by Frank Zafiro
Or just one rapist.
She clenched her jaw.
Knock it off, Katie.
She took a deep breath. “Toughen up, buttercup,” she whispered to herself.
She wanted to move forward, but her feet wouldn’t budge.
There’s nothing there that isn’t there in the day time.
Katie blinked and stared into the darkness.
You don’t have to go in there.
The words floated through her mind in an unrecognizable voice. The voice was at once soothing and taunting.
Just walk around.
Katie let the air out of her lungs. She drew in another deep breath, tasting the damp river air. What if she didn’t go forward? What would be the issue? There’d be no issue, right? She was just being safe. No one would even know.
She’d know.
Katie exhaled in a long, steady breath. She slid her hand inside her purse and wrapped her fingers around the reassuring grip of her pistol.
You don’t have to—
“Shut up,” Katie whispered.
She stepped forward into the darkness.
2138 hours
“Not yet!” Sully yelled, just as Battaglia made a hard turn off the path and into the thinning bushes and trees.
Battaglia opened his mouth to tell Sully to shut his Irish pie-hole when he drove the golf cart into a raised tree root. The tire rode up the thick, twisted growth as readily as any man-made ramp. The cart tilted.
“Fu-uh-uh—” Battaglia began.
The golf cart toppled onto the driver’s side.
Sully landed in a heap on top of Battaglia.
“She’s heading in,” squawked the radio.
Sully rolled off the top of Battaglia’s sprawled form and scrambled to his feet. The radio lay on the wet grass nearby. He snatched it up, wiping away the dew.
“Copy,” he transmitted, then turned to Battaglia. The dark-haired officer climbed to his feet, rolling his head on his shoulders, testing his neck. Sully heard popping noises.
“You okay?”
“I think so,” Battaglia grunted. “Just a little whiplash.”
“Then help me pick this up. She’s going under the bridge.”
“I heard the radio,” Battaglia said. He grabbed the front corner of the golf cart. “I’m not deaf.”
Sully slid the radio into his jacket pocket. “No, but you’re apparently legally blind.” He put his hands underneath the rear corner and squatted down. “On three?”
“Just like Lethal Weapon.”
Sully counted three and the two officers heaved the golf cart, righting it.
“Let’s go!” Sully hopped into the driver’s seat.
“Hey!” Battaglia protested.
“You had your chance, Crash.”
Battaglia scowled but stepped around the front of the cart and into the passenger seat. “Go!” he told Sully.
Sully punched it.
2139 hours
The soft rubber soles of her shoes thudded on the asphalt path. The dull echo bounced around the underpass, ricocheting off of the rock wall and dying on the wide expanse of river water to her right.
Katie stared straight ahead, but she scanned the area to her left with her peripheral vision. Her ears strained to pick up any stray noise, any indication of an attacker.
Her body leaned forward, wanting to move faster. Her legs wanted to sprint. She forced herself into the hunched, submissive posture she’d used before. A moment of focus allowed her to rein in her feet.
To her left, she sensed motion.
A fraction of a second later, she heard the clattering of stones, upset at the top of the wall and tumbling down.
She tore her pistol from her purse and whipped it in the direction of the noise. In an instant, she put the front sights on the blur of motion and pressed the trigger.
* * *
Sully slammed on the brakes. The golf cart slid on the slick, wet grass. The downward slope of the Lilac Bowl forced both officers to lean back hard to avoid tipping the cart over again. As it was, the rear end of the square vehicle spun forward as they came to a stop, leaving them stopped askew.
“You see her?” Sully asked.
Battaglia shook his head. “She must still be under the—”
KA-BLAM!
The sharp report of gunfire echoed up the hillside, followed by the sharp zing of a ricochet.
Sully punched the accelerator while Battaglia jerked his gun from its holster. They blasted down the grassy hillside, slipping and sliding crazily on the wet turf.
* * *
“Holy shit!”
Tower heard the gunshot simultaneously through the wire transmitter and as it echoed up to the top of the clock tower.
He clicked the mike. “Shots fired! Under the bridge! Get down there!”
There was no reply.
“Maybe she smoked the creep,” Hiero said.
Tower snatched his Glock from the shoulder holster underneath his left arm. He took a step towards the long, narrow flight of stairs, then glanced back at Hiero. The SWAT sniper knelt calmly in a solid, supported stance, his eye pressed to the scope.
“Go,” Hiero said. “I’ll cover from here.”
Tower bolted for the stairs with a curse. The route to and from the top of the clock tower was more like a leaning ladder than a staircase. Reluctantly, he slid his pistol back into his shoulder holster and snapped it in place. Before he put the radio in his jacket pocket, he pressed the transmit button again.
“Adam-122, are you there?”
No answer.
Tower paused, the only sound his own labored breathing.
He pushed the button again. “Adam-122, do you copy?”
Nothing.
Tower cursed again, slipped the radio in his jacket pocket and began climbing down the steep stairs.
2140 hours
In the darkness, under the overpass, the smell of cordite hung in the air. Katie’s ears hummed from the after-effects of the gunshot. She stood stock-still, staring in the direction she’d fired.
Then she heard motion to her right.
Approaching feet.
She wheeled toward the sound, her gun at the ready.
* * *
Battaglia squinted, but it didn’t help his vision any. All he could make out was one standing shadow. He scanned left and right for targets, but saw none.
Sully caught up to him and passed him by.
“Katie?” he called.
Battaglia moved with him, his gun in the low ready position.
* * *
Katie lowered her gun as soon as she recognized Sully and Batts.
“Jesus,” she breathed. She’d never been happier to see the twins before.
“Where is he?” Battaglia asked, his gun sweeping the dark area atop the rock wall. “Did he get away?”
“No,” Katie said, and hung her head.
“What is it?” Sully asked.
Katie put her pistol back inside the purse and secured the clasp. Hesitantly, she said, “I think I just shot a rat.”
“Seriously?” Battaglia asked, flashing his light along the rock wall. “A rat?”
“I think so,” Katie said, her voice wavering.
“You shot a rat?” Battaglia marveled.
“Shut up, Batts,” Sully said. He put his hand on Katie’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Katie swallowed and nodded. As the adrenaline and fear dripped away, she felt a sense of shame seeping in. Sully’s warm hand on her shoulder did little to comfort her, even when he gave her a reassuring squeeze.
Battaglia’s sweeping flashlight beam came to a stop at the base of the wall. “Found it.”
Katie looked at the small brown form under the cone of light. Her feeling of shame and embarrassment stopped seeping and started gushing.
“Jesus, MacLeod,” Battaglia said in amazement. “You ten-ringed the little fucker.”
2141 hours
“Code 4,” squawked Tower�
��s radio just as he burst from the base of the clock tower and sprinted toward the underpass. He slowed to a mild run, and pulled up to a stop once he saw the three shadowy figures underneath the bridge.
“What happened?” he asked, his breath labored.
No one answered.
“What happened?” he repeated, this time with a little more urgency.
“Uh...” Battaglia said.
Sully stepped forward and explained.
Tower listened, his lips pressed together. His first reaction was a surge of frustration, but it was his second reaction that won the day.
He burst into laughter.
Katie, Sully and Battaglia did not join in. The three patrol officers stood watching him while he laughed for several long moments. Apparently, they’d had their chance to laugh already. He didn’t care. He thought it was funny.
“Well,” he said, “At least it was a bulls-eye shot. I imagine that Sergeant Morgan would be proud of you, MacLeod.”
None of the officers replied.
Tower wiped his forehead again, his laughter fading into a light chuckle. Sergeant Morgan, the grizzled range master, was famous for his oft-repeated words of advice such as ‘focus on the front sight’ and ‘you can’t miss fast enough.’ He warned every officer and detective that they never knew when they could end up in a gunfight. Somehow, Tower found his pearls of wisdom hilarious when applied to this particular moment.
“Glad you’re amused, chucklehead,” Sully finally broke in. “But now what do we do?”
Tower paused. “Do?”
The patrol officers exchanged glances.
“Asshole,” muttered Battaglia.
Tower shot him a glare, but before he could answer, Katie responded.
“We have to call a sergeant. It’s an A.D.”
Tower frowned, his mind whirring. An accidental discharge was a serious matter. The last officer that had one was suspended for a week. Of course, it had been his second incident, but still...
“If we call a sergeant, Katie gets suspended,” Battaglia said. “It’s that simple.”
“And if we don’t,” Sully said in a glum tone, “and someone finds out about this, we all get fired.”
“Call a sergeant,” Katie said. “I messed up. I’ll deal with it.”
“No way,” Battaglia said. “I’m not hanging you out.”
“Me, either,” Sully said. “I’m just making sure we all know the risk.”
“There’s no risk,” Katie said. “Call the sergeant.”
“You’ll get a day off,” Battaglia said. “At least. And if Hart gets his teeth into it—”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Look, there’s no harm here,” Battaglia argued. “No one got hurt.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is the point,” Battaglia told her. “You thought you saw something, you cranked off a round. Big deal.”
“I’m not saying it’s a big deal,” Katie said. “But I had an A.D. And we have to report it.”
“Why should you get suspended a day for something this stupid? I mean, it’s a dead rat. That’s all.”
“He’s right, Katie,” Sully said.
Katie shook her head at both of them. “Well, while we’re at it, why don’t we just throw down a little rat gun next to the corpse? Then we can claim he drew first and I had to shoot him in self-defense. How would that be?”
Tower listened to the discussion, his lips pursed. He was tempted to go with Battaglia on this one. Aside from the dead rodent, this really was a no-harm, no-foul situation. And he worried about negative press that might come out of the event, both with the department brass and the actual press.
They could probably get away with it, he knew. Toss the rat in the trash. Find the expended brass that was ejected when Katie fired the round. It’d be easy for her to switch the magazine in her gun with another of her full magazines she routinely carried on her gun belt. Even getting her a replacement round for the fired one wouldn’t be difficult.
Then all four of them would have to agree not to say a word.
Five of them, he corrected. Hiero was up in the tower.
Five people would have to keep quiet about it. That meant no storytelling, no playful ribbing.
It meant withstanding any questions that might come from a sergeant.
Or from Lieutenant Hart.
If it came to Hart, that meant sitting in Internal Affairs. Being tape-recorded. Being asked very specific questions.
Lying. That’s what it really meant, Tower realized. It meant lying.
Tower flashed back to his academy days, remembering the words of the training officer, Sergeant DeMarcus. He’d said a lot of things, but there were a couple of things he repeated over and over again. Chief among them was, “Integrity is the coin of our trade. Never sacrifice your integrity, because you’re worthless without it.”
Still, Battaglia had a point. No one had been hurt. Katie was a good troop. And he didn’t want anything to affect his task force. Catching the Rainy Day Rapist was the most important thing here, not some policy violation.
Tower considered a moment longer, then made his decision. He cleared his throat. “We’re not calling a sergeant.”
All three patrol officers swung their heads toward him.
“Excuse me?” Katie said.
“This is my investigation,” Tower said. “And this is an investigative operation, not a patrol operation.”
“How do you figure that?” Sully asked. “There’s five of us out here and four of us are patrol officers.”
Tower shook his head. “Irrelevant. This is an investigative task force. All of you are on loan.”
“Whatever,” Katie said. “We’re not covering this up. I’m the one who—”
“I didn’t say we were covering it up,” Tower interrupted. “But we’re not calling a sergeant about it.”
“What, then?”
Tower pointed at Sully. “Find the ejected casing.”
Sully hesitated.
“Trust me,” Tower said.
Sully reluctantly pulled his flashlight from his back pocket without a word. He clicked it on and began to sweep the ground with the light beam.
Tower turned to Battaglia. “Toss the rat in a garbage can. Use a pair of rubber gloves.”
“What?” Battaglia protested. “Why am I on rat duty?”
“Just do it, please.”
“I don’t even have any gloves on me,” the officer complained.
Tower reached inside his jacket pocket and removed a pair of forensic gloves. He tossed them to Battaglia. They struck him on the chest and fell to the ground at his feet.
Battaglia sighed. “Well, they’re dirty now.”
Tower ignored him. He turned to Katie. “Walk with me,” he said.
The two walked out of the underpass, back toward the clock tower. Once they were under a streetlight, Tower stopped. He looked into Katie’s eyes and said nothing. The officer returned his gaze evenly, her jaw set. But he saw something in her eyes, a flicker behind her anger that he couldn’t quite identify.
After a few moments, she broke the silence. “I’m not sweeping this under the rug, Detective.”
“Neither am I.”
“It sure looks that way.”
Tower shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll make a report to my Lieutenant in the morning. If I know him, he’ll make a report directly to the Patrol Captain.”
Katie narrowed her eyes. “What about IA?”
Tower shrugged. “That’ll be the Captain’s decision, won’t it?”
Katie stared at him. Tower could see her mind working behind the stare. He knew she was wondering if this was tantamount to covering it up or not. He knew it wasn’t. He knew that someone, either Crawford or Reott, was going to have MacLeod standing tall in the office for an ass-chewing. Whether they decided to go to IA or not was up to them. He’d satisfied his responsibility by reporting the incident.
&
nbsp; “Are you sure?” Katie finally asked. “Is that above board?”
“Reporting an A.D. to the Captain of Patrol? Are you really asking me if that’s above board or not?”
Katie considered, then shook her head. “I suppose not.”
“You’ll get your ass chewed,” Tower told her.
“I deserve it.”
“Maybe,” Tower conceded.
“Definitely.”
“Either way,” Tower said, “I’m more concerned with this: are you okay to do this decoy job?”
Katie swallowed. Tower watched her eyes for the flicker he’d seen before.
“I’m fine,” Katie told him.
“You sure?” Tower asked.
“Positive.”
Tower searched her eyes. He saw nothing but resolve.
“All right,” he said. He reached out and clapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Let’s go try a different park, then. I want to catch this son of a bitch.”
ELEVEN
Sunday, April 21st
0316 hours
The four police officers sat tiredly at the all-night diner. Katie picked at her English muffin, tearing off small pieces and nibbling them. She washed every bite down with ice water. Sully and Battaglia each nursed their own cup of coffee but Tower drank cup after cup, refilled by Lauren, a buxom and flirtatious waitress. She poured for Tower but leaned near Sully to reach across the table and fill the cup.
“She likes you,” Tower commented to Sully after the waitress bounded away with an energetic bounce.
Sully grunted but Katie saw that he was hiding a small smile.
Battaglia glanced up from his cup. He followed her descending frame with his gaze, then shrugged. “She likes everybody with a badge,” he said. “She gets around, from what I hear.”
“You listen to Kahn too much,” Sully said, a little defensively.
“As a matter of fact, that was the particular skirt chaser who gave me the scoop on this one,” Battaglia said.
Typical, Katie thought. Kahn or Giovanni chases after any woman with a pulse and the guys figure them for a stud. This waitress may or may not be just as promiscuous and she’s somehow a slut. Nice double standard.