Abuse of Power

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  “I’m talking to you,” she shouted, her arms stiff at her sides. “I need to go for an AIDS test. I swallowed some of the suspect’s blood when I stabbed him.”

  “Stop by the hospital,” Miller said. “I’ll speak to you later at the station.”

  “Absolutely, sir,” she said, hissing out the salutation.

  “Are you being insubordinate, Simmons?” Miller said.

  Rachel didn’t answer. Spinning around, she marched past the crime scene technicians in the living room. When she exited the front of the house, she ran into Jimmy Townsend and Carol Hitchcock on the steps.

  “Thanks for being there when I needed you,” she said, shoving them out of her way. “It’s nice to know I have such good friends.”

  “I warned you,” Townsend said. “Cops don’t stab each other in the back, Rachel. We’re all in this boat together. Maybe after tonight, you’ll understand what we mean.”

  “Wait,” Carol said, concerned that things were getting out of hand, “I want to talk to you.”

  “Forget it,” Rachel snapped, continuing on to her unit.

  c h a p t e r

  EIGHTEEN

  Rachel was swaddled in a blanket, seated on a sofa in the doctors’ lounge at Presbyterian Hospital, clasping a mug of coffee with both hands. It was 9:20 Wednesday morning, and Mike Atwater had just walked into the room.

  The prosecutor had responded to Rachel’s 7:00 a.m. call with mixed feelings. He was horrified by the ordeal she had been through, but he wasn’t sure if the situation would amount to anything. A few cops failing to respond for backup was not a crime. During their phone conversation, however, Rachel had alluded to a more serious problem. She claimed one of the officers involved in the shooting at the Majestic Theater had used the Hillmont boy as a human shield. Since Ringwald had insisted he try the case, a police scandal might work out quite nicely. The only way it would fly, though, was if Rachel’s story turned out to be cohesive and factual, and there were other witnesses who could corroborate her statements in the courtroom.

  “Captain Madison never came,” she said as soon as she saw him. “Sergeant Miller wouldn’t let the dispatcher call him. At least the man I stabbed didn’t test positive for AIDS. They gave me a test to be certain. They said it could take up to six months for the virus to show up. They’ll have to test us both again.”

  “From what you told me on the phone,” Atwater said, sitting down in an orange plastic chair across from her, “Madison might not be the best person to spill your guts to right now.”

  “Why?” Rachel asked. “Shouldn’t he know what’s going on? Maybe I should call the chief, then.”

  “I’ve been around this element a lot longer than you have,” the attorney said. “Police departments are closed environments, similar in some ways to cults. What trickles down to the bottom usually starts at the top.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, shaking her head in confusion.

  “The things you’ve mentioned wouldn’t occur if the chief and the higher-ranking officers didn’t condone them, or at least look the other way. Corruption thrives where it resides, if you know what I mean.” He stood to get himself a cup of coffee. “How many people were involved in this?”

  Rachel tracked him with her eyes. “Are you talking about last night, or the shooting at the Majestic Theater?”

  “They’re both related, right?” he said, returning to his seat with his coffee.

  “Grant Cummings wasn’t on duty last night,” she said, pulling the blanket more tightly around her. “They did it for Grant, though. When I told Carol Hitchcock that I was going to tell the truth about the Hillmont shooting, they decided to teach me a lesson.”

  “You can forget last night,” Atwater said. “How could we ever prove that these officers intentionally didn’t respond for backup? That’s not a crime, anyway. It’s a disciplinary problem.”

  Rachel told him about the money she had found in the shoe boxes. “I think pocketing fifty grand constitutes more than a disciplinary problem, don’t you?”

  “Do you have any idea who took it?”

  “The guy I stabbed certainly didn’t take it,” Rachel tossed out. “The only people inside that house were law enforcement personnel.”

  “I’ll get in touch with Internal Affairs,” he said, “have them initiate an investigation.”

  “What about Grant? He used that kid as a shield. The Hillmont boy should be alive, Mike. There was no reason for him to die.”

  “We’re looking at another tricky situation,” Atwater said, his expression troubled. “If the other officers aren’t willing to testify that what you said is true, it will be your word against theirs. That’s a heavy burden to carry. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “After tonight,” Rachel said, “I’m willing to take on the whole department. There’s more that I haven’t told you.” She swallowed her pride, then poured out the sordid details of the party on the beach.

  “Sounds like sexual harassment,” he said, twirling his cufflinks. “You’ll have to hire an attorney and sue the department. I can’t help you with civil matters, Rachel.”

  “Why is it sexual harassment?” she argued. “I wasn’t on duty when it happened. It had nothing to do with my job. Grant Cummings tried to rape me. And the sergeant, Ratso, Jimmy Townsend, they were all involved. If they didn’t actually fondle me, they certainly did nothing to stop it.”

  Mike Atwater had an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. He stared at Rachel’s face, trying to read her. The events she had described were outrageous. If they came out in the open, the media would go wild. He could already envision the headlines. Sex. Brutality. Missing drug money. Bad cops. The recipe was ripe, a wicked brew of sensationalism. Even though he was excited by the possibilities of such a situation, he had to make certain Rachel would be able to go the distance. “Are you willing to swear out a criminal complaint against Grant Cummings?”

  “Yes,” Rachel said.

  “Well,” Atwater said, “I guess the attempted rape is the best place to start. I’ll contact the Attorney General’s office and advise them of the other matters you told me about, as well as notify Internal Affairs of the missing drug money. Since I’m prosecuting Donald Trueman, I can see if any of the other witnesses support your story.” He stood and glanced at his watch. “I have to be in court in twenty minutes. Why don’t I get the complaint typed up and drop by your house later tonight for your signature?”

  “I’m on duty tonight,” she said. “Should I take a sick day?”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” he said.

  “When will they serve Grant?”

  “Probably tomorrow,” he said. “Look, once this goes down, all hell is going to break loose. You’re going to be besieged by the media. The way you’ve described these officers, Rachel, I’m not certain it’s safe for you to go back to work.”

  “You mean I’m not going to have a job,” she said. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “It could come to that,” Atwater said, taking a seat beside her again. Rachel closed her eyes against welling tears, and he gently touched the star-shaped mole on her eyelid. Memories of their lovemaking passed through his mind, and he leaned closer to kiss her. Rachel pushed him away. “Will I get paid?”

  “I can’t make any promises,” Atwater told her, becoming all business again. “I’ll do whatever I can to keep you on the payroll. If Personnel finds a way to cut you loose, you’ll have to do what I said, hire an attorney and file a lawsuit.”

  As Rachel watched him get up to go, a tear inched its way down her cheek. How would she pay her bills? Her career as a police officer was over. She could move to another state, but she knew her reputation would follow her. Once she signed her name on the complaint, there would be no turning back. “Bring the papers over around seven,” she said. “I should be awake by then.”

  Grant Cummings was in his townhouse in Ventura. Located only
a few blocks from the beach, his home had a living room with a towering ceiling, a small study, and two large bedrooms in the upstairs loft. He kept everything clean and perfectly ordered. When he had visitors, he insisted they leave their shoes in the entry way.

  Ratso was sitting on the floor in the kitchen cleaning Grant’s thirty-piece gun collection. He had not slept since the day before. When Grant had called him that morning, he had reluctantly agreed to come over. Instead of working alongside him as he had promised. Grant had spent the morning on the beach while Ratso slaved away on his kitchen floor.

  Walking into the room, Grant opened the refrigerator and removed a cold beer. “Don’t get that gun oil on my floor.”

  Ratso nodded. His eyelids were so heavy that he could barely keep them open. He was hungry and thirsty, but Grant had not offered him food or drink. He dropped an antique revolver on the floor. “I’m concerned about the things Rachel said about me. What’s going to happen. Grant?”

  “Nothing,” the other man said. “You’re with me, bud. You know I take care of my people.”

  “I can’t afford to be the subject of an investigation,” Ratso continued. “I’m afraid. Grant.”

  Grant was unconcerned about Ratso’s fears. Riding herd on so many people was sometimes a pain in the ass. Everyone came to him with their problems. He didn’t mind helping them, but he expected to be compensated. Everything in life came with a price. “Once you clean up this mess,” he said abruptly, “you can go home. Just make sure you put the guns in the right slots in the gun cabinet.”

  Two beige leather sofas faced each other in the living room. In the center of the room was a glass cocktail table covered with newspapers. When the phone rang thirty minutes later, Ratso was gone and Grant had his shirt off, his upper body burnished by the morning in the sun. He was squatting on the floor next to the table, constructing a model of a ‘57 Chevy. “Yo,” he said, picking up the portable phone off the table. “You got me. Speak, or forever hold your peace.”

  “It’s Carol,” she said. “I just got off the phone with a clerk at the DA’s office. Rachel is filing charges against you for attempted rape.”

  “Nah,” he said, laughing. “Why are you kidding around about something like this? You’re a case, Carol.”

  “I’m not teasing. Grant,” she said. “My friend says she just typed the complaint. I went to breakfast with Rachel last night like you said, but she refused to back down about the Majestic Theater incident. What is she talking about now? What have you done to this woman?”

  “Rachel’s insane,” he said, holding up the model car to check the placement of the bumper he’d just glued on. “I didn’t do anything to her. Are you serious? Does she really think she can get away with this shit?”

  “I swear,” Carol said. “First she accuses you of using the Hillmont kid as a shield. Now she’s accusing you of attempted rape. This time you’ve made a mistake. Grant. You played around with the wrong woman.”

  “I didn’t play around with anyone,” Grant lied, his voice booming out over the room. “No one’s going to believe Rachel’s ridiculous stories. She doesn’t have any proof. She can file all the charges she wants. I guarantee you nothing is ever going to come of them.”

  Carol fell silent. Finally she said, “You might be wrong, Grant. I think we all underestimated Rachel, including Miller. Last night when we ignored her requests for a backup, she asked the dispatcher to call the captain out at five in the morning. When Miller put a stop to it, she evidently ran straight to Mike Atwater at the DA’s office.”

  Holding the miniature door to the model in his free hand. Grant crushed it to smithereens. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said, slamming down the phone.

  Jimmy Townsend met Grant Cummings in the men’s locker room prior to the Wednesday night shift. The other officers were already in the squad room. “We need to talk,” he said.

  “Shoot,” Grant said, strapping on his holster. “The watch meeting is due to start any minute, so you’ll have to make it fast.”

  “Two of the witnesses from the Majestic Theater incident claim they saw you kicking Donald Trueman after he was already on the ground.”

  “So?” he said. “They were rioting. What good is their word? They’re a bunch of punks. No one is going to take a kid’s word over mine.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you,” Townsend said. “The kids I interviewed are all football players. They come from good families. They make decent grades.” He stopped speaking as Ted Harriman walked past them. After the former Marine exited the locker room, he continued, “At least no one saw you pull the Hillmont kid in front of you. You lucked out on that one, Grant. If Rachel keeps her mouth shut, you should be in the clear.”

  “Where have you been?” Grant shouted. “She’s already gone to the DA’s office. She’s saying I tried to rape her at the watch party. They’re preparing a warrant for my arrest right now.”

  “No,” Townsend said, aghast. “I don’t believe you. Rachel never said anything about what happened at the watch party. All she mentioned was the problem with the Hillmont boy.”

  “If I end up taking a fall for attempted rape,” Grant growled, “you’re going to be right there with me.”

  Townsend’s jaw dropped. “What are you saying?”

  “You know what I’m saying,” Grant said, shoving the heavy-set officer against his locker. “You drugged her, Jimmy boy. You played with her tits just like everyone else did. Why should I be the only one to pay the price? You’re one of the fuckers who blew the lid off this thing. If you and the rest of the crew had responded for backup last night when Rachel was in I trouble, she wouldn’t have gone running to that prick Atwater.”

  Townsend felt his stomach rolling. “We did it for you, Grant,” he said. “We thought if we taught her a lesson, Rachel would learn not to flap her mouth about her fellow officers. How did we know she would run to the DA?”

  “Whatever,” Grant said, tossing his hands in dismissal. “But don’t forget, you’ve got a few skeletons in the closet, too. You hang me out to dry and I’ll make certain those old bones find their way to the surface.”

  “We have to stop her,” Townsend said, horrified at what he was hearing. “I have a family, Grant. You know how difficult things have been for me at home lately. I don’t need any more problems, particularly when it comes to my job. We always stand up for each other. Isn’t that what you’re always preaching?”

  Grant thought for a moment. “Tell you what,” he said, a sinister look in his eyes. “Once we clear the station, meet me in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn on Center Street.”

  Lucy invited Rachel, Joe and Tracy to her house for an early dinner that evening, then insisted on keeping Joe for the night, hoping Rachel could get a decent night’s sleep.

  “Someone’s coming over,” Rachel told her daughter once they returned from Lucy’s. Both of them were sipping iced tea at the kitchen table. “Do you have a friend you could stay with?”

  “It’s the guy, isn’t it?” Tracy said, clapping her hands in excitement. “See, I knew he would fall for you. Before you know it, you’ll be getting married.”

  “It’s business,” Rachel said, grim-faced and weary.

  “He might be the same man I went to dinner with, Tracy, but he’s not coming over to socialize.”

  “I don’t understand,” the girl said, her face showing her disappointment.

  “I know,” Rachel said. “Something happened last night. Mike Atwater is helping me sort it out. I think under the circumstances, it would be better if we spoke privately.”

  “What happened?”

  “I stabbed a man.” Rachel took a drink of her iced tea, her throat so parched she could barely swallow. “He murdered his girlfriend. He surprised me and got my gun away from me. I had no choice. I stabbed him in self-defense. If I hadn’t, he would have killed me.”

  “You killed someone?” Tracy said, her eyes enormous.

 
“No,” she said. “The man was injured, but he’s alive.”

  The girl reached her fingers across the table to touch her mother’s hand. “It must have been terrible. Mom,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

  “It’s part of my job,” Rachel said. Job? she asked herself. Right now, she didn’t know if she would ever put on a uniform again. “Look,” she went on, “I may ask for a leave of absence from the department until some of the things I mentioned are cleared up. It’s nothing to worry about. They’re still going to pay me.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Tracy said.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Do you know someone you can stay with for a few hours? If not, you can go next door with Lucy, maybe give her a hand with Joe.”

  “Sheila Ross,” Tracy answered. “She already asked me to spend the night with her so we could practice our cheerleading routine. I told her I couldn’t because it was a school night. Should I call and see if her mother can pick me up?”

  “Yes, please,” Rachel said, burying her head in her hands.

  c h a p t e r

  NINETEEN

  By ten o’clock, Rachel had signed the complaint against Grant Cummings. Mike Atwater insisted she give a formal statement, and had set up a tape recorder in the living room. Once they were finished, Rachel asked him politely to leave.

  “No problem,” he said, bristling at her aloofness. “Was it something I said? Your kids are away. I thought we—”

  She gave him an icy look, then escorted him to the door. “I need to be alone now, Mike,” she said. “I have to figure out what I’m going to do, how I’m going to support my family. I haven’t even told my daughter what’s going on yet. I only told her I stabbed a man last night, and you were helping me with the paperwork.”

  “I wouldn’t write off the job so fast,” he said. “Once Cummings is in custody, it should be safe for you to return to work.”