The Strategist
Page 34
She made her way off the podium under the continuous flare of camera bulbs and a torrent of questions that would never be answered.
When the press conference was over, Detective Sullivan looked at Camille and shook her head. “So much for standing by your man.”
“I’ve never seen anything quite like that,” Camille said.
“Does she honestly think that she can hold one press conference where she throws her husband under the bus then go back to business as usual?”
“That’s exactly what she thinks.”
“Then she’s crazier than I thought.”
“I think she knows full well what she will be able to get away with and what she won’t. And she knows she’s going to get away with this.”
“Even if she has to destroy her family in the process?”
“Her husband already beat her to the punch on that one. She’s simply putting the final nail in the coffin.”
A solemn look suddenly came over Sullivan’s face. “I’m so sorry, Camille.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Sorry that your best friend was killed. Sorry about the resistance you got from Graham when you confronted us with the truth of what happened. Sorry for all the time that was wasted because of it. Mostly I’m sorry that I didn’t stand up for you sooner.”
Camille’s chest felt heavy. “I appreciate all of that, Detective Sullivan. But you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’ve dealt with enough sorrow and regret to last three lifetimes, and I know it never leads to anything healthy or productive. It only eats at you until there is nothing left. I don’t want that to happen to you in any way, shape, or form. Is that understood?”
“Loud and clear,” Sullivan answered with a mild look of surprise. “Thank you for understanding.”
“I understand much more than you realize.”
“I imagine you do.” Sullivan strained as she propped herself up in her hospital bed.
Camille saw her struggling and stood up to help.
“Thank you,” Sullivan said with a sigh as she settled in. “I swear if I don’t get out of this bed soon I’m going to strangle somebody.”
Camille smiled. “Just don’t let it be me.”
Sullivan smiled back. “Don’t worry. You’re safe.”
She was due to be released from the hospital in the morning. The surgeries to remove her spleen and the bullet fragments in her upper thigh and torso were successful, and physically she was expected to recover. The emotional recovery, as Camille knew all too well, would be another story.
“So what’s the plan when you get out of here?” Camille asked.
“Conventional wisdom says I should take some time to recover, go on an extended vacation somewhere. But I don’t know if the quiet would be a blessing or a curse at this point. Every time I close my eyes I see Graham. I can hear his voice as if he’s standing next to me. I need to keep my mind active. And if the only way I can do that is by getting back on the street, then that’s what I have to do.”
Paul, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, interjected for the first time. “I know from personal experience how easy it is to think that way. But I also know from personal experience that if you don’t take some time for yourself right now, you’re going to regret it down the road. At the very least you want to talk to someone.”
“As long as they’re not affiliated with the department,” Sullivan said.
“Why do you say that?” Paul asked.
“Because after everything that’s happened, I don’t know who I can trust there and who I can’t. I’m sure there are worse things that can happen to a police officer than getting shot and nearly killed by a fellow police officer, but I don’t know what those things are.”
“He wasn’t a fellow officer,” Camille reminded her. “He was nothing more than a contract killer who wore a costume.”
“And that makes it so much worse, Camille. The fact that someone like that can infiltrate our department so brazenly means that the institution is fundamentally broken. And if the allegations that Commander Brandt was responsible for recruiting Joseph Solomon are true, then I fear that what happened with Solomon wasn’t an aberration.”
“It was merely the tip of the iceberg,” Paul asserted.
“If that is the case, then it’s all the more reason for you to stay,” Camille said. “The only way to fix what’s wrong with the department is by having more people like you on the inside.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Paul said with a light smile.
Sullivan shook her head. “I appreciate that you both think so highly of me. But the issues this department has go way beyond my ability to fix. This investigation has only just begun. Who knows what else is going to surface that the public has yet to learn about. If there are more corrupt cops out there, particularly in the detective bureau, the department will open itself to lawsuits, the possibility of cases being retried and even overturned, and a public who has lost all confidence in the system. When morale within the rank and file starts to deteriorate, and it will, more officers will opt for early retirement or will decide to quit altogether. Less police presence in the streets means more crime in the streets. As a result, public confidence erodes even further. What you’re left with is a department that is left in complete disarray. I’m sorry, but I’m not so sure I want to be a part of that.”
Camille and Paul both nodded their understanding. Camille was just about to speak when she was interrupted by her cell phone. When she saw that the incoming number had a 202 area code, she sighed and buried the phone in her pocket.
“Another one?” Paul asked.
“Yep.”
“What do you mean by another one?” Sullivan asked.
“Ever since my name landed back in the news, my phone has been ringing nonstop with calls from people I used to work with at the Bureau. They were mostly calls of concern, which I appreciated. But then I started getting calls asking me to reconsider my resignation.”
“And what was your response?” a wide-eyed Sullivan asked.
“I didn’t respond.”
“Not to a single call?”
“Not even when the Director himself asked for a meeting.”
Paul sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I told him that he couldn’t have her back, no matter how much he begged.” He could barely contain his smile.
“Did you at least consider it?” Sullivan asked.
“Not for a second.”
Sullivan nodded. “With everything you went through there, I guess that’s understandable. So then I guess I should ask you the same question that you asked me. What’s the plan now?”
Camille waited a long time before answering. By the time she was ready, the tears were already pooling under her eyelids. “First and foremost, there are two very important women whose gravesites I need to visit. After that, I’m not really sure. But I’ve gotten assurances from my dear father that he’ll help me figure out what that path should be.”
“I’ve already told you, I could always use a caddie,” he said with a sly smile.
Sullivan laughed. “Whatever it is you decide to do, just make sure you don’t go too far away. I realize we’ve only just met, but I kind of like having you around.”
“You saved my life, Detective Sullivan. I’d say the feeling is more than mutual.” Camille was silent for a moment as she let the gravity of the statement sink in. Detective Sullivan did save her life. There was a time when such an act would have meant nothing to her. But now that she realized hers was a life worth saving, her gratitude to Sullivan was boundless. As Stephen Clemmons had rightly put it, there were a lot of wounds to heal, and she was finally ready to begin.
“So you’re promising not to go too far away?” Sullivan reiterated.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Camille answered with a self-assuredness that had completely eluded her up to this point. “I’ve finally made it home.”
A NOTE TO THE READER
Thank y
ou for reading The Strategist. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. It was a labor of love to be sure (nearly ten years in the making), but the result has been more rewarding than anything I could have ever imagined. The best part of the experience has been hearing from you guys. Your insights have been invaluable to me, and in my quest to continually grow as a writer, I look to you as the main gauge of my success (or failure). Whether you would like to provide much-welcomed feedback, or you simply want to say a quick hello, please feel free to email me at johnbellwrites@gmail.com. I’m notorious for returning reader emails almost immediately!
If you have a few moments to spare, a quick review on Amazon would also be incredibly helpful. It’s not only a great way to let me know what you think about the book, it’s a great way to let potential readers know as well. You can leave your review on the next page. And as always, honest is the best policy!
To learn about my upcoming projects (including the further adventures of Camille Grisham and Detective Chloe Sullivan), or to sign up for my newsletter, you may also visit my website: www.johnhardybell.com
Thank you again for reading. I am more grateful than you can possibly imagine.
Until next time…
John Hardy Bell