Crisis Shot

by Janice Cantore

  “We’re on tactical alert tonight?” Tess asked. The pattern with past shootings influenced the police response now. If Tess was exonerated, it was likely the crowds would shift from peaceful to violent and the department would not want to be caught flat-footed. And Connor-Ruiz never stopped the poisonous rhetoric on his blog and over social media in anticipation of a grand jury decision he didn’t agree with. She knew the department wanted to be ready no matter what the decision was. Ever since the Rodney King riots in the nineties, the city had a firm, comprehensive emergency operations plan. Tess had helped fine-tune the plan and been to many simulations over the years. Now she was watching it in action.

  “Yeah, all days off canceled; everyone’s been issued riot gear. And the fire department is also at the ready. We’ll keep everything contained.”

  “I just hope no one gets hurt,” Tess said as she got up to refresh her coffee, even though she felt like she could float away in a river of caffeine. When the office door opened again, this time it was Deputy Chief Ronnie Riggs, her immediate supervisor and her father’s old partner. He’d never swayed from supporting her. Tess knew that behind closed doors, when the brass was meeting, Riggs was her advocate, and that buoyed her.

  He looked at Tess, his smooth coffee-brown features completely unreadable. “They’ve made a decision. It will be made public in about an hour. They recommend against filing charges, Tess. They view the shooting as in policy and unavoidable. No criminal charges.”

  Jack gave a whoop and grabbed Tess in a hug. But even though she should have been elated, she couldn’t help but feel as if she were still swirling down the rabbit hole, straight to the waiting axman.

  5

  After the decision, the madness started again immediately and got even more violent. Three cops were injured the first night, seriously. Tess was summoned to the chief’s office the second morning.

  As she dressed, she watched a press conference on TV happening on the front steps of the PD. The deputy chief had been tasked to give the conference. He’d updated the news outlets on the number of arrests and the conditions of the injured officers. Now he was making a statement.

  “You know as well as I do that police departments never close,” Ronnie Riggs said. “We operate 24-7 and contact people at their worst, in the most emotional of situations, in the midst of and immediately after violent crimes, after tragic accidents, in the middle of difficult problems, fights, to catch bad guys.

  “Any citizen contact has the potential to go bad. Sometimes police work is ugly, brutal, but not illegal; the grand jury just affirmed that in this case. Sometimes things blur, life-and-death decisions have to be made in a split second. Commander O’Rourke did her job. No one is more upset that a young man lost his life than the commander herself. Let’s acknowledge that the grand jury has done its job and not lose sight of the fact that in this country people, even cops, are innocent until proven guilty and Commander O’Rourke has been cleared of any wrongdoing.”

  At that point the conference descended into chaos as protesters began to shout the DC down. Tess turned the set off, grateful for his support but lamenting the fact that there was a segment of the population who became incensed every time force was used—any kind of force—and they resisted hearing the facts. That disturbed Tess. Unfortunately, please and thank you didn’t always get the job done.

  The chief was the first to suggest it. After going over a few things that pertained to the East Division, he was nearly blunt.

  “Tess, maybe it’s time for you to move on.”

  She could feel her face flush as heat coursed through her body. “Sir?”

  “You’ve had a good career—seventeen years, right? We won’t fight an early retirement at this point. You’re young enough to do something else with your life.”

  He hadn’t pressed the issue, but Tess knew that would probably come. Numb when she left his office, she almost didn’t check her phone when it beeped with a text. It was Ronnie Riggs, asking her to stop by his office on her way out.

  Feeling as though she were sleepwalking, nodding to people who greeted her with support, Tess made it to his office in a fog.

  “Come in, Tess; have a seat.”

  Ronnie and Tess went back a long way for a lot of reasons. He was a big man; he’d played pro football for four years, a tight end for a team in New York. When he was cut from the team, he left the game completely, relocated to a state with a warmer climate. Now, years later, he still had the thick, solid build of a professional athlete. But for the gray hair at his temples, it looked as if he could suit up and play a game any minute. Today he looked more tired than Tess ever remembered seeing him.

  “Hey, Ronnie, you look beat,” she said as she took a seat. Tess respected and admired Deputy Chief Riggs, but they went too far back for rank to be any kind of separation.

  “Speak for yourself. I see a little more gray in that red head than I used to. This controversy is wearing on everyone. What did the chief have to say?”

  “That he’s behind me—” she held up her thumb and forefinger, barely a space between them—“this much.”

  “I figured as much. City hall has been hounding him,” he said. “You know me—I’m a straight shooter.”

  “My dad always said you were the straightest.”

  He nodded and brought his hand to his chin. “Yep, and I can’t sugarcoat this. They want you gone. I’ll fight for you as long as I can, as much for you as for your daddy’s memory, but the mayor wants to be reelected, and that truck is going to roll over me and straight into you. See if you can get a job somewhere else; you got my recommendation for sure.”

  Tess took a deep breath. She’d known this, felt it, but had not wanted to acknowledge it. Now it was out, and she couldn’t ignore it.

  “I don’t want to leave Long Beach, Ronnie. I’ve been a part of this force since before I could walk. Why should I be forced to leave? My dad’s name is engraved on the memorial plaque downstairs . . .” Voice breaking, Tess wiped away tears with both palms.

  Ronnie sighed, got up, and moved from behind his desk, placing a large, warm hand on her shoulder. “I know. I know. But your dad would be the first to say it’s a waste of time to fight a losing battle. And to him, all cops, all PDs, were related, brothers—you know that.”

  She folded her arms and nodded, remembering her dad saying, “We all bleed blue, Tess.”

  “It’s the job, not the title or the town,” Ronnie continued. “Cops everywhere do the same thing. They protect and serve. You want to stay in law enforcement, there’s no shame in putting on a different uniform, polishing a different badge. That’s what your dad would say.”

  “What if no one else will have me, Ronnie? What then?”

  He puffed out his cheeks, blew out a breath. “You have to try. I don’t want the hammer to fall on you, couldn’t bear that. Send out your résumés. I’ll write the best recommendation ever.”

  –––

  Despite an overwhelming show of support from people she passed as she made her way out of the station, Tess left feeling defeated and deflated. She stopped at the memorial plaque, but tears clouded her eyes and she couldn’t read it. So many emotions bubbled up inside at the thought of leaving. She loved Long Beach: the city, the department, all of it. It was her home. The people she’d worked with for seventeen years, had known even before that, when her dad was alive; the people she’d trained, mentored; and the great people under her command at the East Division, not a slacker in the group.

  How can I leave?

  But driving out of the lot, seeing the posters—Fry the Red Menace; No Justice, No Peace; and Justice for Cullen—made Ronnie’s words hit home hard.

  Besides the protesters who wouldn’t let go of their grievance, the grand jury’s decision hadn’t made Connor-Ruiz go away. The blogger continued to pound her and the department in his blogs verbally and physically by organizing protests at every city council meeting demanding Tess be fired. And with an election ap
proaching, he’d even submitted paperwork to run for mayor.

  She remembered when a young officer back east shot an unarmed man, an incident that sparked destructive riots. He was exonerated of any wrongdoing but turned in his badge anyway because of the fallout. She’d thought at the time he should have fought it. But could she?

  The next day, two letters to the editor brought Ronnie’s words back to her thoughts as if fired by a cannon. The letters exposed something that hurt way more than the thought of leaving the area. She had to call Jeannie and meet her for coffee. Terry Guff joined them.

  “The long knives are out,” Gruff said, face twisted with disgust as he slammed the paper down. “Like sharks, they smell blood in the water. Those zips never respected rule #2.”

  “But I thought these people were my friends.” Tess held the paper in her hands and fought to keep the emotion from causing her to crumble because of the knives in her back. Two officers—one a lieutenant she’d worked around for years and the other a sergeant she’d trained—had penned letters to the editor. Terry knew rule #2 because it was another rule she’d borrowed from her father: “Never let a partner in blue down.” These guys had not only done that; they’d lynched her.

  Tess was headstrong and cocky, difficult to work with and prone to taking unnecessary chances, they said, an unfortunate incident waiting to happen. They stopped just short of sounding like Connor-Ruiz and calling for her arrest. They did suggest it was time for her to leave police work.

  “They want your job, Tess, and both of them are bottom-feeders. How long have they tried to promote higher and gotten bupkes? They see an opportunity for promotion if you’re gone.”

  Tess bit back frustrated tears, the betrayal hitting her almost as hard as Paul’s infidelity had. The fact that it was only two men and the clear majority of her coworkers had urged her to stay and fight didn’t ease the sting. True, some people avoided her altogether, but she guessed they were simply afraid, realizing that what happened to her could have happened to any one of them.

  “I agree with Gruff,” Jeannie said. “I hate those guys. But maybe . . .”

  “Maybe what?”

  “Maybe you should retire already,” Jeannie said. “I don’t want you to go, but you’re young; you don’t need the aggravation of this job. You have a lot of talent; you could do anything you wanted to.”

  “I want to be a cop. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. Am I supposed to let Connor-Ruiz chase me out of a job I love?”

  The irony wasn’t lost on Tess that she’d been the focal point of the incident that started Connor-Ruiz’s career of hateful cop rants. She was a patrol lieutenant four years ago when a small private plane had crashed short of the airport on the 405 freeway, killing the pilot, injuring one person in a vehicle, and causing a major traffic issue. The freeway was CHP jurisdiction, but none had arrived, and Long Beach officers on the scene had their hands full with traffic, injuries, and a dead body in public view.

  Connor-Ruiz had been stuck in the traffic backup. He left his car and approached the crash site claiming to be a reporter and snapping pictures. Officers requested credentials, which he couldn’t produce. He was asked to leave because he was interfering with their job and he refused. When he was threatened with arrest for obstruction, he shoved an officer out of his way saying he had a right to take pictures. He was placed under arrest and he fought. In the scuffle his camera was broken, the memory chip destroyed.

  Tess approved the arrest. Connor-Ruiz was eventually fined for battery and obstruction and released. He filed an IA complaint against the officers and a lawsuit against the city. Tess stood up for her officers at every stage of the investigation. Eventually the complaint was closed “unfounded” and the lawsuit was thrown out. The next day Connor-Ruiz started his Pig Watch blog, convinced that the justice system was corrupt.

  It stung that someone like the blogger, with an obvious personal grudge against the police for just doing their jobs, could cause the end of her career.

  “Tessa,” her mother had said, “it’s a thankless job you have. I told your father that many times, but he loved it and ignored me. You are your father’s daughter.”

  Tess sucked in a breath and swallowed the lump in her throat. It always came back to Pop. He’d been a cop, a good one. Tess had idolized Daniel O’Rourke and had wanted to follow in his footsteps for as long as she could remember. Guff knew that better than anyone.

  She looked away from Jeannie. “Gruff,” she said, “what should I do? What would my dad do?”

  The creases in his face deepened. “Sorry; I can’t speak for your dad other than to tell you that he was a fighter. Fought hard as anyone I ever knew. But, Tess, your dad and I operated in a different universe. There were no bloggers or morons with cameras on every corner. Got the job done without making headlines.” He shrugged. “Maybe you do need to be looking elsewhere for work.”

  Later at home, trying for sleep that wouldn’t come, Tess got up, made some hot chocolate, and sat at the table. She closed her eyes and thought of her dad. What would you say, Pop? What would be your advice? Would you tell me to move on like Ronnie and Gruff?

  “Good cops don’t do this job for thanks or money,” he’d told her once. “We do it because we make a difference. We’re the thin line between order and chaos.”

  “I’m a good cop!” Tess slammed her hand down on the table, spilling her cocoa. Standing to get a towel and swallowing more tears because Mom always said tears were useless things, she worked to get her mind around the fact that she’d worked hard her whole life to be the best she could be, and now it was all gone simply because she’d done as she was trained.

  Green boots.

  A memory of a story she’d read once crossed her mind as she wiped up spilled chocolate. It was a story about mountain climbers on Mount Everest. Because of the expense and danger in recovery, when people died trying to reach the summit of Everest, their bodies were most often left where they fell, and so it was with “Green Boots.” Believed to be a climber from India, he succumbed to the elements in 1996 and died just off the trail in a small cave. His distinctive green boots, highly visible on his now-frozen corpse, became a landmark; climbers knew which direction to turn at the green boots. Some people passed by the corpse, barely looking and fearing the same fate, while others filmed the sad sight, determining not to succumb in the same way.

  That’s me now, Tess thought. Frozen in place. Pitied by some, feared by others, and being passed by. And that’s what I’ll always be if I stay here.

  Suddenly it didn’t seem so difficult to look online for job openings and start sending out résumés.

  6

  MAY

  LAX was a zoo as usual, so Tess was glad to be in her seat, on the plane. In the month and a half since the jury’s decision, she’d sent out twenty-five résumés all over the country, searching the web for any law enforcement jobs that were compatible with her experience. Among the many “thanks, no thanks” letters came one request for an interview. Since the last few weeks had been fraught with ups and downs, Tess was used to the roller coaster, so this interview situation was no different. On the upside, the job was for chief of police; on the downside, the department was tiny: eight sworn officers and three civilian personnel.

  The plane ride would take a little over two hours and Tess would land in Medford, Oregon. From there she’d rent a car and drive forty minutes to a small town on the Rogue River. The Rogue’s Hollow city council wanted to meet her in person.

  That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  Tess thought about every interview she’d ever had. They were all in-house; they all pertained to LBPD. Her first application interview, later an interview to advance to detectives, the interview for sergeant, one for lieutenant, and the last one for commander. She’d aced them all.

  But she was more nervous about this one than any of those. She still didn’t want to leave Long Beach, but the hints she should leave had not gone away. Rather they’d g
otten stronger, more pointed. She’d tried to return to work at the East Division, but Connor-Ruiz and his minions had made it impossible. She was temporarily assigned to the downtown station, to fill in for a commander out for medical reasons, but the tension there was thicker than a hard copy of the California penal code.

  She only hoped she’d find another job before the city decided to force her out. And the closer the election drew, the greater the likelihood that the ax would fall. Leaving a job voluntarily was a strain, but not a stain. As a commander, she didn’t enjoy civil service protection.

  Tess forced herself to relax as the plane took off and eventually headed north. She reviewed all that she believed the city council in Rogue’s Hollow would be concerned about. She’d risen through the ranks to commander, run a division, and—she thought sourly—dreamed of being the chief someday, but the chief of LBPD. Her dad would have been so proud if that had been the case.

  Swallowing the emotions that bubbled up as she thought of her dad, Tess accepted a cup of coffee from the flight attendant and nibbled at the complimentary pretzels, staring out the small window as the plane sped north.

  Coffee and pretzels were long gone when Tess felt the plane shift and head downward as the Fasten Seat Belt sign clicked on. She’d never taken hers off. Now the view out the window began to change, and Tess’s breath caught in her throat as they dropped below the clouds. Before her lay the Rogue Valley and it was postcard gorgeous. Snowcapped hills bordered a green—so green—valley, chopped up in what she guessed were large farms and, here and there, small clusters of homes and structures.