Funny, I hadn’t sent him an invite. He came in, and it felt like a wet, mildewed blanket was thrown over the Rhinehardt party. Well, maybe it wasn’t that bad, but you get the picture. No cop likes to party with the brass, and Walters knew it. He finished off his Phantom Ale rather quickly before he stood up and said, “Actually, Rhino, I heard you guys were throwing this little shindig, and the sheriff asked me to come over. There’s something I need to say to everyone.”
Holy shit. Was he going to apologize for being such an asshole? I asked all the guys and gals to come into our living room to accommodate the chief (and to get this over with so he could leave).
“You all did us proud this last year. You men and women were under a lot of pressure, and I know that much of that pressure came from my office…well, it came from me. I just want to say, I appreciate the work you all did. I really do. I must admit I even got a kick out of that fat-ass attorney getting forked. I can say that now since the lawsuit’s been dismissed.” Walters chuckled, but I didn’t. “Anyway, I wanted you to hear it from me personally.”
We all mumbled our subdued thanks. We hoped he was done, but he continued. “I also came here in an official capacity. As you know, we finished our promotional exams two weeks ago, and I’m here to congratulate one of you: Sergeant Ted Banner.”
A roar of applause ripped through the room as the chief handed Ted his new sergeant’s badge and shook his hand. I was very proud of him. He deserved it. I had to admit that I was also envious. It was my own damn fault, but I ended up being lucky number thirteen on the same list—far enough out that I had a snowball’s chance in hell of any promotion this time around. I was happy for Ted, nonetheless. I sure would miss having him for a partner, though. There’s a time for everyone’s season, I guess. It just wasn’t my time.
Then after all the backslapping and congrats to Ted, some guys started walking away. Chief Walters spoke up again. “Hey, why are you guys leaving? Get back in here. I’m not done yet.” We all gave him a questioning look and sauntered back to sit down. He might not have been done, but we sure were. I started wondering if I was getting a field promotion. Hell, it could happen.
Walters continued, “Sergeant wasn’t the only promotion we at staff made this last week. I need to introduce the newest member of the criminal investigations division—Detective Will Phillips.”
Looking like a deer in the headlights, Will screamed out, “Are you forking with me, Chief? Really?”
“Really, son. Here’s your new badge.”
Will about fell on his face rushing to take it. Then Walters dropped the real bombshell. “I hear you’re Rhino’s new partner.”
I glanced in Will’s direction and shot back, “No shit? God help me.”
The chief left quickly after that. We could all breathe again. Then I asked everyone to come into our TV room. I had something to show them. Not everyone knew this, but someone we all knew well had recently received nationwide recognition.
I played the TIVO recording of a recent episode of Good Morning America. There, sitting next to host Robin Roberts was Rachael Storm, looking better than ever.
Robin Roberts began, “With us today is Rachael Storm, a well-respected reporter for the Los Angeles Times.”
Holding up a full-page Times article entitled, “Slice of Greed: The Phantom Case,” Robin Roberts proclaimed that Rachael was the recent recipient of the prestigious Pulitzer Prize award for investigative reporting. Rachael cradled the beautiful glass Pulitzer icon in front of the studio audience. As they spoke about the article, Rachael suddenly interrupted Roberts. Looking directly into the cameras, she said, “I want your viewers to know that this story would never have been possible without the professional, painstaking work done by the Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s Office. I had the privilege of working closely with those detectives. They solved this case through sweat and shoe leather, and I am proud to call them all friends.”
I thought about how, many days, those in law enforcement come home feeling fatigued, like soldiers waging a never-ending battle. I knew cops often feel hated, unappreciated, and unwanted; loved ones sometimes don’t understand the calling, and many cops end up living out their lives alone. But I also understood that law-enforcement officers abide by a credo to seek justice for the victims of crime; it is their sworn duty.
As we lifted our bottles in a final toast that afternoon, we all knew that today was a good day—one of those important battles had been won.
***
When the evening lights were switched off in San Quentin prison, it was like sleeping on the dark side of the moon. In his windowless cell in D Block, Charlie Lindquist, Inmate 310255, was serving twenty-five to life for the attempted murder of his rape victim. He broke the silence in the pitch-black cubicle.
“Robert, hey, Robert. You up?”
“Well, Charles, it appears that now I am. What is it?”
“I forgot to tell you, man, you did it.”
“Pray tell, what exactly did I do?”
“That writ you did for me—they’re gonna hear my appeal. I finally gotta chance to get out of this shithole.”
“Well, that is good news for you, my lad.”
“Man, I wish I could pay ya sumthin’, you know, for all ya did for me, but damn I don’t got scratch for cash.”
“Monetary compensation won’t help me at the moment, Charles, and I do appreciate the thoughtfulness, my boy. You do, however, owe me a favor.”
Slice of Greed: A Kevin Rhinehardt Mystery (BOL Mysteries Book 1) Page 20