Hailey's Hog

by Andrew Draper

  Finally breaking the excruciating silence in the room, Matarski spoke. “I read your report. Very thorough,” he said. “But, troubling at many levels.”

  Smith nodded silently.

  “You allowed a woman suspected in three homicides to walk away,” he grimaced at the man standing before him. “How in hell can you justify that?”

  “I was trying to get her to surrender, but we were surrounded by armed men,” he said. “They gave her the option to go with them and she took it. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it…short of starting a gun fight.”

  Matarski frowned, cocking one eyebrow in skepticism. “Let’s move on. Why didn’t you challenge the leader of the bikers? Surely you could have taken him down.”

  “Chief, I told you. They were all armed,” Smith started. “If I’d challenged him, there’s no telling how many people would have been hurt…or killed.”

  Matarski shook his head in disgust. “The leader of those bikers, you saw him again, after the altercation. How do you justify letting him go?” The Chief gave Smith a condescending look. “You should have immediately arrested him for obstruction and interfering with an officer in the performance of his duty.”

  “I wouldn’t have a witness, or a leg, to stand on,” Smith defended. “It would have been a waste of everybody’s time.”

  “That’s not for you to decide!” Matarski roared.

  Smith matched the Chief in volume and intensity. “Where do you get off sitting on your ass behind that desk and judging what I did? You weren’t in that alley! You didn’t see the looks on their faces.”

  The Chief harrumphed loudly. “I also wanted you to be aware the Attorney General has decided not to prosecute this case. The Barrow woman was released this morning.”

  “What!” Smith’s shout echoed off the walls of the room, bouncing back and forth between the two men. “You can’t be serious!”

  Matarski shrugged his shoulders. “The A.G.’s afraid of hordes of rape victims, along with victim’s right groups, coming out of the woodwork to defend this girl, something about it turning into another trial of the century.”

  “The A.G.’s out of her mind!” he exclaimed. “No trial?”

  “No trial.” The Chief reiterated.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Smith said, struggling to get his temper under control. “How did that happen? With the DNA and the video this should have been a slam-dunk.”

  “There are other factors at work here, Smith,” he said, the unmitigated arrogance flowing with the words. “The Senator doesn’t want his son’s memory dragged through the mud.” Matarski went on, his voice a drone against the blood now roaring in Smith’s ears. “Please see that all case files and evidence are in my office before the end of the day.”

  “So that’s it?” Smith asked, his voice tight, the irritation peaking again. “This just gets buried under a mountain of political bullshit.”

  “That’s it. Case closed.” Matarski repeated, the voice a clipped burst.

  Standing before Matarski, Smith again heard Hailey’s frustration-laced words in the back of his mind. The only reason you give a shit is because he was the son of a senator. You don’t care about what he did to me.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Smith started, gathering all his mental powers to rein-in his anger. “The Senator doesn’t want bad press, so Barrow goes free.”

  “That’s the reality,” Matarski said. “Grady swings a big bat, like it or not.”

  Smith expelled a loud breath. “I thought you might say something like that,” Reaching forward, he placed the single sheet of paper in the center of the Chief’s desk. “I’m quitting the force. Here’s my letter of resignation.”

  He stood upright, looking over the Chief’s head. “I can’t be part of this anymore.”

  Matarski pushed the neatly folded page back toward Smith. “I know you’ve been under a lot of strain lately,” he said. “Take a vacation. You have the time coming.”

  “No. I think it’s time to do something else.”

  Matarski paused, seeming to consider Smith’s words. “Well, based on your actions in the field, I can’t really say I disagree.”

  Smith’s internal circuits began to burn, overheating with resentment. “My actions in the field? I was surrounded by armed bikers on a busy street. What the hell was I supposed to do?” he raised his voice to a sharp bark. “There were by-standers everywhere. It would have been a blood bath!”

  “You watch your mouth!” the Chief fumed, face now turning crimson. “You’re already looking at an I.A. disciplinary hearing, maybe even charges of criminal dereliction of duty.”

  Smith put his hands on his hips in defiance. “Fine, you do that…and the press gets an early Christmas present,” he said. “I’m sure my attorney can make the trial last for months…months of daily press conferences. I’ll see to it that every piece of that kid’s dirty laundry shows up on CNN.”

  The Chief sputtered in rage-induced brain-lock as Smith continued. “You want me gone, fine. I go, but I go out easy, with my pension intact.”

  “You arrogant son of a bitch!” Matarski screeched. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

  “Not at all,” Smith answered, his anger turning to calm acceptance. “I just know I’m not holding the bag for some politician’s spoiled kid. Grady’s son was a rapist, plain and simple. Don’t forget that…and Hailey Barrow wasn’t his only victim. There are two more out there.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Did he deserve to die in that alley? No…Am I going to throw away my career because his father wants to sweep this all under the rug? Not on your life!”

  He dropped his badge on Matarski’s desk, turned and walked toward the door.

  “You ever breathe a word of this to the press, or anyone else,” Matarski warned, his face again flushed to a beet red. “And you’ll regret it.”

  Smith put his hand on the doorknob, pulling it open. “I already regret it.” He shut the door, feeling an odd sense of profound relief wash over him from head to toe.

  Two days later Smith found himself sitting on a tall stool at a table in one of Tucson’s quiet piano bars, nursing a beer while waiting for the waitress to bring his dinner.

  The melancholy sounds of Jazz floated across his consciousness, bringing him a bi-polar feeling of hope and sadness. The war-weary former detective now guarded a tendril of optimism for his marriage after he’d spent three hours talking to his wife, the proud man baring his soul and being rewarded with her tear-filled reciprocation. He silently thanked her for the second chance he wasn’t sure he deserved, but would take none the less.

  The sadness came on the heels of his resignation. The feeling wasn’t from leaving the job, he’d made that decision before his conversation with the Chief ever took place and he discovered he enjoyed the newfound feeling of freedom. It came sneaking in on rails of retrospection, of his life…and the test of his values the Barrow case brought.

  How do I justify putting my work before all else…before Cassie, before Matthew. Look at what it cost me, all that lost time with Cassie…and the son I can’t get back. He took a swallow of beer and continued his musings.

  The hollow tone of the phone clanged in Smith’s ear jarring his thoughts back to the here and now. Recognizing the voice instantly, he began to fill Mendoza in on the altercation in the alley and his conversation with Matarski.

  “So, these puke bags gang-raped a 19 year-old girl at knife point and she capped three of them. Are you serious?” Mendoza asked.

  “And then I had to fire on the last one myself. I nearly got killed by a gang of angry bikers bringing her in.” Smith said, his emotional division evident, even over the telephone.

  “Four punks dead and no one in jail. I’m almost sorry I missed it.” Mendoza said sarcastically. “Christ, What a mess. Where is she now? In custody, I presume.”

  “She turned herself in, got a lawyer,” he said. “But the AG decided not to prosecute.”

&nbs
p; “You’re shitting me,” Mendoza said, the bombshell statement catching him completely by surprise. “How the hell did that happen?”

  “Her lawyer claimed she shot Stone and Rackley in self-defense. No witnesses, no one to contradict her statement,” he said. “Said she went to force a confession out of them and it simply got out of hand.”

  “And Grady?” he asked. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. Mr. Big didn’t want his son’s dirty little secrets to get out.”

  Smith shrugged his shoulders, indifferent to the fact that Mendoza couldn’t see it. “This is an election year. The Senator doesn’t want the negative publicity of a trial,” Smith said. “Besides, if she did go to trial, her lawyer will bring up the mistakes in the original case, or she can argue diminished capacity due to the trauma of the rape, you name it. Max Factor doesn’t have enough lipstick to cover that pig. The whole thing is a fucking legal and political minefield…and I guess I got to wear the tap shoes. Nice, huh?”

  Smith took a long drink of his beer and stared through the glass. “She said it Hector, right there in that alley. She said the only reason anyone cared about this case was because of Grady’s political clout.”

  “Was she right?” Mendoza asked. “Is Grady the only reason anybody cared about this case?”

  “I like to think that’s not true. I think we cared about this case,” Smith said, upending his glass. “We just wanted to find a killer. Instead, I ended up finding another victim.”

  “She really was a victim, wasn’t she?” Mendoza responded in tentative agreement.

  “Of the worst kind of crime,” Smith concurred. “One so horrible she couldn’t wrap her brain around it. So it consumed her.”

  “You’re right.” Mendoza sighed.

  “Well, thanks again for all your help,” Smith said. “It’s been a pleasure to work with you.”

  “And you too,” the Deputy said. “And if you ever want to get back on the job, let me know. We could use a good man like you.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll try something new.” He said.

  “Well, good luck.”

  “You, too.”

  The phone went silent in his hand.

  Epilog

  John Smith looked at his watch. In exactly one hour and twenty-three minutes he had to be at the marriage counselor’s office. He couldn’t…wouldn’t…be late for this appointment. Cassie deserves a real husband. I’m dammed lucky she gave me a chance to be that man again.

  It took a couple of weeks to adjust, but he knew leaving the police force had been the right move. Cassie had nearly jumped into his arms when he told her the news. He’d hung out a shingle and now his new career as a corporate security consultant was gathering some steam. He never imagined he’d find an abducted child during a routine background check.

  He held the small boy’s shaking hand, leading him through the crowed CPS office to a desk against the far wall. He thought about the boy and the hovel he found him in, the trash knee-deep, a collection of his father’s drug paraphernalia in plain sight on the kitchen table.

  He pulled up another chair. Sitting next to him, he offered the boy a piece of gum and popped one into his own mouth. “Your mother will be here, soon.”

  “I want to go home,” the tow-headed kid demanded between tears. “I want my mom!”

  “We called her and she’s on her way.”

  That seemed to settle the youngster down and the boy sat looking down at the floor. “Am I ever going to see my dad again?”

  How do you tell a six-year old his father shot his mother, nearly killing her, and then kidnapped him for two months? He struggled for the right words. “Maybe when you’re a little older,” he said. “Your dad made some mistakes and he has to go away for a little while and think about what he did.” Christ, that was weak. I’m no good with kids…not anymore.

  As the social worker led the boy away, he thought about how that child would process his horrible experiences and how… or if…he would find a way to integrate them into his life.

  Back at his office a half hour later, Smith sat at his humble steel desk, fingers tapping away as he wrote up a report for his newest client.

  The walls needed painting, but the rent was affordable and the location was close to home. Home…he rolled the word across his mind several times. He still couldn’t believe his wife had allowed him to move back in. He didn’t even mind sleeping in the guest room for awhile. He was home and after a few intense counseling sessions, Cassie was hinting at the possibility of reconciliation. In the middle of his warm, fuzzy thoughts, the door opened, squeaking on the rusty hinges.

  He peered over the top of his computer screen and saw a woman enter, quietly approaching the desk.

  She peeked over the monitor, her face a mask of tension and expectancy. “Are you John Smith, the police detective?” the woman’s voice came through, soft and strained.

  “Former police detective, yes.” He answered.

  “A friend said you might me able to help me find my daughter,” the woman began to pace back and forth in front of the desk in anxiety. “She’s missing.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t do that kind of work any more. I do mostly corporate security consulting now.”

  The woman’s strained voice climbed another octave, words coming in a machine-gun burst. “You don’t understand. Cindy’s only 18 and she’s confused. We had a big fight and she took off with that loser boyfriend of hers. That was ten days ago. The police said they couldn’t do anything because she’s legally an adult and she left on her own.”

  He leaned back, the cheap office chair groaning at the stress of his movement. “If they can’t do anything, I don’t see how I can help.”

  He motioned her to a chair. She sat, but fidgeted nervously.

  “She would never stay gone that long on her own. I’m so afraid something terrible has happened. My friend said if anyone could help, you could,” she said. “You’re my only hope. Please, she’s out there all alone. I’m scared to death for her.”

  Smith sat up again and tried to console the woman. “I’d like to help, but as I said, I really don’t do that type of work anymore. I can refer you to a good private investigator, someone who does missing person cases, if you want.”

  “My friend said you helped her when she needed it.”

  He searched his memory for a connection. “Who did you say referred you?”

  “She said if you asked to show you this.” The woman turned her hand over and the Queen of Hearts looked up at him, her bright eyes daring him to refuse her call to royal service.

  He thought about the appointment with the counselor and silently thanked his wife for agreeing to the session. I promise I’ll put you first from now on. Just give me a chance to prove it.

  “I have an appointment in a few minutes, but go ahead and tell me about Cindy. I’ll see if I can help.”

  “Oh, thank you!” the woman visibly relaxed. “You don’t know how much this means.” She reached into her purse, pulling out a photo of a young woman smiling at the camera. “This is Cindy...”

  ****

  Standing by the breakfast bar in the kitchen, Hailey paced nervously and held up the newspaper, scanning the front page her way of killing time. A small gasp emerged from her tight lips as she fixed her gaze on the prominent photo of Police Chief Matarski shaking John Smith’s hand. She read the headline. Decorated Tucson Detective Retires.

  Good for you, she thought as she put the paper in the trash can, knowing that violent, aberrant side of her was gone forever. She checked her watch for the third time in ten minutes. Relax, he’ll be here. He’s never late.

  She was still a little jittery in anticipation of tonight’s planned festivities. Doug told her he’d taken care of everything and promised her an evening to remember. His only instructions were that she should “dress to the nines”.

  The doorbell rang. Looking through the peep-hole, Hailey saw Doug standing in the hall. Her first real date in a
lmost a year, she was more than a little nervous and the butterflies circled her stomach, demanding attention.

  Hand on the doorknob, she took a deep breath. Just relax and don’t screw this up, she told herself as she unlocked the door. He’s a nice guy, don’t go all ‘wounded bird’ and scare him off.

  She knew it had been a long road for Doug, with her putting him through several quazi-dates, just to get to this place. She admired his tenacity…and everything else about him. She felt gratified, and thrilled, that he didn’t give up on her in favor of a woman with less baggage, one needing a little less of the constant reassurance he readily provided.

  Doug stepped into her apartment and she felt his eyes upon her. She noticed his face lighting up, spreading in a wide grin of honest male appreciation. The butterflies continued their aerial maneuvers, but for the first time since the attack, she enjoyed being viewed as a woman. She basked in the stare for several seconds before he broke the silence. “Wow, you look amazing.”

  She did a small pirouette, the black cocktail dress floating around her. “Thank you sir,” she said, enjoying his gaze. All of the suffocating fear, all of the raging uncertainty, it was all gone. All she felt now was a pleasant tingle dancing in her limbs as his eyes traveled over her body.

  “How is the shoulder?” He asked.

  “Still hurts sometimes, but it’s getting better. At least I don’t have to wear the sling anymore.”

  She took in his tailored jacket and tie, noting how the formal attire offset his rugged good looks. She found the contrast very appealing. “You look pretty good yourself. Nice suit.”

  “It’s kind of fun getting dressed up once in a while, and I couldn’t very well take you to McConner’s in my leathers.”

  “You got reservations at McConner’s,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

  “A friend of a friend, you know how that goes.” he said.

  She cocked a finely plucked eyebrow in surprise at his admission. “Nobody gets reservations at McConner’s these days. That must be some friend.”