Bullet Beth (George Hastings police procedural)
Page 12
“You mean lie to him?”
“Exactly.”
“You still working for Karen?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.
“Yeah, I am too.”
They shared a laugh over that one and then Sharon’s voice softened. “George. I heard you got sued by that man who killed that little girl. That true?”
“Yeah, unfortunately.”
“Man, that’s just evil. You doing okay?”
“I’ll feel better when it’s over.”
“First time?”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, I got sued when I was in patrol. False arrest or some shit. I didn’t do anything wrong. But the city paid the little crackhead a settlement anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because it was cheaper. I think they gave him fifteen hundred dollars or something. Just to get rid of it.”
“I don’t want this scumbag to get a penny.”
“George, you can’t think of it that way. What — his name was Bradbury?”
“Yes.”
“What he does or doesn’t do shouldn’t matter to you. Let the city pay him off and simply put it out of your mind.”
“If he got anything I would be offended to the core.”
“If it’s not your money, don’t worry about it. Seriously, George. Don’t let this guy get to you.”
“I’ll try not to. Thanks, Sharon.”
They traded goodbyes and Hastings walked back to Detective Downie. They talked for a while and Hastings solicited his opinion on things he had already determined so that Downie would feel better. It worked and when they parted Downie shook his hand.
When that was done, Hastings called Jeff Lacroix and told him Aaron was dead.
• • •
“You probably think I killed him,” Jeff said.
Jeff was sitting on his couch with one of his West Highland terriers. Hastings stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his arm propped against the wall. Jeff had been crying, grieving and angry at the detective who seemed to have brought this on.
Jeff Lacroix said, “Well? If you think it, why don’t you go ahead and read me my rights?”
“I’m not arresting you,” Hastings said.
“Why not? I’m just an angry faggot, right?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake. No.” Hastings said, “You tell me: why would I think you killed Aaron?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“I’m here to talk to you. I’m sorry about what happened.”
“Was he killed?”
“What do you think?”
“What do I think? I lost my best friend. My partner. What do you mean what do I think?”
“Do you think he killed himself?”
“Aaron wouldn’t kill himself if he knew he was going to die tomorrow. It isn’t in him.…Wasn’t in him. Besides, he hated the water.”
“He did?”
“Hated it. He couldn’t swim.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. If he wanted to kill himself he’d — I don’t know — jump off a building or something. He wouldn’t wade into the river. You said he drove to South Broadway, around there?”
“That’s where his car was found.”
“Well he would never go there. That’s a shithole part of town.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty rough. It’s not far from Carondelet Park. Would he have gone there to…”
“To look for a fruit in the park?”
“Yeah.”
“No. That wasn’t his style. I know you don’t believe me.”
Hastings said, “You knew him better than most, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Look, he wasn’t the adventurous type.” Jeff put the Westie on the floor. “What about me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you want to know where I was last night?”
“Sure.”
“I went to bed about ten. I watched the news in bed and turned it off after I saw the weather and went to sleep. I don’t watch local sports.”
“Was he with you when you went to sleep?”
“No. Sometimes we have different hours. I have to be at school at eight o’clock in the morning, so I’m usually up at six thirty.”
“So he left on his own?”
“I guess he did. I didn’t hear him leave though. So he must have done it after I went to sleep.”
“When you went to bed, was he dressed for sleep? Or was he still in street clothes?”
“He was dressed. Yes, he was fully dressed. Though his shoes were off.”
“What did you think of that?”
“I don’t know. You know, he’s not the kind that puts his pajamas on at ten o’clock. So, yes he was dressed when I went to bed, but I don’t know that it means anything.”
“You think he left on his own?”
“Yes.”
“Where would he go?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did he go to a bar? To a friend’s?”
“I really don’t know.”
“How was he last night? After you came back from the dog park?”
“He was mad at me. I came back here and we talked about you. He said some not nice things about you. And I said you were okay and he didn’t like that.”
“Why didn’t he like that?”
“I think you intimidated him. And I wasn’t intimidated and that seemed to upset him.”
“What else?”
“I don’t know. He was being kind of a baby. Not telling me everything, but being kind of petty. He said something like, ‘It must be nice to be perfect.’ You know. I told him to grow up and I went to bed.”
Hastings said, “Did he call anyone before he left?”
“No.”
“Did anyone call him?”
“Not that I heard. No, wait a minute. I did hear a cell phone ring when I was sleeping. I mean, I heard it just after I went to sleep. You know how your hear something and wake up and then you go right back to sleep?”
“Sure.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“And he answered it?”
“I guess he did. I’d gone back to sleep.”
“You say it was a cell phone, how do you know it wasn’t your phone?”
“Because I didn’t see a missed call from last night when I checked my phone this morning.”
“Do you mind if I look at your cell phone?”
“No, I don’t mind.” Jeff lifted a cell phone off the side table and handed it to the detective. Hastings examined it and went through the dialed numbers. No calls had been made after seven twenty p.m. the previous night. He checked the calls that had been made that day.
Jeff said, “Today, I called Aaron’s work, the school and you. That’s it.”
Hastings handed the cell phone back to him.
Hastings said, “So you were home all night?”
“Yes. The first I left was to come to the police department after I called you.”
“You’d take a polygraph to that effect?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Hastings said. “Not that I think it’s necessary, but we may ask you to do that.”
Jeff said, “So am I a suspect?”
Hastings sighed. “We’re not even sure it’s a homicide yet.”
“Oh come on,” Jeff said. “Johnny’s found in a lake. Aaron in a river. Someone killed them. These are people, man. Don’t you even care?”
Simon Cray brought Ryan Bradbury with him to the deposition. Cray said “Hello, Lieutenant” and extended his hand and before Hastings could think about it he shook it. Then Bradbury stuck his hand out too and Hastings turned his head away as if he hadn’t seen it.
Hastings realized they had been waiting for him in the foyer of Cray’s law office. Friendly hellos from a couple of guys who wanted to destroy him. A smiling ambush. A psych game.
Hastings said, “Is Henry here yet?”
“Not yet,” Simon Cray said. “Would you like a cup of coffee something?”
“No, thank you. I’ll wait outside for him.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that.”
“I’ll be outside,” Hastings said, giving them his own thin smile. He wasn’t going to hang around with them.
Hastings made the mistake of glancing at Bradbury before he stepped out. Bradbury smiled at him again and said, “Doing all right?”
Hastings didn’t answer and walked out.
In the parking lot, he saw a Range Rover pull up with a good looking woman behind the wheel and a couple of kids in the back. Henry Brummell was in the passenger seat. Brummell kissed his wife goodbye and got out of the vehicle and walked over, a thick file under his arm.
Brummell said, “I’m sorry I’m late. My car wouldn’t start. Edith had to drive me here.”
“It’s all right,” Hastings said. “I already talked with Cray and Bradbury.”
“They’re not supposed to talk to you if I’m not there.”
“They just said hello. Christ, Henry, I really want to get this over with. How long do you think it will take?”
“They’re allowed up to eight hours. I expect Cray will use all of it.”
Cray did.
The arguing started early.
Cray asked Hastings to state his name and date of birth and social security number. Hastings did and then Cray asked Hastings for his home address.
Hastings answered, “It’s unlisted.”
“Okay,” Cray said. “It’s unlisted. But I want to know what it is.”
“Why?”
“Lieutenant, this is a discovery deposition. I ask the questions and you answer them.”
“I think you already know where I live. You sent a service processor to my home.”
“Then there shouldn’t be any problem giving me the address now.”
“No, there shouldn’t. Except I don’t want your client knowing my home address.”
“Are you implying that Mr. Bradbury would somehow be a danger to you or your family?”
“Not implying, no.”
Cray looked at Brummell and said, “Counsel, will you direct your client to answer the question.”
Brummell said, “No, sir, I won’t. He’s expressed a concern for his family’s safety and I think it should be respected.”
Cray turned back to Hastings and said, “I don’t see what you’re trying to gain here. You’ve testified that I already seem to know your home address. So what’s the point of refusing to answer the question?”
“I already testified to that.”
“Are you refusing to answer the question?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you understand that if you refuse to answer questions in a deposition you can be held in contempt?”
“I do. If it’s a point you wish to argue, I can wait for you to call the federal magistrate.”
Brummell said, “Simon, call him if you want. But I don’t see the point. Do you already have the address?”
“I may, but —”
“If you already have it, why don’t we move on?”
“The point is, your client seems to think he can choose what questions he wants to answer and what questions he won’t. And that’s not how this process works.”
Hastings leaned back in his chair and looked out the window of conference room. He told himself he would sit in silence as long as he wanted. Silence could be a weapon.
Finally, Cray said in a raised voice, “Let’s move on.”
Cray asked him where he was born, where he grew up. Hastings told him he was raised in Nebraska. Cray asked how Hastings had come to St. Louis. Hastings answered that he had come to St. Louis University on a baseball scholarship. Cray had a little fun with this.
“Oh, you went to college?”
“Yes. Many police officers have.”
“Really. So…a baseball scholarship. I didn’t know St. Louis U had a baseball team.”
“They do.”
“Were you offered any athletic scholarships from any of the major universities?” Cray was affecting a sort of pained smile on this. But Hastings knew it was staged, knew he was being jabbed.
“No.”
“Baseball career didn’t work out, huh?”
“I never really attempted to play ball professionally,” Hastings said. “I knew I wasn’t good enough for that.”
“Well, it’s good to know your limitations. Did you graduate college?”
“Yes.”
“What was your degree in?”
“Communications.”
Cray smiled again. A satisfied, shitty little smile. Ask a dumb jock his college major, nine times out of ten it will be communications.
Cray said, “Communications. Was that difficult?” Not hiding his condescension anymore.
Steady, Hastings thought. He wants you to get mad.
“I managed,” Hastings said.
Cray’s eyes almost gleamed with pleasure.
“After college, what did you do?”
“I worked as a bartender for about a year. Then a friend of mine said he was going to take the police entrance exam. And I thought — I thought I’d take it too.”
“Passed the first time, did you?”
“Yes.”
“Well it’s good to know your education didn’t go to waste.”
Cray asked him how long he had been with the police department. When he had graduated from the police academy, how long he had worked in patrol, what other departments he had served in before becoming a detective. He asked Hastings what training courses he had taken. Then he asked Hastings if he had ever given a deposition before. Hastings said he had in a couple of civil cases in which he had not been a named defendant. They went over those and then Cray asked if there had ever been any complaints filed against him.
Hastings said, “Do you mean formal complaint?”
“Well how would you define formal?”
“Formal in our department means written. Yes, I’ve had three formal complaints filed against me.”
Brummell had told Hastings to only answer the question in front of him and not to expand or elaborate.
“Three formal complaints,” Cray said. “What was the first one?”
“When I was a patrol officer, a suspect alleged that I had used excessive force.”
“Alleged?”
“Yes.”
“What sort of force?”
“O.C. spray.”
“You mean mace?”
“It’s not mace, really. It’s O.C. spray.”
“You sprayed a man with this O.C. spray?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t complying with us.”
“Wasn’t complying with you.”
“Yes. We were trying to arrest him. There were other officers involved.”
“Was he handcuffed when you sprayed him?”
“Yes, he was.”
“You sprayed him even though he was handcuffed?”
“Yes.”
“That seems a bit savage. Why would you do that?”
“He was handcuffed, but he wasn’t subdued. He was kicking and scrambling. And he was warned to stop and he didn’t. So I sprayed him.”
“Were the other officers investigated for using this O.C. spray?”
“No. Just me.”
“You sprayed this person in the eyes with this spray?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s not effective unless you spray it in the eyes. That’s where it’s supposed to be sprayed.”
Henry Brummell smiled.
“And you were investigated for this?”
“Yes. Internal affairs conducted an investigation.”
“And what did they find?”
“They found that the use of O.C. spray was appropriate and in keeping with the department’s policy on the use of force.”
“So they cleared you?”<
br />
“Yes, sir.”
“You sprayed a man in handcuffs in the face with mace and the police department said that was okay?”
“There was no violation of policy. Yes, I was cleared.”
“And you don’t think they covered for you?”
Hastings paused then said, “I’m not sure what you mean when you say ‘covered for me.’ I was cleared because I had not violated the policy. There was nothing inappropriate or unlawful about what I did or about the internal investigation.”
“But that’s your opinion, isn’t it?”
“No, sir, it’s not my opinion. That was the factual finding.”
“And as you sit here today, testifying under oath, you state that you don’t believe you did anything wrong?”
“No, I didn’t. No I did not do anything wrong.”
“The second complaint. Were you still a patrol officer then?”
“Well, not really. I was in plainclothes, working in robbery. The second complainant’s name was a guy named Bryant. Marquise Bryant.”
“His name was Marcel Bryant, actually. And that was eleven years ago, correct?”
Now Hastings could see that Cray had done his homework. He knew about the incident already.
“Yes,” Hastings said. “Marcel Bryant.”
“Tell me about that.”
“I was on a plainclothes detail with some other officers. There had been a series of armed robberies on the north side. We staked out a liquor store that we thought might be hit. There were three guys on this crew. We, the other officers and I, we were waiting in a van and Mr. Bryant and his two friends came to this liquor store and held it up. We could see it happening through the glass. We decided that it would be better for the clerk of the liquor store if we waited until the suspects came out. We could see that Bryant and the other two were armed. We got out of the van and waited. I had a police issue shotgun and I…well, I went out in the open.”
“What do you mean ‘in the open?’”
“I mean I didn’t take cover behind a vehicle. Then they came out, all three of them. And we put our weapons on them and told them we were police officers and ordered them to drop their weapons. The man next to Bryant, his name was Durfee. Durfee had a Mac-10 machine gun. I told him to drop the weapon. The other two had handguns. Mr. Durfee started to raise the machine gun and I shot him.”
“And killed him. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“And also wounded Mr. Bryant, correct?”