Good Cop Bad Cop (A James Harris Series Book 1)

by Richard Nesbitt

“Nobody can know that I showed you this,” Harris said, getting back to business. “Not yet.”

  Christi nodded grimly.

  “There will come a time when it doesn’t matter. But right now I can’t give that son of a bitch Dinkins any more ammo against me. Not until this is over.”

  “I won’t say a word.”

  “I also need you to not run any of this until after we save Emily. Not the videos, not Carlos, not anything. If the kidnapper thinks we’re getting close he will finish her.”

  Christi noticed that he hadn’t said the word kill. Finish, he said. It was as if he couldn’t even allow for the possibility in his mind.

  “I promise. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “The story’s all yours once Emily is safe. I don’t give a shit what they do to me.”

  She stared into his eyes and nodded solemnly. The two stood in silence for a moment.

  “Jimmy?” Christi broke the silence.

  “Yeah?”

  “What happened with that pedophile?” She asked cautiously. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…I’m not asking as a reporter.”

  “Why do you want to know?” He responded coolly.

  “I don’t know,” Christi answered. “I read the story. I pretty much know what happened. Just not how it happened.”

  “It doesn’t really matter then does it?”

  “Was it horrible?” Christi’s face cringed, almost as if expecting a slap. Not from Harris but from the answer.

  “I thought you read the reports?”

  “I did, but I wasn’t there. I’m not sure how much was fact and…” She stopped, understanding how her words might be taken.

  “And how much my partner and I bullshitted to save our asses?” Harris finished her thought process.

  “Well, kind of,” she said.

  “Listen Christi, I know that you realize how terrible the world can be, but seeing evil in the flesh is very different than reading about it. I saw it in war and I see it on the streets.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But why not just bring him in? From all that I gathered, you had him dead to rights.”

  “Well,” Harris weighed his words carefully. “What if we didn’t have him dead to rights? What if there was a chance he would have walked?”

  “Well that’s up to the courts to decide, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?”

  “That’s how society is supposed to function. That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

  Harris walked slowly to the other side of the room. He paused at the wall and stared at a framed picture of his son. Keeping his back to Christi, he began to speak.

  “Imagine a scenario where you’re a cop and you follow a lead that brings you to a filthy tenement, the kind of place that even junkies and the homeless try to avoid.”

  He paused, allowing his words to sink in.

  “And then it’s there, right in your face. You can’t avoid it, you can’t reason with it, you can’t walk away from it. And to not act might result in the death of a child.”

  He turned to face the young reporter.

  “And maybe, just maybe, you don’t have time to wait for a warrant because you know that in the time it takes to get that warrant, a child might die? So maybe you didn’t have the legal authority to enter the apartment, maybe you didn’t have the right to search it? Maybe you didn’t have the legal right to kick in a padlocked bedroom door?”

  Harris paused looking for a reaction. Christi remained quiet.

  “Maybe behind that door you find a ten year old boy who is naked and shackled, spread eagle, to the floor with steel chains. He has a black gimp mask on and a red ball gag in his mouth so nobody can hear him scream. And in that moment he looks at you with eyes full of terror and you can see that he is a ruined person.” Harris’ face clouded with the recollection. Against his will, his mouth had turned to a snarl.

  Tears welled in Christi’s eyes.

  “Maybe the twisted monster has been branding sick, intricate patterns onto the boy’s naked body with a lit cigarette….” Harris paused again. “Maybe he was burning the boy in between the sodomy. There were towels scattered around the floor that were stained with blood and excrement. And maybe this had been going on for days and the boy had endured things that we couldn’t even begin to imagine.”

  Christi’s face clouded over with emotion and she began to weep. Harris offered no Kleenex this time.

  “Pretty goddamn horrible isn’t it?” Harris asked.

  Christi nodded, unable to answer.

  “And maybe you see all of this and then you realize that there’s a good chance that this scumbag will beat the rap because some soulless public defender will accuse us of not following proper procedure. Maybe he’ll say we violated this poor guy’s rights by entering without a warrant. And of course he will also claim that because the poor suspect was on drugs it wasn’t really his fault, he wasn’t responsible for his actions. But none of that will even matter because he’d be right. Maybe we did enter illegally. Maybe we didn’t play by the rules. Sometimes the circumstances demand action, not paperwork.”

  Christi wiped her face with the sides of her hands. She could picture the scene perfectly as she remembered the young boy’s picture in the paper. She remembered his face, the sweet face of a child, just ten years old and innocent. The newspapers had not had the details she was hearing now. The two said nothing for a while.

  “My own son wasn’t much older than this boy at the time,” Harris finally continued. “If this scumbag had gotten off, he would have vanished. He would have headed out to Chicago or L.A. or Spokane, Washington or wherever. He would have been free to unleash this hell on other children. Do you understand?”

  Christi nodded.

  “This wasn’t his first time and it definitely wouldn’t have been his last. Okay?”

  Christi nodded again.

  “Maybe, at that moment, I had the opportunity to prevent all of that from happening. Maybe I could save other children from the same fate that this poor boy suffered.”

  He looked directly into Christi’s eyes.

  “So…” Harris posed the question slowly. “Imagine a scenario where you saw all of this.”

  Christi stared at him and saw the anger coming from the man. She felt the same anger herself.

  “What would you have done?” Harris asked with finality.

  Christi cleared her throat. She didn’t hesitate. “I would have blown the piece of shit away.”

  Harris said nothing. Tension hung in the air and, finally, he simply shrugged.

  “Dear God,” Christi sighed, letting out a long breath. “This has been the single strangest day of my life.”

  “Well,” Harris said. “That was purely hypothetical so…”

  He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Reaching under the sink, he grabbed a bottle of Hennessy.

  “I don’t have chardonnay,” he said. “Do you want some good Irish whiskey?”

  “God, no,” Christi answered. “Not unless you want to see me puke. Do you have bottled water?”

  “Hmmmm,” Harris answered looking in the fridge. “I have tap if that’s okay?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Harris grabbed another glass and filled it with water from the kitchen sink. He walked back into the family room and placed it on the coffee table. He then took a seat next to her.

  “She must be very close to her father,” Christi blurted out of the blue.

  “What?”

  “Emily. She must be very close to her father.”

  “What do you mean?” Harris asked.

  “Well in a normal stressful situation it is much more common for a child to yell for their mother. I learned that in Psych class at NYU.” Christi explained. “So I’m guessing she was a lot closer to her father.”

  Harris simply stared at the young reporter. His mind raced and his brain scrambled to make the connection. He remembered Sylvia telling him exactly the
opposite. Emily and her father were not close at all. It was the other way around.

  “Son of a bitch,” Harris muttered. He had it.

  “What?” Christi asked.

  “That motherfucker,” Harris said as he rose from the couch. He took a few steps away from the couch as his face reddened. An impossible thought flourished.

  “What?!” Christi shouted. She was now standing as well.

  Suddenly Harris spun back around. He did it so quickly that it startled Christi and she jumped.

  “It’s not her! It’s not about the money and it’s not about her!”

  “Who?!”

  “The D.A.. All this time I was thinking it had to be her, if not the money. He’s not trying to get revenge on Sylvia…”

  Harris stopped. He was searching for an answer and Christi remained silent allowing him to chase it. He finally looked at her.

  “If I ask you to help me will you do it without question?”

  “What?” Christi replied in confusion. “What do you-“

  “Will you help me!?” Harris repeated with urgency, cutting her off.

  “Yes!” She half shouted.

  “Good. Because I’m going to need it,” he said. “Emily’s going to need it.”

  He walked to the door and grabbed her jacket from where it hung on the coat rack.

  “Come on,” he said as he threw her jacket to her and grabbed his keys.

  “Where?”

  “I have to take you home and then go to the office to pick something up. Can you get a ride to Oyster Bay tomorrow?”

  “The D.A’s house?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s going on, Jimmy?”

  “I’ll tell you while we drive,” he said as he went to the front door. He opened it and held it while she walked through. “Although, I’ve never wanted to be wrong about something more in my life.”

  The two left the house and walked towards his car.

  Down the block, in a tan Ford Taurus, an expensive camera with a large zoom lens clicked away.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  48

  Once again, Sylvia found herself standing in front of a podium. The impromptu press conference had been thrown together at the last minute and there were several regular faces missing. Many of the journalists who covered her office simply hadn’t gotten the word in time. Still, the gathering was large enough that her announcement would get out effectively.

  Sylvia appeared tired and worn out. On the advice of her aides, she had not allowed herself to be made up and preened. She opted instead to look the way she actually felt, tired and in need of a break. She took a sip from a water glass and then lightly tapped the microphone to assure that it was on. The crowd became silent.

  “Uhhhh, ladies and gentlemen,” she began, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Friends. Thank you for running over on such short notice. It is appreciated.”

  All eyes were on her. The last time this crowd had been gathered for her was when she’d fainted and been hospitalized.

  “I know that you’re all very busy so I will be brief.” Sylvia cleared her throat and looked to her left. Sheldon had not arrived. He normally stood with her aides behind her and to the left of the podium. As always, Mary was there. She smiled at her boss and nodded in solidarity. Sylvia returned the smile weakly.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, effective immediately I will be taking a leave of absence. Robert Hunley will be acting D.A. until the times comes for me to return.”

  A loud murmur erupted as Sylvia continued.

  “I know the timing is not ideal with the proposed measures to my office and the mayors tax increases meant to fund this but Robert and I are on the same page and he will be able to handle all of my duties in my absence.”

  It had been Sylvia’s decision that her assistant D.A. would not be present at this press conference. No sense in throwing him to the wolves just yet. He would prepare his own presser without Sylvia there. It would show that he was in charge and capable of moving forward without her.

  “Is it a health issue?” A loud voice asked from the gathering.

  “I am not going into details at the present time,” Sylvia replied.

  “Come on,” another voice projected. “You’ve got to give us more than that.”

  “Suffice it to say, there are some pressing personal issues that are interfering with my ability to be at my best.”

  The response was fast and furious with each reporter shouting over the other.

  “Does this have anything to do with you fainting earlier this week?”

  “Why now, Sylvia?”

  “It appears as though you are getting out of the line of fire at a pretty convenient moment!”

  “You are a public servant! We demand to know what’s going on!”

  The voices and questions flew as the throng of reporters clamored for answers. Most of the remarks and questions were civil, some were not.

  “Is this a little distraction you and the mayor have cooked up to divert attention away from how you’re trying to bilk the taxpayers?”

  “Don’t you find the timing a little suspicious?!”

  The press conference was getting out of control. Frustrated by the D.A.’s lack of detail in the past two briefings coupled with her sudden departure at the last, left many of the reporters to abandon their decorum. They were now shouting over the top of one another.

  “People,” Sylvia spoke firmly into the microphone. “This press conference is over. You can pick up an official statement from my staffers before you leave the building.”

  “This is outrageous! We have a right to know!”

  “Why are you running away, Mrs. Blumquist!?”

  “The taxpayers are not going to put up with this! You and the mayor have some explaining to do!”

  Sylvia’s aides moved towards their boss. They flanked her and Mary came close to offer her moral support. Sylvia looked at her, her face a mask of anxiety and stress. Mary offered a troubled smile. The D.A. fidgeted nervously as the group of reporters closed the gap between themselves and her. Looking at the faces of her troubled staffers she suddenly felt intense anger as the lack of respect grew.

  “Enough!” Sylvia shouted into the microphone.

  The group of reporters was so startled by the outburst that the room became deathly still. Nobody spoke.

  Sylvia stared down at them with anger and confusion. She had reached her breaking point and it showed. Every person present waited to hear what would come next.

  “Just stop it!” Sylvia cried. “For God’s sake, stop it!”

  Mary stepped forward and placed a hand on her bosses shoulder. Sylvia, wide eyed and visibly shaken, shrugged it off and with a stern look, prompted her assistant to take a step back.

  Sylvia turned back to glare at the crowd. She saw the confusion, the empathy and the anger. She spent several moments simply going from face to face trying to carefully gauge her next words. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as everybody in the room waited.

  “A week ago my daughter Emily was kidnapped,” Sylvia’s anguish showed on her face. She made no attempt to mask it, she didn’t have the energy.

  A loud gasp came from the group.

  “Oh my God,” came a lone voice.

  “I cannot go into any details on the matter, suffice it to say we are moving heaven and earth to get her back. I’m sorry but I-I have to deal with that now….” Her voice trailed off.

  A myriad of sympathetic cries and questions cascaded over her as she turned and left the podium. She was immediately surrounded by her security and staff and together they walked back towards her office.

  Mary stepped to the microphone. “Thank you all for respecting the District Attorney’s privacy at this difficult time.”

  The barrage of questions were now directed at her, however she had already left the podium, walking quickly after her boss.

  The stunned crowd did not move.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

 
49

  “You’re kidding?” Deputy Commissioner Dinkins spoke into the receiver of his phone. “Did you get any shots?”

  A smile crept onto his face as he listened.

  “Yes, I know she was already at the scene. But this new information is very interesting,” the man’s smile broadened. “Excellent. Send me those pictures ASAP. Good work, Lieutenant.”

  Dinkins hung up the phone and smacked his desk loudly with excitement. The Internal Affairs chief reveled in the possibilities. He reached down and picked up a folder on his desk. He had already received the details of the Carlos bust including eyewitness reports from a terrified cabbie and two neighbors who heard the shots. One of the things that stood out was the fact that in both of the neighbor’s stories the shooting had taken place at roughly quarter after three. But the logs showed that Harris hadn’t called for backup and an ambulance until three thirty-two. Why would he wait seventeen minutes? The fact that the neighbors hadn’t called 911 was typical. Nobody ever wanted to get involved. It was a shame, Dinkins thought. Perhaps some good cops could have rolled up and caught Harris in the act.

  Dinkins glanced down at the report again. Once help had arrived, Carlos had screamed to all who would listen that Harris had tortured him. The arriving cops and paramedics, used to hearing exaggerated lies from perps who claimed their rights had been abused, simply ignored him. But Dinkins knew. Carlos had also claimed that the woman was a witness.

  He’d screamed that the young lady had not only witnessed the illegal interrogation, but she’d done nothing to stop it.

  This could be it. If he could prove that Harris had physically abused a suspect who he’d already shot it would be enough. Even the D.A. herself could not ignore the public outcry that would surround this information. Harris would have to be dismissed and prosecuted. There was just no way that the D.A. could admit that she’d given a suspended, rogue cop carte blanche to run amuck in the city simply because she had a personal stake in the case. She would have to throw Harris to the wolves to protect herself. This was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

  Dinkins closed the folder and pressed a button on his phone.