“There’s got to be another way.”
“Your resignation.” Becker barely blinked when she dropped the bomb.
Madison’s chest heaved and a wad of saliva formed in the back of her throat. She coughed to clear it and swallowed hard. “I will never—”
“Then you don’t have much of a choice, Detective. This is how the powers that be want things handled. They know the truth, we know the truth.”
Madison didn’t like the tone her voice took on. She also didn’t appreciate the threats to her career. The IA investigation was still pending against her. She leaned back in her chair. “And what do you think the truth is?”
Becker put her pen down and placed the legal pad in her satchel. “It doesn’t matter what I believe.”
“It most certainly does.”
Becker pulled down on her sleeves. “I believe you went there to serve a personal purpose.”
“Personal?” There was that single word that resurfaced to slap her in the face. “This wasn’t personal. This has to do with a young man whose life was cut short before his time. It’s about a young man who deserves justice. It’s about a young man who paid with his life because he got involved with the wrong people. In fact, what I did was a selfless act.”
“Detective, I can tell this case is very,” she paused, obviously searching for a more amicable term than personal, “important to you. But, it is considered a cold case, is it not? It’s been over five years since his death. Why now, after all this time?”
Madison had to focus on her breathing and on calming down her heartbeat. The impulse to storm from the room and tell the woman she had originally felt a connection with, to go to hell, was becoming overwhelming.
“I’ve never let the case go. The people who did this walk about freely while he lies six feet under, rotting away.”
Becker’s eyes fired, not with rage or disgust, but, Madison sensed, impatience.
“When King asks me these questions, I will only answer honestly. I went there after hours. I went to ask a question about an investigation.”
“Well then, good luck with your career, Detective.” Becker gathered her things and stood. “It seems this meeting was a waste of time. I will, however, see you again this afternoon at two, when King comes for the interview.”
The woman left without any more comment and Madison let her go.
Why was it so important to everyone that she cover up the truth? Madison may be stubborn and determined, but one other thing she was, was honest.
THE TWO RUSSIANS REMAINED IN holding while Blake Golden and Terry discussed the charges.
Blake Golden pulled down on his suit jacket. “It seems this may get a lot trickier for you.”
“I’m waiting with bated breath.”
“Detective Knight had no right to be on the premises of Homeland Logistics.”
“Ironic, since I thought Homeland was a business, not private property. And, as a business it would be hard to stay afloat without people entering.”
Golden held up a hand. “I know where you’re going with that line of reasoning, however, it carries no weight. Detective Knight went in there on official police business.”
“Which is not against the law.”
“Yet, she searched the premises.”
“She searched the premises?” The man was grasping. Still, Terry wasn’t comfortable with the direction of the conversation. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
“Customers come in the front door. They stay there. Detective Knight went into the warehouse, and more than that, she had her gun drawn when she did so.”
Terry’s chest compressed. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He sank into his chair and watched the smirk curve the attorney’s lips.
Golden extended two sheets of paper toward him. When Terry didn’t reach for them, Golden let them cascade to the table.
“Two signed affidavits from witnesses who saw Detective Knight enter the back room with her gun drawn. Just fair warning before this afternoon’s arraignment.”
“Your clients coerced these men into—”
“Detective Grant, my clients have been in here from the start of this mess. They would have no way, or means, of coercing anyone. And you should know that I don’t have to be forthcoming with this until it goes to trial.”
“Now you’re doing me a favor?”
“I’m giving you a heads up.”
“Right, and you’re going to pretend to care about her? Those men,” he stabbed a fingertip onto the sheets, “would know what your clients are capable of.”
“That is an assumption, Detective, and not a proven fact. In actuality, if you look at their records, they’ve never served time.”
“Money and power keep them out of prison, but their record proves them to be dangerous men.”
“Again, do you refer to charges or allegations? The latter cannot be taken into consideration and you know it.”
“It shows their character—”
“Well, no matter what you think, my men will be free by dinner.”
Terry let out a deep breath when Golden left the room. Holding men like Sergey and Anatolli responsible for their crimes would require nothing short of a miracle. He just hoped that once it went to trial they had enough to make the jury decide guilty.
-
Chapter 19
LELAND KING DIDN’T LOOK LIKE the stereotypical journalist. He wasn’t overweight or anorexic. He didn’t wear half-glasses perched on his nose. He didn’t own a tweed jacket—that Madison knew of—but he didn’t wear designer suits either.
He was in his fifties and had played the media game long enough to have a number of awards to his name. Of average weight, with a wide, flat nose, his hair was thinning, but what he did have was still black. There wasn’t anything about him that stood out as unique.
Madison was in a conference room with King, Stephanie Becker, and Sergeant Winston. She was surprised the chief hadn’t made an appearance. She knew he cherished media attention more than a crowned beauty queen.
Madison had memorized her lines and how she was supposed to respond. She didn’t believe what she had been coached to say—lies. She would tell the truth.
As the saying goes, the truth will set you free.
She hoped it would in her case.
“Good day, everyone.” King smiled. His pleasant brand of charm was one thing that was finely tuned and had likely played a great part in getting him to where he was today. It gave him the ability to pry things out of unsuspecting, or initially unwilling, victims.
Madison passed a glance to Winston and Becker, who nodded reassuringly.
King pulled out a tablet and a portable keyboard. “All right, let’s get started.” He looked at Madison. “It seems we’ve had a little excitement in Stiles lately. Two suspected members of the Russian Mafia were taken down and are in custody. What are the charges exactly?”
“Since they are a matter of public record at this point, I’m sure you already know,” Madison said.
King tapped the end of a pen on the table, and Madison was left wondering why he had the writing implement if the electronic gadget was ready to go.
He didn’t press a key, and he pulled his eyes from the tablet. “The officer they allegedly held was you, Detective Knight?”
She managed to control her anger. “I’d like to know how you became aware of that.”
“A good journalist never reveals his sources.”
Madison studied the man. “I see it in your eyes. You’re not protecting a source. It came as an anonymous tip.”
“I don’t see what difference that—”
Winston cleared his throat. “Please, back to the interview.”
King sliced a glare to Winston but eased his gaze when he reached Madison’s eyes. “How did you end up on the
property of Homeland Logistics?”
“I drove there.”
Relentless eye contact. “More specifically, were you there on official duty?”
“I was there in regards to an investigation.” Madison felt the eyes of both Winston and Becker on her.
“So, you had a warrant to be on the premises?”
“Nope.”
“Yet, you searched the property.”
“Nope.”
“Yet you went in the back.”
“Don’t be answering that,” Becker interjected.
King shot out the next question. “What was the investigation pertaining to?”
“It’s ongoing.”
“I heard that it had to do with a cold case. That you were asking questions about a case from over five years ago. And, yeah, I know which one.”
Becker crossed her legs and leaned forward. “You need to verify your sources. The Stiles PD does not discuss their investigations with the public.”
“So that’s a yes.” King nonchalantly tethered a glance to Becker and then rummaged through a large briefcase he had on the floor. He opened the double flaps and pulled out a notepad like the one Becker had used with Madison that morning. He shuffled the papers until he settled on one.
“Here we go. Detective Knight accused us of murdering a defense attorney by the name of—”
“You were speaking to the opposing counsel?” Becker’s eyebrows shot up.
“What better way to get a rounded story, Ms. Becker.”
“Mr. King, we ask that Detective Knight’s allegations against the Russians be withheld. These things can taint the minds of potential jurors who will have to decide guilt or innocence.”
King laughed. “If this gets to trial.”
If? Madison’s earlobes heated with indignation. They were going to kill her.
King’s eyes went from Becker to Madison. “I remember you from before.”
She wasn’t sure from his articulation whether that was a good thing or bad, but she didn’t really care.
He pointed a finger at her. It lowered when he caught her eyes. “How long have you been with the department?”
“Long enough.”
A lopsided grin ate his mouth. “Long enough to know how to avert questions you don’t want to answer.”
A headache loomed, and her eyes went to the clock on the wall. Only ten minutes had passed. They had allotted thirty minutes with this clown.
“Do you have any more questions, Mr. King?” Becker asked, her tone crisp and formal.
“I haven’t received fully satisfying answers to the ones I’ve already raised.” He passed Madison a mild glare. “All right, back to the matter of why you were there.”
“She answered your question,” the sergeant interjected. “It was in regards to an investigation.”
“An investigation you don’t want to discuss.”
“Correct.”
Madison glanced at Winston. He had to be protecting his reputation because he had never cared about hers before. His cheeks were a deep crimson.
“So it was on official business, or it wasn’t? See, the question has been raised as to whether or not she went in there looking to create trouble.”
“Detectives of Stiles PD do not act on their own accord. They adhere to the oath they took to protect and serve.” Winston gestured to her. “Detective Knight is no different.”
“She had authorization to be there?”
“From my understanding it is a business, is it not?” Winston’s voice rose with his question.
Becker held up a hand, cautioning him to stop talking.
“The issue being raised, Sergeant,” King attributed a derogatory slant to the articulation of Winston’s position, “is whether or not the Stiles PD detective is acting rogue, and whether or not people have to worry about their privacy being violated because a cop has a hunch.”
This reporter pushed the boundaries and she couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Anything within sight is—”
“Please don’t say free game, Detective.”
Madison hated being interrupted almost as much as she hated being accused of wrongdoing. “Just cause.”
“Just cause?” King laughed.
Becker and Winston both looked at her. They must have sensed she was ready to come out with everything.
“Yes.”
“You saw them murder this lawyer in the warehouse? So it was just cause when you entered Homeland Logistics? See, here, I was under the impression he was gunned down in his driveway.”
“I was a cop who had a couple of questions.”
“But you had a mission set in mind. You already pegged them as guilty.”
“I never said that. I said—”
“Yes, just cause. Your mind was already made up going into that—”
“I don’t like the direction of this interview, Mr. King. You have fifteen minutes left. I suggest you ask the questions you would like answers to rather than sniffing for blood in the water.” Becker pulled down on her jacket sleeves and angled her head to the left. “The purpose of this interview, and the reason it was granted was because you were going to tell the story from the side of Stiles PD.”
“Something I’m trying to do, but I keep getting spun in circles.”
“You sound more like you’re hungry to accuse PD.”
King put down the pen and clasped his hands. His lips, which naturally rested in a frown, settled there. “Why have me ask questions then? There is obviously something the PD has prepared that they want to say.”
Becker slid a sheet across the table.
Madison felt the heat in her earlobes ratchet up. Why all the time prepping her for this meeting? Why arrange it at all if they were going to take her words, the truth, and twist it the way they saw fit?
King left the sheet where it came to rest on the table and looked at Madison.
“I’m a taxpayer in this city, and I deserve answers to my questions.” His eyes skipped between Becker and Winston. “Yet you are taking that right away.”
Becker laughed. “This is not the first time you’ve been handed a prepared statement, Mr. King, nor will it be the last.”
He lifted the paper, hesitantly. His eyes looked into Madison’s. “Just cause.”
She swallowed deeply and glanced at Winston. His eyes snaked to his peripheral and acknowledged her focus on him, but he didn’t satisfy eye contact.
King continued. “I understand one of the Russians was shot in the standoff.”
“Mr. King,” Becker cautioned.
“No, it’s all right. I’ll answer that.”
All eyes went to Madison.
“I went into Homeland Logistics to ask questions about an investigation and was met by Sergey and Anatolli, two of Dimitre Petrov’s right-hand men. You may remember him?”
King leaned back in his chair, gesturing for her to continue.
“They were going to kill me.”
King moved closer to the table and pushed his tablet and its keyboard to the side. “So you did shoot him?”
“There is no evidence to back that up,” Becker interjected.
“Did they show the first aggressive move?”
Images flashed back.
I’d arrived. Asked to see Sergey. The receptionist turned the sign to closed and left…I should have ran then, but I didn’t.
Anatolli’s gun was against my head, firing dreaded thoughts of my mortality.
Adrenaline seized her heart, causing it to beat rapidly, then a clammy sweat blanketed her brow. She failed to remember the segment of time between the front door and the stand-off.
“Detective? They were going to shoot you? They raised their guns first?”
She came around, to the inquisitive eyes of the reporter. She lo
oked about the room. Winston faced her, his head lowered and shaking back and forth. Becker looked mortified, her face pale, her jaw tight, her lips pursed.
“You want the real scoop as to why I went in there?” Madison asked.
“Detective Knight, Mr. King is finished here.” Becker gestured for the man to pack up his belongings.
He didn’t move. His eyes were on Madison.
Despite the glares of her superior, she said, “As you know the investigation I went there about was a cold case. Do you know what happens to them? Usually nothing. The victims are forgotten. Well, I don’t forget.”
Winston flailed his arms and let out a puff of air. “Knight, stop it there.”
She noticed the look in his eyes, the fire that flashed through them, but she had to tell the truth. “I needed answers.”
“So you went to get them?” King asked.
“Yes.”
“Who made the first aggressive move?” he repeated his earlier question.
Becker rose. “That will be all, Mr. King. Detective. Mr. King, ensure that Detective Knight’s name is not used in your article. Keep her anonymous.”
Madison didn’t look at Becker or King. Her mind was on the sergeant’s question, who drew their gun first?
Her mind spun and she couldn’t fix on the answer. She knew it was lurking inside of her mind—somewhere.
-
Chapter 20
“THAT WAS A FUCKED UP DISASTER! What the hell was that?” Sergeant Winston was parked behind his desk, and Madison was in a chair across from him.
“That,” Madison extended her arm and pointed in the direction of the conference room, “was the truth.”
“The truth? You never cease to amaze me. I’m not sure how long—”
“You’re not sure how long, what, Sergeant?” She further challenged him with eye contact. He had no right to fire her, and it would be a legal mess if he attempted to do so at this point. She knew he needed more than this, but it didn’t mean wrongful dismissal never happened. “Should I secure a lawyer?” The question pained her more once it was verbalized as if by doing so the severity of the situation was drilled in.
Winston let out a long, steady exhale. “It might be a good idea.”
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