
These two views are not at all mutually exclusive. Holding them both does, however, prevent one from accepting a cleaner, more seductive narrative. Life is easier when things are clear-cut, when the choice is between good and evil, right and wrong. The truth is that things are rarely that simple. The truth is also that perspective plays a considerable role in how we see things.
We have tried to explore this grayness of our contemporary existence through this four-book arc. Few would argue about whether or not Tyler Garrett is “a bad guy” (except for Garrett himself, of course). But what about Wardell Clint’s actions? Or those of any of the other major characters in this series? Hardly anyone escapes these pages without some nobility and some dirt on them, and perspective matters.
Just like real life.
The authors would like to thank:
Chris Rhatigan, for some excellent editing.
Zach McCain, for nailing another cover.
Carla Warren, Judy Orchard, Bonnie Conway, Cheryl Counts, Dave Mather, Melanie Donaldson, Brad Hallock, John Emery, Ron Sarich, Candace Pringle, and Kristi Scalise, for reading this book early and giving invaluable feedback to make it better.
Marty Hill, for inspiring his namesake character.
Jerry Anderson, for the same.
Every reader who took this four-book journey with us. We will see you all further on up the road.
Colin Conway
Frank Zafiro
August 2020
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS
COLIN CONWAY is the author of The 509 Crime Stories, a series of novels set in Eastern Washington with revolving lead characters. They are standalone tales and can be read in any order. He served in the US Army and later was an officer of the Spokane Police Department. He’s a commercial real estate broker/investor, owned a laundromat, invested in a bar, and ran a karate school. Colin lives with his beautiful life partner, their three wonderful children, and a crazy, codependent Vizsla that rules their world. Find out more about him at his official website: ColinConway.com.
FRANK ZAFIRO was a police officer in Spokane, Washington, from 1993 to 2013. He retired as a captain. He is the author of numerous crime novels, including the River City novels, and hosts the podcast Wrong Place, Write Crime. He lives in Redmond, Oregon, with his wife Kristi, dogs Richie and Wiley, and a very self-assured cat named Pasta. He is an avid hockey fan and a tortured guitarist. You can keep up with him at FrankZafiro.com, where you can score a free read just for signing up for his newsletter.
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BOOKS BY COLIN CONWAY AND FRANK ZAFIRO
Some Degree of Murder
Charlie-316 Series
Charlie-316
Never the Crime
Badge Heavy
Code Four
BOOKS BY COLIN CONWAY
The Cozy Up Series
Cozy Up to Death
Cozy Up to Murder
Cozy Up to Blood
The 509 Crime Stories
The Side Hustle
The Long Cold Winter
The Blind Trust
The Suit
Tales from the Road (with Bill Bancroft)
BOOKS BY FRANK ZAFIRO
River City Series
#1 Under a Raging Moon
#2 Heroes Often Fail
#3 Beneath a Weeping Sky
#4 And Every Man Has To Die
#5 The Menace of the Years
#6 Place of Wrath and Tears
#7 Dirty Little Town (*)
Stefan Kopriva Mysteries
#1 Waist Deep
#2 Lovely, Dark and Deep
#3 Friend of the Departed
SpoCompton Series
#1 At Their Own Game
#2 In the Cut
with Eric Beetner
#1 The Backlist
#2 The Short List
#3 The Getaway List
with Lawrence Kelter
The Last Collar
Fallen City
with Jim Wilsky
The Ania Series
Blood on Blood
Queen of Diamonds
Closing the Circle
Harbinger
Other Novels
At This Point In My Life
The Last Horseman
Chisolm’s Debt
The Trade Off (with Bonnie Paulson)
A Grifter’s Song Series (creator and editor)
#1 The Concrete Smile
#6.5 Come the Apocalypse
#12 Down Comes the Night
#12.5 The Reckoner
Guns+Tacos Series
#3 A Gyro and a Glock
(*) Coming Soon
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Here is a preview from Deep Red Cover, the third book in the Deep Cover thriller series by Joel W. Barrows.
Click here for a complete catalog of titles available from Down & Out Books and its divisions and imprints.
CHAPTER 1
7:35 p.m., Tuesday, December 17, Stedman Farm, just west of Poplar Bluff, Missouri
Tommy Rutledge stepped out of the barn and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He tapped out a smoke and raised it to his lips. His other hand went for the lighter. It was a practiced movement, one repeated many thousands of times already in his life. When did it start? He remembered: thirteen years old, the woods a half mile from school. They had skipped Ms. Cutler’s English class. Troy Keller had offered it. Troy was cool, and that was mostly what mattered. The first one made him feel sick, but he held it in, desperate not to lose his lunch in front of his new friends. It became a regular thing, their little smoke break. That’s when it started. And that’s when he began to feel like he fit in somewhere.
Now, he felt that way again, even more so. He understood these people, and they understood him. They were family. No, that wasn’t quite right. They were more than that. There was a shared purpose, shared beliefs. They understood what had gone wrong in America, the forces that sought to take away the rights of her citizens, rights guaranteed in the Constitution. They saw how foreign interests now pulled the strings in Washington, and how our so-called leaders had ceded control to the New World Order. Most importantly, they knew how to take those rights back, how to take America back, how to make this country great again. He smiled at the thought, happy to have found this purpose in life. He knew his calling now. He was a patriot.
Rutledge dropped his cigarette to the gravel and snuffed it out with his boot. He found himself reaching for another but thought better of it. He needed to get back inside. The meeting was in full swing and he was expected to be there. As Sergeant-at-Arms he was charged with keeping order, a sometimes challenging job. Ironically, his duties included keeping people from wandering outside while they were in session. He wasn’t sure why, but that had been made very clear to him. Nobody leaves. Rutledge checked his sidearm and prepared to go back in, pausing to take one last look at the vast expanse of the Mark Twain National Forest that spread across the northern horizon. It was near total darkness. There were no lights except those from the few distan
t houses in this remote section of Butler County. He sucked in a lungful of the fresh, forest air and turned toward the door. It was then that he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye: headlights, where none should be.
Rutledge tensed up; his hand drifted to his weapon. There was no reason for a vehicle to be in that part of the forest. It was heavily wooded, impenetrable, save for one little-known route in. He could tell this was no ATV. It was a full-size vehicle, a truck or SUV, almost certainly four-wheel drive. He estimated the distance at a quarter mile off, near a small clearing not far from the county line. Then, just as it slowed to a halt, another set of headlights flashed quickly and went out, like a signal. Rutledge wondered if he should alert the other members of the militia. They all knew that someday the feds would come for them. Was this it, was it finally happening? Maybe he was being paranoid. It was probably just hunters meeting up at the end of the day. Still, it was pretty late for that. He decided to do some quick reconnaissance before alarming anyone.
The trick was to see without being seen. Finding his way in the woods without any night vision equipment would be difficult. Rutledge had a flashlight but couldn’t risk using it. Fortunately, he had become quite familiar with the terrain, both while hunting and through the militia’s defense maneuvers. As a group, they were more than ready to repel the invaders when they came. The farm had a secure perimeter. In fact, much of it was booby-trapped. But Rutledge was sure he could avoid all of that, even in the dark. He started to move toward where he had last seen headlights. There was a narrow footpath that started at the farm’s edge and went north. He followed that for a while before veering into the trees to cover his approach. A recent snow had melted, uncovering a muddy forest floor littered with branches and leaves. It was difficult, slippery footing. But that was the least of his concerns. It was that chance snap of a twig that made his pulse pound. Rutledge had to assume that these people were on high alert. The slightest sound could give him away. He moved slowly, trying his best to avoid making any noise as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.