by Anna Sugden
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“Well, maybe nonfatality accidents, then.”
He nodded. “Let’s hope.”
Delia smiled as she pulled open the door, waved Trooper Donovan in and entered behind him. She’d had an actual conversation with one of her fellow troopers, if weather and traffic counted as valid topics. Would Ben be impressed that she’d tried anyway? Not that she worried about what he thought or agreed that all of this “connecting” was necessary, but still. Who knew? Maybe there was something to his team theory. If it helped her make the right impression at this post, playing along with his idea wouldn’t be all bad.
“Nothing like driving through a monsoon—”
Jamie’s words cut off, and he stopped so quickly that Delia bumped into him. When he didn’t move, she stepped around him as she shed her soggy jacket. That several troopers were spaced around the room, coats still in their arms, wasn’t all that surprising given that they were all coming off their shifts. Only the superior officers, Ben included, were there with them, but out of place, lined up along the back wall instead of at the front of the room where they usually presented updates at the beginning of their shifts.
All of them were preoccupied with the tiny flat-screen mounted high in the corner. Even Gail Jacobs, who never hurried anywhere, rushed into the squad room, took a spot along the wall and stared up at the television. Without saying more, Jamie crossed the room and took a place near the a few troopers on the opposite wall.
Delia slipped into an empty spot in the back and brushed some of the water from her bun. Her stomach was tight, as if it knew something she didn’t. Just down from her, Ben frowned, looking as confused as she felt. The ten o’clock news from one of the Detroit stations filled the TV screen, a graphic of a state police shield and a photo of the Brighton Post building flashing behind the news desk.
Ben groaned. “It can’t be that slow of a news week.”
Whatever the cheery newscaster was reporting must have been a teaser because the station went to commercial, leaving them staring at an ad for basketball shoes.
“I thought we were finished with this,” Ben said in a low voice. “Don’t they have anything else to report on? A road-rage incident maybe?”
A few murmurs and shifting of feet prevented the room from being silent, but Gail remained eerily quiet, which was no more like her than hurrying was. She stared at the screen as if willing the newscast to return from the commercial break.
Delia rubbed at the gooseflesh beneath her uniform sleeves. Her throat felt dry. Something definitely wasn’t right. She didn’t know what was going on, but this wasn’t another follow-up on the bank-robbery story. The guarded expression on Lieutenant Campbell’s face confirmed her suspicion that this report would offer no good news.
Ben glanced from one officer to the next, his hands pressed to his sides. “Would one of you tell me what this is all about?”
Lieutenant Campbell’s gaze flitted to the screen and then back to him. “We’re not really sure yet, but—” As the newscast flashed on again, he stopped and gestured toward the screen.
“In a News 3 exclusive,” the newscaster began, “two Detroit attorneys have filed a class-action lawsuit in response to the Department of Human Services’s use of what has been called the ‘rocket docket’ to determine...”
Ben frowned at the TV and turned to Sergeant Leonetti. “You know anything?”
The funny man wasn’t even grinning this time. “Sorry, man. I don’t.”
A loud click came from the steel door behind them, and Trevor Cole rushed inside with Kelly Roberts close behind him hurrying to get out of the rain. Both paused inside the door to shake off their coats. Trevor glanced from the officers to the television.
“Another meeting of the Ben Peterson fan club? Who interviewed him now?”
“You’d think he’d get better at giving interviews after so many, but he looks miserable every time,” Trooper Roberts said as she slid out of her coat.
At the almost imperceptible shake of Lieutenant Campbell’s head, the two troopers stopped talking. What did some of them know that they weren’t sharing? Instead of paying attention to the conversations that were shrinking to curious whispers, Captain Polaski stared at the television, his posture so straight that he appeared cemented in place.
“Up next is our report coming out of Brighton,” the reporter said to segue to the next news story. “From the same post where just last week we reported on an incident of bravery and heroism comes disappointing news. What can you tell us about this, Laura?”
A field reporter, next to the big blue “State Police Brighton Post No. 12” sign, appeared on a split screen.
“Yes, Kimberly, I’m here at the Brighton Post, where an investigation is underway in evidence tampering and larceny regarding drugs confiscated during a series of arrests.” She paused, her expression becoming somber. “Sadly, a person of interest in the case appears to be the same officer recognized last week for bravery in a thwarted bank robbery. Will this be the downfall of a hero? We’ll let you know as News 3 investigates.”
If the others hadn’t been hauled into an uncomfortable silence, Ben’s gasp might not have sounded so loud. But in that vacuum, the sound pierced the quiet like the click of the magazine in a .40-caliber Glock.
“A person close to the investigation tells us that Lieutenant Ben Peterson...”
Delia barely heard anything the woman said after that as the reporter cited convenient, unnamed sources. She couldn’t pull her gaze from Ben, who stared, wide-eyed, at the screen, his arms stiff at his sides.
The urge to run to the TV, smack its power button and shout to anyone who would listen that the newspeople were wrong was overwhelming. And yet her feet must have been buried in ice. The other troopers appeared frozen, as well.
Delia shook her head to get out of the deep freeze. The suspicion surrounding the lieutenant was incomprehensible, but her reaction to it made even less sense. Without her knowing the details of the investigation, or having any proof, her gut reaction was to eliminate him from the suspect list. How could she even call herself a cop? How did she know he wasn’t guilty? What did she even know about him really? Nothing.
The scene shifted on the screen, and Captain Polaski stood next to the reporter in a taped segment.
“Captain Polaski, what can you tell us about the investigation and the independent state investigator appointed to oversee it?”
The commander cleared his throat. “Sorry. I am unable to comment on an active investigation. I can only say that the Brighton Post will cooperate fully with the state investigator.”
“Can you confirm or deny the tip we received that Lieutenant Peterson is a person of interest in this case?”
“Again, I can have no further comment on an active investigation.”
The reporter only smiled. “Captain, then can you confirm if Lieutenant Peterson is the same Ben Peterson, son of Leonard J. Peterson, a—”
“That matter doesn’t pertain to this—”
But she continued as if he hadn’t tried to interrupt her. “—a career criminal, who died in prison after a vehicular homicide conviction involving the death of his own wife.”
Delia stiffened. Had she heard that correctly? Ben’s dad was responsible for the death of Ben’s mother? She was right. She didn’t know Ben at all. She hadn’t even been aware that she wasn’t the only one with ugly secrets. Unfortunately for Ben, his secrets had just been aired for the entertainment of the entire Detroit metro viewing area.
From some faraway place, Polaski repeated the standard response that he couldn’t comment, but silence in the room swallowed the sound. It didn’t matter that the captain cut off the interview right then. The titillating details were already out there, just as the newswoman had planned.
Sergeant Leonetti grabbed the remote and hit the power button, sending the screen back into darkness. The other officers seemed to hold a collective breath, waiting for Ben to
respond. Seconds ticked by in the rhythm of Delia’s pulse that pounded in her ears. Finally, Ben turned to the commander.
Polaski held his hands wide. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”
Ben only shook his head. “I don’t know where all that’s coming from.”
Although some of the others looked as shell-shocked by the news as Delia was, Lieutenant Campbell stalked angrily toward Ben. When he reached him, he squeezed his shoulder.
“This is shit, Ben. You know we’ll get it cleared up.”
“We’re behind you,” Sergeant Leonetti added.
“Sorry, man.” Trooper Cole paused, clearing his throat, “And, uh, sorry to hear about...the other stuff.”
The others didn’t speak up, pretending not to be watching Ben. Gail swiped a sneaky tear from the corner of her eye.
“Thanks, guys,” Ben said after a long pause.
The hitch in his voice sliced through Delia. She had this irrational, unprofessional urge to gather him in her arms and tell him everything would be okay. What was wrong with her? She not only didn’t know if he was guilty, but she also had no idea whether anything would be okay for him again. She needed to take hold of her emotions before she did or said something stupid.
Polaski looked at Ben and gestured toward the hall. “Guess we’d better talk about this in my office.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lieutenant’s lack of emotion bothered Delia as much as the break in his voice had. Why wasn’t he more upset over what had just happened? Or furious at the reporter for sensationalizing his family’s dirty laundry?
Ben hadn’t looked at her once since the news report had aired, but as he followed his superior officer from the room, he glanced her way. Gone was the laughter that had always danced in his eyes. His gaze was raw now, his glasses only magnifying the bleakness. She’d seen that dazed look in the eyes of accident victims before. Was Ben a victim or just someone shocked that he’d been caught?
Her lips opened as she searched for words of comfort, but none came. His gaze narrowed, and then he lifted his chin, continuing into the commander’s office. The door closed with a final-sounding click.
The others slipped from the room as if driven to the protective havens of their offices or locker rooms. Delia couldn’t bring herself to go with them. Other officers who were just coming on duty emerged from the locker room, the questions on their faces left unanswered.
Delia took a seat at one of the desktops and opened a report she had to complete before she went home. She didn’t want to leave yet. Not without knowing what had happened to Ben. Muffled masculine voices came from the distant office, but she couldn’t make out the words. Though it was none of her business, she couldn’t help herself. She had to know.
Part of her sensed that no matter what Ben was accused of, he was innocent. That it was all a mistake. In the end, he would be cleared, if he was even ever charged. But an unsettling feeling that formed deep inside her brought a truth along with it: she’d been wrong about people before.
* * *
CAPTAIN POLASKI’S OFFICE was smaller than Ben remembered as he settled into the visitor’s seat, the closed door making it feel like a cell. Only this time he was on the inside. Ben brushed damp palms on his trousers, refusing to listen to the voice inside telling him he wouldn’t wear this uniform for much longer. He couldn’t think about that. But he couldn’t stop the pain in his chest, unwelcome hands squeezing it from inside.
How was this happening? One minute everything was good at work—better than it should have been since he’d been manufacturing daily excuses to talk to Delia—and the next minute...this. He focused on the wall, covered by certificates and framed photos of recruit classes, but the images only washed together in a swirl of muted blue. Then the images shifted into a pile of twisted metal and shards of glass. The screams. Pain everywhere at once. So much blood. The relief, then the guilt, of realizing it wasn’t his blood.
No. He blocked the backward journey of his thoughts. He forced himself to breathe. Even if none of what was happening tonight made sense to him, these were different news stories than those from his memories, about different crimes with a different suspect. Namely him.
He shifted at the sound of the door opening. Captain Polaski squeezed past him, shutting the door and settling into the seat behind the desk. Ben leaned forward, toward what he hoped would be answers, but his boss didn’t fill in the blanks quickly enough.
“Do you know what they were talking about out there?” Ben gestured toward the squad room. “Because I don’t.”
“No,” Polaski said, but his nod contradicted his words. “I would’ve guessed you didn’t.”
“Well...”
“I’d been hearing murmurs for a few weeks, but I didn’t know any of the specifics until today.”
Meaning either he hadn’t been told who was being investigated, or he hadn’t been given details of the allegations. Polaski knew all of those things now if that closed brown file he kept touching on his desk was any indication.
Ben stared at the file, willing it to open, until his boss’s words filtered in. He looked up. “Wait. Weeks?”
“As I said, we didn’t have the specifics.”
Those words Ben accepted with a nod, no matter how frustrating they were. Of course Polaski couldn’t share information about a possible investigation. He knew that. So why was Ben taking it so personally that he hadn’t? His boss couldn’t exactly tell him, Yo, dude, keep your head low.
“So what’s it about? The reporter said something about evidence tampering and theft.”
“That’s right. You know how we’ve been making more drug arrests in Oakland and Livingston counties over the past few years?”
“Yeah. The numbers are up.”
Polaski held his hands wide. “Well, strangely, our conviction rate has barely risen.”
“How can that be?”
“That’s what state officials wanted to know when they started looking at our arrest records.”
Instead of asking more, Ben crossed his arms and waited for the captain to explain.
“They wanted to figure out how the drugs confiscated during traffic stops kept disappearing before trial,” Polaski continued. “How dirtbags were getting off scot-free when the arrests were clean. What they found were several discrepancies involving our evidence room. Someone’s been messing around with the evidence if not removing it altogether.”
Someone like him? As he considered the likelihood of that, Ben started shaking his head. “What does all of this have to do with me?”
“Do you remember what a common denominator is from elementary-school math? Well, you’re it. You signed off on the evidence chain in several of the cases in question. Investigators are still looking at the other cases, though.”
“But my name could be found on hundreds of evidence chains.” As soon as the words were out of Ben’s mouth, the reality of them hit him squarely in the head. He’d been set up. How? Why? By whom? And again...why?
“I can’t be the only officer who signed off on those pieces of evidence.” He wasn’t even sure why he’d said that. Even if someone had set him up, how could he wish for one of his friends to be falsely accused just so he could avoid the headache of it? That was further proof that he was no hero, if anyone had ever been fool enough to consider him one in the first place.
“So far, you’re the only common denominator.”
This time Ben nodded. The last thing he needed to do was make this worse. “You do know I would never do anything to help drug dealers, don’t you? Never.”
“I know,” Polaski said simply.
But did he know? Did any of them? Sure, they’d all spoken words of support, but were they all looking at him with the same suspicion they did a suspect in custody? Unlike in the court system where defendants were considered innocent until proven guilty, guilt was never ruled out until suspects were cleared.
“With my dad...” he began but let his words trail away. His fam
ily’s story of addiction and tragedy was hardly news to those who’d been around the post for a while. Drugs had stolen too much from his life for him to ever see them in any way other than black-and-white.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that part.” Polaski frowned. “I didn’t pick up on where the reporter was headed with her questions quickly enough. She was determined to get those juicy details out there no matter what I said.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“But the other...” He touched the file again. “You understand that we’ll have to cooperate fully in this investigation, right?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t expect any less.”
“With as much scrutiny as police departments have been under lately, we can’t afford to allow any suspicion that we’re showing favoritism. We have to conduct this investigation completely by the book.”
Something about the way Polaski said it made Ben shift in his seat. “You’re not saying that you’re putting me on a desk job, are you? Because, uh, I already have one of those.”
Instead of picking up on his attempt to lighten the mood, the commander shook his head. “No. But I am going to have to put you on paid administrative leave.”
“Leave?”
“I need you to stay away from the post while state investigators are digging around here.”
“But, Captain, you can’t do that.” Ben’s eyes widened just as his boss’s narrowed. “I mean if you do this, I won’t have any way to prove my innocence. Someone has set me up, and I need to figure out who. I won’t have any access to LEIN or any of the databases to investigate.”
“I don’t want you anywhere near LEIN or anything else in this investigation.” He shook his index finger at him, losing patience. “Stay out of it. Let the system work.”
Ben nodded, his acceptance settling heavily inside of him. He’d said the same thing to suspects who’d claimed to be innocent. Only now could he truly understand their skepticism. The system didn’t always work. Not for everyone. With the possibility of serious charges hanging over his head, could Ben afford to trust the system with his freedom?