by Lou Reiter
“I guess so. You know, I’ve been here since the department was organized. We haven’t had many insurance issues other than a fender bender now and then. Town covers those.” Chief Thompson took time to think for a moment.
“No, we’ve never had to go into the League insurance coverage. Guess that’s a good thing, huh?”
“In today’s world, it’s a real accomplishment for you and your cops. You should be proud.”
They spent the next half hour talking, mostly about Taylor’s time in the LAPD. Los Angeles was still was considered a premier police agency, even with the ups and downs involving scandals, shootings, cops off to jail, and the occasional riot.
“I went to the National Academy with Joe Martin from LAPD. You know him?”
Taylor hadn’t gone to the FBI National Academy, or NA, when he was with the LAPD. It was one of those periods when the police department was fighting with the FBI top management. Taylor knew Martin, but his opinion wasn’t complimentary.
“No, I sure don’t remember anyone named Joe Martin, but it was a big department. Now, tell me about your Playa Diablo incident.”
Tommy Thompson spent the next half hour describing what he knew. The investigation of Dennis Spencer’s death had been turned over to the FDLE early on the morning following his beating by the officers.
“I get updates, but you probably know they keep things pretty close to the chest during the early stages. Say they don’t want locals to drop the wrong dime on the local press. But it looks bad for my boys. Both officers are on admin leave since that night. I’m checking with our attorney to see if I can put them off without pay. What’d you think, Taylor?”
“The Supreme Court back in, I think, ’97, said you could withhold pay once an officer is charged by a local prosecutor. Some college cop up in Pennsylvania set the case. The guy was indicted for felony possession of drugs. But it’s always safer to get the word from your attorney. Tell him to search for the case as a point of reference. If he can’t find, it tell him to call me and I’ll give him the case cite. Tell me about the officers involved in this specific incident.”
Chief Thompson slumped in his chair, “Officers Don Edwards and Ricardo Sanchez. Nice young men. They came to us out of the Army. Ranger, Jump guys. Real eager. Got their state cert on their own and paid for it themselves. I was really impressed with the two. Real go-getters, you know the kind. Self-starters. Once they were off FTO status, nothing seemed to get in their way. Big arrest stats and lots of traffic citations.
“I kept getting complaints from this upscale new development, The Gathering. Condos and retail. Rich clientele. Complaints about minor stuff like kids hanging out, skateboarders whizzing by, and lately, panhandlers. Jim Johnson, the president of the association over there, I’m in Rotary with him, well, he kept on me to do something about the nuisance factor. I got the idea to assign the boys, that being Don and Ricky, to work the development as their own little police department. Gave them a new Tahoe for patrol. Within weeks everything changed, then all I was getting was compliments. Everyone at The Gathering loved those boys. Solved my problem, so I thought,” Chief Thompson recounted as he noticeably shifted in his chair.
“What do you think happened?”
“First I began getting complaints from the parents of the skateboarders. One kid even had his arm broken. Says my boys did it. We did IAs on every complaint. Nothing to them. Boys were strictly doing legal interventions. Skateboarders and their parents didn’t like it. But Johnson and the people at The Gathering still loved them.”
“You know your officers referred to themselves at ‘Batman and Robin.’”
“I heard that. I thought it was cute. Told them they couldn’t wear capes or masks, though,” Thompson chuckled.
“Chief, ever think it might have telegraphed how they did police work?”
Taylor knew cop nicknames were often indicative of how the cop was doing the job. “Dirty Harry” may have sounded great for Clint Eastwood, but his character did the job without considering Constitutional rights. “The Italian Stallion” tab wasn’t given to a cop because he loved horses; he was a skirt chaser. “Barney” foretold a lazy cop. Nicknames were a clue for police supervisors to begin looking deeper into how a cop was doing business.
“What do you mean, Taylor?”
“Maybe they liked the nicknames because they believed they were crusaders?”
Thompson leaned forward, “Never crossed my mind.”
“How about the homeless or mental illness coalitions, boss. Any complaints from them?”
“Only recently. It seems overnight The Gathering saw an influx of them types. You know, homeless souls. Aggressive panhandling. Sleeping in the alleys. Shitting everywhere. Had a few visits from do-gooder people from Miami. Some church affiliation. I probably have a business card around here somewhere or I can have my secretary find it.”
“Boss, I’d like that. I’d also like to get the phone number for Jim Johnson at The Gathering.” Taylor got up and extended his hand. “By the way, do you mind if I talk to some of your troops?”
Before leaving the building, the chief’s secretary gave Taylor the numbers he wanted. Taylor then asked if she had contact numbers for the Mental Health Coalition or other groups doing the protesting, but she didn’t have them. As he walked down the hallway, Taylor noticed a sign over a doorway—Watch Commander. Inside the office he found a uniformed sergeant moving piles on his desk in a feeble attempt at organization. Taylor spotted his nametag—Evans.
“Can I help you?”
“Maybe you can, Sergeant Evans,” Taylor said extending his hand. Typical for that type offer from someone unknown to a cop, Evans didn’t respond. Taylor was keeping mental count of how often this response happened; it was a personal game he played. But Evans got up and squared himself for what might come next.
“What? How come you’re in the station? Don’t see you wearin’ no visitor badge.”
“You know, Jenny must have forgotten to give me one, Sarge.”
“Jenny. Too skinny for me, but the chief thinks she’s hot. What’d you want?”
“Just finished talking with your chief. I’m down here for the League of Cities, your insurance carrier. Taylor Sterling is the name. Used to be a cop myself.” Taylor figured he needed to get the shield dropped. Didn’t matter where you had been a cop, just that you were one of the brotherhood.
“Oh goody! Where was that? You some sort of reserve officer?” Evans asked as he hooked his fingers over his gun belt.
Evans was a crusty hard ass, Taylor thought. “No, Los Angeles. Retired as a Deputy Chief, but my best job was as a uniformed field sergeant.”
“Yeah, why was that?” Evans continued to test Taylor.
“Shit. Regular hours. Got to pick and choose the calls I wanted to handle. Could stay inside on days I didn’t feel too active. But got to be active when I wanted to. Got to play cop, but less reporting to do. I didn’t like filling out forms. Hell, I even liked the graveyard shift. No suits, like IA, or command guys around. Police work was easy on graveyard, just assholes and good people. Few in between.”
Sergeant Evans finally smiled and extended his hand, “Tom, Tom Evans. You got that right. Say, what’s your name again?”
“Taylor.”
“Well, what can I do for you, Taylor?”
“I see you’re getting ready to hit the field. I’d like to go along for the ride. See what Playa Diablo looks like.”
They exited the station and found the supervisor’s car in the far lot. Evans first walked around the car looking for damage that wasn’t there the last time he used it. He opened the trunk and checked to see if flares were in the inventory. He peered into the tube that held the stop sticks under the trunk lid. If necessary, these could be thrown on the road to puncture tires of fleeing cars driven by suspects.
“Little tight these days, Taylor. Got all that computer shit filling up the car.”
They rode around town for nearly an hour.
Sgt. Evans easily covered the entire area indicating points of interest and problematic traffic spots along the way. Finally they reached The Gathering’s main entrance. Taylor had visited many similar developments over the last ten years. The configuration was the newest version of an enclosed mall, but less expensive to upkeep for the management. Every such development resembled a small town. Three story buildings with retail on the street level and condos clustering on the top two floors. Large street planters holding manicured trees and plants lined the avenues. Evans stopped in front of a Starbucks. Taylor didn’t get a fight from the sergeant when he offered to pay. They sat outside in the bright sunlight.
“Okay, what do you really want, Taylor?”
“Edwards and Sanchez.”
“Batman and Robin, huh? Tried my damnest to calm them down while they were on probation. You know the type. Badge so heavy it drags on the ground. Those two loved to bloody up their arrests. I told them they’d get in a shit load of trouble one day. Kept logging it on my daily supervisor’s report, but no one seemed to care or listen to me. Then they became the chief’s favorite boys. No one could say shit about Batman and Robin after that.”
A young girl with a Gap nametag walked up to them, “Sergeant, what’s going on with Don and Ricky?”
“Still on admin leave, Heather.”
“I feel really bad.”
“We all do, but it had nothing to do with you.”
“Actually it did. I was the one who got them to go back into the alley to investigate the homeless guy. I just was scared of him. But Don didn’t have to do that to the guy. I was sick that I started it all. It looks like I royally screwed up three lives. It still hurts. Still bothers me. Do you ever get that way, Sergeant?”
“Heather, we’re all sorry, but you’re not at fault.”
She went back inside Starbucks, her head lowered and without looking back.
“I didn’t know she had anything to do with this stuff, Taylor. Poor girl. I’m not sure what’s going to happen at the department as this shit unwinds. You know, the boss and whole department are going take a hit. Everybody knows something is going to happen. It’s all documented one way or another. I’m just glad I covered my ass with the sup reports. You know, I was the first supervisor on the scene. Yup, Don was a wreck. He kept trying to cover it up with legal mumbo-jumbo, but I figured out what had happened. That dynamic duo wrote great reports. Most of it shit. But the chief, and even the prosecutor, loved those guys. We’ll all have some shit from this cluster fuck on our hands, I guess.”
Taylor found a Fairfield Inn and a Courtyard at the edge of The Gathering. He picked the Courtyard for his stay. It had a nicer lounge and reception area in case he needed to meet with anyone, and he could get 24-hour snacks there, too. He checked in with Ben Jackson at the League and told him the situation was messier than he had originally expected. Tomorrow he would track down Jim Johnson and the mental health coalition people. Maybe see if Heather could tell him a few details about what happened that night. Taylor still needed to get into the Playa Diablo police files.
The next day Taylor found Jim Johnson at his sports bar complex. Johnson had indicated earlier he had time to talk around nine in the morning. The Gathering wasn’t busy that time of day so Taylor found a parking space directly in front of the bar. Taylor noticed the Gap was across the street, up a couple of shops. He watched as Heather bent down to unlock the door. Her purse went one way and the stack of papers she was carrying went the other way, fluttering like butterflies in the slight breeze. Taylor was quick to gather the fleeing papers.
“Heather, good, morning, it’s a good thing I was here.” He noticed the puzzled look on her face. “Yesterday, I was with Sergeant Evans at Starbucks.”
“Oh, yeah. I thought you were another stalker.”
“I bet you get a bunch of them.”
“No, but more than I like. Mostly from working here at the Gap. I’ve got to look the part I guess, but some say what I wear is too much of a come on. The company wants me to wear short skirts and tight tops. At home, it’s just a sweat shirt and jeans.”
“Listen, I’m meeting with Mr. Johnson, the association president, but I’d like to meet briefly with you after. I’m with the police and insurance people investigating the incident you spoke about yesterday.”
Heather looked puzzled, then thoughtful, and finally offered, “Well, I guess it’ll be okay.”
Jim Johnson was waiting at an outside table in front of his sports bar. “Nice young girl, that Heather. This place we got here is like one big family. I really liked Ricky and Don. They made The Gathering an even better place. Everyone liked them. Hell, they became part of our family. Lived right here in the development, I guess they still do. Yeah, I guess they still do.”
“Mr. Johnson, I imagine Chief Thompson told you what I’m doing down here.”
“Not really. Just something about the insurance company. Boy, do I know about insurance! I think these days my insurance agent is making more take home pay than I do.”
“I understand you’re the one who got the PD to station Don and Ricky over here. What did you tell the officers their job would be?”
“Just make sure this a safe, fun place for condo owners and customers. Be seen by them for reassurance and scare away the ones who don’t belong here.”
“What did you mean by ‘the ones who don’t belong’?”
“You know, rift raff. Skateboarders. Moochers. Them homeless scum. Us people here in The Gathering are better than them kinds. We pay. We don’t need them to ruin our place. Told Ricky and Don to keep us clean. Oh, shit, I know they might have been a little heavy handed sometimes. Broke one skateboarder’s arm. Big fucking deal. Maybe they railroaded some of them homeless out into the Glades, but it wasn’t any harm in that. Kept this place clean, you know. That’s what they were paid for. I made sure a little extra came their way, know what I mean? Got them that almost free condo they live in. But, hell, we got that police designed Bat Tahoe on site here 24/7. Actually, it was cheap protection.”
“What about the homeless? I notice you don’t have any protesters here in The Gathering.”
“Right after that bum died I got on the phone. Got a hold of the Mental Illness Coalition people. Told them how sorry we were. Between The Gathering management, condo association, and retail group, we donated close to $10,000 to the Coalition. Nice people, they are. I liked the clergy guy from the Camillus House. He looked like he played baseball in high school.”
“Ever think maybe you gave those young cops a little too much rope? Too much freedom to police as they saw fit?”
“Mr. Sterling,” Jim Johnson sighed as he glanced at Taylor’s business card in his hand, “we got businesses and a neighborhood to watch over. We like our family. Sure, I’m sorry what happened to that bum and our Don and Ricky, but you know what? We’ll get a couple more cops after this is over.” He smiled and got up without thinking about shaking Taylor’s hand. “Have a nice day. Do some shopping. It all helps our family.”
Taylor went back to the Gap to look for Heather and found Jenny along the way.
“Well I didn’t pick you for a Gap shopper, or are you a mystery shopper in disguise?” Jenny Gates teased as she walked up to Taylor. “Or maybe you got some Victoria Secret undies under those khaki slacks?”
“Maybe you should do a pat down, Jenny,” Taylor said. “Your uniform doesn’t do you justice.” Her jeans were a little too small and her buttoned blouse gapped to show her breasts.
“I noticed you got no ring, Taylor.”
“Divorced twice. Trying to keep it that way this time. Too much travel to keep a wife happy anyway. Notice you have one, though.”
“Keeps the creeps away. Divorced only once.”
“I hear you’re off limits, being as you’re someone special to the chief.
“He wishes. I haven’t dispelled that rumor. It keeps the young cops off my desk. You probably know all about rumors and cops.”
“In my day it was called Peyton Place. I guess now it would be Desperate Housewives or maybe Swamp People. You take someone to coffee and before you get back to the office you’re having an affair.”
“I got things doing today so coffee’s out, but I’m open for dinner. Are you?”
Taylor thought for a moment and then said, “I’m open too. Strange coincidence, huh? Don’t know any places around Diablo, but I’m staying at the Courtyard down the road.”
“Pick you up at seven. We’ll go outside of Diablo. Too many eyes and ears here.”
Taylor found Heather unpacking boxes in the back room of the Gap. She was able to take a break and they walked to Starbucks. Taylor sensed she really wanted to talk to someone.
“I liked Ricky. He was like a big teddy bear. Don, though, frightened me. There was something about him that made me nervous. Not sure what. You know the kind?” Taylor nodded; he knew exactly what she meant.
“But everyone liked them. Some of the girls from work went to their parties. You know they got this condo that came with being the security force here. Girls said the parties were great. Lots of booze and a little pot. Don and Ricky loved to show off their muscles. Great pecs, both of them.”
Heather never thought she would see anything as brutal as the beating of Dennis Spencer. She recounted how she told Don and Ricky about someone lurking in the alley and how furiously they went after him. She had first spotted the man while throwing out the day’s worth of cardboard into the recycling bin. She couldn’t take her eyes off the horror unfolding once Don and Ricky started beating on him. The homeless guy hadn’t said a word, just grunted. Heather said she could still see the blood spurting from his nose, ears, and mouth as he was plummeted by four fists. When Don saw her standing on the store’s back steps, his eyes held a vacant stare, like he was someplace else or in a trance. Taylor tried to convince Heather that she needed to talk with a professional to help her deal with her reactions to what she had seen. Maybe the Gap could help her or she might ask Jim Johnson in management to find somebody. However, he doubted Johnson would see the need.