Kiss & Tell

by Luke Murphy

The officer nodded, looking back down at his iPhone and laughing at a text he’d just received.

  “I do, but I don’t have authority to let you in.”

  “Listen, Officer Austin.” Charlene read the pin on his shirt. “Do we really want to call one of your superiors at six o’clock on a Friday night to come in, because you’re too busy texting to let me in?”

  He looked back at her and slipped the phone into his pocket. “I guess not.”

  “All I need is my combination. That’s it.”

  Now it was the officer’s turn to sigh. “Fine.”

  He led them to Human Resources, and using his swipe key, let them in.

  “Thanks,” Charlene said as she shut the door and left the two men outside.

  She hustled across the lobby to the filing cabinet. She knew that security cameras videoed every part of the office, but she had the excuse of needing her lock combination, which happened to be in the same cabinet as Jackson’s.

  She found the code easily, as well as Jackson’s locker number, and let herself out. Darren was by himself when she exited.

  “Get what you need?” he asked.

  Charlene nodded.

  They took the stairs up to the Rape Special Section department. Charlene had Darren wait outside the woman’s change room, to knock for a warning. There weren’t many women on the force, and Charlene hadn’t seen anyone in the lobby.

  She entered the locker room, checked the aisles, but saw no one. She didn’t hear running water, the showers were all off, and after checking the stalls, determined she was alone.

  A breach of department security.

  Charlene entered the three numbered code and the lock unfastened. She opened the squeaky, steel locker and found the inside unusually neat, almost military style. Jackson’s uniform, freshly dry cleaned, hung neatly on the hangers, her shower kit and other bathroom facilities were lined perfectly, side by side, on the top shelf, and workout clothes were folded and placed neatly on the locker floor. Freshly shined shoes rested on top of the folded clothes.

  Charlene delicately removed the contents. At the bottom of the locker, hidden underneath the piled workout gear, was a Smith & Wesson, nine millimeter semi-automatic. The smell of fresh oil told Charlene that the weapon had been recently cleaned.

  She gently picked up the gun by the barrel and set it on the bench. Then she replaced the other items and shut the locker, replacing the lock. When she walked out, Darren was standing at the door, talking with another officer. He saw the gun and smiled, saying nothing. The colleague nodded, smiled and walked away.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Is that it?”

  Charlene shrugged. “Let’s find out.”

  ~ * ~

  Charlene felt her pulse and breathing slow to a normal pace when she’d left the building, the gun bagged and tucked safely away.

  She called Dana and told her she was on the way over.

  Once they had parked, Charlene practically jogged across the lot and into the Hertzberg-Davis Forensic Science Center. Inside the building, they speed-walked past the Criminal Justice main office and took the elevator to the fifth floor.

  They found Dana, in her white lab coat, hairnet, safety goggles, gloves, and surgical mask, in the Trace Evidence Section of the lab examining a swab through a microscope. Charlene waited for the technician to make eye contact.

  Dana looked up, turned off the scope light, and removed her rubber gloves. Then she removed the rest of her gear and walked over.

  “What’s up, Char?”

  “Do you have any pull with Forensics?” Charlene asked.

  “A little,” Dana replied with a wink.

  Charlene was the only one who knew that Dana was seeing a guy from the Forensics Unit. The LAPD frowned upon inter-departmental relationships. Darren stood back and said nothing, but Charlene noticed him examining Dana’s breasts.

  “Do you want the microscope, Darren?” Charlene asked.

  Darren looked up quickly, his face reddening.

  “What do ya need?” Dana asked.

  “I need this tested with the bullets pulled from Anderson.” Charlene handed the bagged weapon to Dana.

  “Is that the murder weapon?”

  “Not sure.”

  “When do you need it by?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Dana grimaced. “Oh boy.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Derek will lecture me about how other cases take precedence. He has already been complaining about the ever-growing back log. Detective Mitchell has been breathing down his neck about the Adams case.” Dana smiled. “I guess I’ll just have to offer him something in return that he can’t refuse.”

  “That’s my girl. I’ll be at my desk. And Dana, don’t log the test.”

  Dana didn’t question Charlene.

  As Charlene and Darren turned to leave, Charlene felt a sharp elbow jab her side. She turned back towards Dana who mouthed the words, “He’s cute.”

  Dana winked. Charlene rolled her eyes and walked away.

  ~ * ~

  Back at her desk, time passed and silence engulfed them. She was a bundle of nervous energy. She understood that these things took time, but Charlene couldn’t stand the waiting. She could have used a drink.

  She did anything she could to pass the time—read the sports section, did a Sudoku, doodled on a pad, and watched Darren.

  He pulled a tiny mirror from his pocket and checked his hair. Maybe it was Dana’s comment, but, for the first time, Charlene noticed he wasn’t a bad looking guy.

  Darren read from an Archie comic, looked at reports, and quietly wrote notes down in his pocket notebook. His handwriting was impressively neat for a man.

  She could hear his phone vibrate constantly, and when he checked his alerts, found that he was on a Hollywood entertainment site.

  When there was a noise at the door, they both turned anxiously. Dana strode in, carrying the gun.

  Charlene got up and met her half way. “What did you find”?

  “It’s a match. We tested the bullets pulled from Anderson, and after conducting several tests, we found, without a doubt, the bullets were fired from this gun. Forensic evidence doesn’t lie.” Dana handed the bag to Charlene. “I’ll let you label it.”

  Charlene felt a surge of blood to her temples. “Thanks, Dana. I owe you one.”

  “Actually, that’s two now.”

  Dana handed Charlene the report.

  “Hey, Dana, if anyone asks, this didn’t happen.”

  Dana smiled. “I figured as much.”

  When Dana disappeared, Darren asked, “What now?” His voice was animated.

  “We put the weapon back.”

  “What? We can’t do that. It’s evidence.”

  “Yes, Darren, illegally obtained evidence. It’ll never hold up in court.”

  Darren seemed to sag. “So what do we do?”

  “I’m not sure. I have to put this back. Then I’ll think of something.”

  ~ * ~

  After replacing the gun, Charlene sat at her desk, unsure of her next move. She had everything she needed on Jackson, but how could she make it legal. She still didn’t have enough legally obtained information to obtain a search warrant. Or did she? Everything was circumstantial.

  Darren couldn’t sit still, which annoyed Charlene and disrupted her concentration. He constantly checked his appearance in a mirror.

  She called Larry. “I’m stuck.”

  “You think you have problems. Mary-Anne is drivin’ me nuts. She won’t leave my side and she thinks I smell like smoke. And I haven’t had one since I got shot. I’m under constant, twenty-four-hour surveillance and I can’t sneak away.”

  Charlene told Larry everything she’d found since she’d last spoken with him.

  Larry grunted. “And now you don’t know what to do with it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Let me make a couple of calls. Sit tight.”
<
br />   ~ * ~

  Charlene sat at her desk, rereading Jackson’s profile.

  Jackson had been involved from the start. If Margaret Connors’ rape had been filed and Jackson had signed off on the case, Charlene would have discovered her involvement from the beginning. But as circumstance happens, Jackson was a silent player.

  Anderson’s rape of Margaret Connors set off a chain of events that had spiraled out of control.

  When her phone rang, Charlene picked up after half a ring. “Hello?”

  It was Larry. “You got your search warrant, Kid.”

  “How’d you do it?”

  “Never mind, it’s done. Should be getting to you any second now. Signed, sealed, and delivered.” She could sense Larry’s smugness through the phone.

  As if on cue, the department fax machine chimed and spit out a piece of paper. Charlene set the receiver down and retrieved the fax, reading it over on the way back to her desk.

  “Thanks, Larry.”

  “Keep me posted. I’d like to be there when you nail Jackson, but that won’t happen.”

  Charlene let a few silent seconds go by before catching her breath. “Hey, Larry?”

  “Yeah, Kid?”

  “About last night.”

  “No need, Kid. That’s what partners do.”

  She smiled and her eyes started to tear. She swiped at them and looked around the office to make sure no one was watching.

  “I need to say it.”

  But Larry was adamant not to let Charlene put herself in a situation of desperation. “I know, Kid. You want to thank me, but there is no need. You would have done the same thing for me.”

  “No, it’s not that.” She paused before continuing. “I was just going to say that…you move pretty fast for a fat ass.” Charlene smirked.

  “Fuck you, Taylor. Now go nail that bitch!”

  Charlene hung up, still smiling, and immediately dialed the captain’s cell number.

  She told him everything from her initial suspicions to obtaining the search warrant, excluding her illegal searches.

  Silence ensued as the captain took in everything he’d just heard. He sighed audibly.

  “Make it happen. I’m on my way in.”

  Chapter 30

  Extensive prep was needed, but by eight o’clock, they were ready to take down Jackson.

  With the captain’s blowback warnings ringing in her ears and because the department’s dirty laundry would be a city-wide affair, there had been a number of calls to make—superiors, colleagues, CSI, the DA, and anyone else who needed to be around for the arrest, investigation, and interrogation.

  With the captain looking over her shoulder, Charlene ordered an eight-man unit at the scene. She had a CSI member use the warrant to clean out Jackson’s department locker and another one to join her at Jackson’s apartment. She gave strict instructions that no one use their unit radio and no police reports on scanners.

  The car was parked down the street among a row of cars so as not to stand out. Charlene didn’t like the way they were scrunched in.

  She sat in the passenger seat. Darren, who had helped in finding the evidence against Jackson, was in the driver’s seat and the CSI tech sat in the back.

  Charlene had two undercovers posted outside the front of the apartment building, two covering the back exits, and another two men planted inside, one in the lobby and one on Jackson’s floor.

  There had been no reports or sightings of Jackson and there was no telling how long this stakeout might last. Darren looked as if he might burst at the seams from sitting that long.

  Darren must have seen Charlene fidgeting and biting her lip for the last hour.

  “What’s wrong,” he asked.

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Darren, we’re about to bust another cop for murder. How do you think this will go down? We won’t be looked at the same again in the department.”

  He put his hand on top of Charlene’s to stop it from shaking. “You’re doing the right thing.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Thirty minutes passed with no sign of Jackson.

  “What if she doesn’t come home tonight?” Darren asked.

  “Then we wait all night,” Charlene replied.

  Darren exhaled forcefully, and the techie in the back moaned under his breath.

  “There she is.” Charlene nodded towards a dark-colored, 2004 Ford Taurus slowly moving towards them. The same make and model Jackson had on record.

  All three of them ducked down slightly when Jackson passed.

  Because they were now ducked down, Charlene had to adjust the rearview mirror to see behind her. “There’s no underground parking so Jackson must be looking for a place to put the car for the night.”

  Jackson pulled past the building about a hundred yards before finally finding a spot. They watched her parallel park, get out of her car, and use the remote to lock it.

  Charlene spoke into her radio. “We’ll wait for Jackson to get into her apartment before taking her. Stand down.”

  There was also the chance, since Jackson was familiar with the precinct, that the detective might recognize a face or vehicle.

  Charlene had had a brief discussion with her captain on the best way to handle it. Because of Jackson’s reputation and stellar record with the department, as a professional and personal courtesy, the captain told Charlene to do it with as little noise and exposure as possible. But to Charlene, the captain’s decision had more to do with the media this would attract.

  They watched Jackson walking towards the building then she stopped in midstride.

  “What’s she doing?” Darren asked.

  Charlene didn’t answer, but continued to watch using both the side and rear view mirrors.

  Jackson pulled a phone from a clip on her belt and brought it to her ear.

  “Suspect got a phone call,” one of the undercover cops outside the building reported to Charlene.

  With the phone still tucked to her ear, Jackson started to gaze around the area. Charlene could see the detective’s lips moving, but had no way of knowing what was being said.

  Just then, Charlene could have sworn that Jackson looked right at the parked car, hidden amongst a group, almost making eye contact with Charlene through the mirror, before the Rape detective pocketed the phone, turned and took off in a sprint.

  “We’re so busted,” said Darren.

  “Shit!” Charlene already had her hand on the door handle. “We have a runner.”

  She knew that by the time Darren pulled the car from the curb and turned it around Jackson could be gone. So Charlene’s only instinct was to run.

  “Try to cut her off, Darren.”

  It took Charlene only seconds to exit the car and hit top speed, her legs pumping hard like a trained sprinter. She didn’t need to radio her team because they were already moving like a pack of wolves.

  Although Charlene was in good shape from her years of hardcore running, she knew that Jackson worked just as hard in the gym, and with the lead Jackson had, there was no way Charlene would catch her outright. She had to strategize and try to anticipate Jackson’s route.

  At the next corner, while her colleagues continued straight through the stop light, Charlene weaved to the right, and flowing against traffic on Lorena Street, tried her best not to bump into the crowd on the sidewalk.

  She had her badge out as she ran, hoping that it would cause pedestrians to open up a free lane for her. She had hit a nice pace, her arms and legs moving in unison, sweat beads pelting her face. She could feel her shirt dampen, and even though her legs began to tingle, her pace never slowed.

  As she hit the next corner, she could hear a rush of excitement from a crowd of people, screams and bellows. Charlene dropped her head and raced towards the cries.

  At the next corner, she heard honking horns and sirens. Bursts of static hung on her radio as her team revealed Jac
kson’s location, trying to stay one step ahead of the suspect.

  Then, over the heads of the upcoming crowd, Charlene spotted Jackson, who was sprinting full tilt towards the same corner. It was as if they were on a collision course. Charlene gritted her teeth and took a deep breath.

  Timing it just right, they hit the corner at the same time. Charlene threw herself headfirst into Jackson, her shoulder crunching Jackson’s side, just above the hip bone. The force of the jar sent both women reeling, hitting the ground upon impact.

  Adrienne was barely able to pull herself up, and Charlene got to her feet as well.

  “It’s over, Detective,” Charlene said.

  Jackson smiled. Her teeth and lips bloodied from Charlene’s shoulder check.

  Before Charlene could say anything else, Jackson pounced on her like a panther, clawing and ripping at Charlene’s skin. Charlene brought up her arms to shield her face, but Jackson was out of control, like a shark smelling blood.

  The pedestrians on the sidewalk had all stopped and were watching the two women trying to tear each other apart.

  Jackson went for Charlene’s eyes, trying to dig her fingernails into Charlene’s sockets, but Charlene was able to block the attempt and flip Jackson over her, both women landing hard on the concrete ground.

  Jackson jumped back to her feet, spurred on by what seemed like a rage erupting from deep within. Charlene, sore and aching, still sitting on the ground, was able to reach her ankle holster and pull her secondary weapon.

  But before she could aim the small caliber weapon, Jackson had already turned to run. As she bounded into the oncoming traffic, the Rape Detective was cut down at the waist by a speeding motorist.

  Jackson flew into the windshield of the Jetta, before flipping up onto the roof and then rolling off the back. The accident caused another as vehicles screeched to a halt, the smell of burnt rubber permeating the LA air. The white Volkswagen now had a red strip down the middle, smeared in Jackson’s blood.

  Charlene ran to Jackson, who was curled up, lifeless on the road. Charlene carefully rolled Jackson onto her back, using her jacket to prop up her head.

  Jackson opened her mouth and then closed it. Blood from internal bleeding curled out between her lips.

  “Don’t move, Adrienne,” Charlene said.