by Jim Magwood
COP
ALSO BY JIM MAGWOOD
Fiction
SANCTION
THE LESSER EVIL
Non-Fiction
So You’ve Written A Book. Now What?
For information about the author, plus previews of coming attractions, visit: www.JimMagwood.com
Everyone has certain fears. For some, it’s the fear of dying; for others, of living.
COP
Jim Magwood
Shiloh Productions Twin Oaks, California
COP
Copyright © 2011 by Jim Magwood. All rights reserved. ____________________________________________________________
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author
except as provided by USA copyright law.
____________________________________________________________
Published by Shiloh Productions
Twin Oaks, California
Cover Painting by Fay Magwood
Cover by GEM
Twin Oaks, California
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ISBN-13: 978-1467989114 ISBN-10: 1467989118
1. Fiction: General Suspense 2. Fiction: Political
DEDICATION
Dedicated to the men and women of law enforcement, fighting the battles of The Job and the battles of life.
God bless you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to Gayle Richardson for reading the manuscript and for lending so much of your experience to making this a more realistic story.
Thank you to my wife, Gayle, for standing by and offering ideas and challenges
as my mind was “elsewhere.”
As always,
thank you to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ,
to whom all glory shall be given. Philippians 2:9-11
CHAPTER 1
As he pressed close to the cold, clammy wall, he strained to hear through the deathly quiet screaming in his ears. He felt the cold rain falling on his hat, then running down his neck, and heard the drops as they fell in the filthy alley. It was dark—so dark—and he strained to see into it. Nothing. He could hardly see the 9mm Glock he held in front of him. He slowly shuffled a foot further into the alley, touching the alley wall with his free hand. The quiet screamed at him. The dark was smothering. His nerves were ringing as if they were being squeezed in a vise, and despite the cold, he felt as if he was on fire, but shivering in spite of it.
He inched down the wall and barely saw the Dumpster across the alley, then a couple of aluminum garbage cans beside it. He wanted so badly to turn on his flashlight, but knew it would just give him away. His feet were freezing from being in the water, and his whole body was shivering. His clothes were soaked through from the rain—almost sleet in the cold.
And he still couldn’t hear anything except the creaking of his wet leathers. The quiet seemed to be so loud it shrieked in his ears as he moved. Though this was his beat, he didn’t know this alley. But he had seen the guy run in here. He couldn’t see any light where the end of the alley might be, so he didn’t know if the guy had gone out a back exit. If not, then he had to be in here. Maybe the alley T’d ahead. He could have gone either way. But, it was so dark.
His mind flashed back to other dark places—other chases—until finally a suspect’s weapon had exploded from ten feet away. The slug had hit him right in the stomach and had knocked him back like a baseball bat. Down on his back, trying to scream from the pain and shock, but with the breath completely knocked out of him, barely managing a strangled moan. He finally curled up in a ball as the cramps hit him. The suspect was long gone before Paul could comprehend that his vest had saved him. He still had the scar from where the bullet cut him even through the vest. And now his mind was replaying the scene again.
He was still sliding carefully down the wall one foot at a time, trying to see something. Was this guy armed? He didn’t know, and didn’t want to find out the hard way. He’d had a couple of friends go down the hard way and didn’t want to be next. And he remembered when it had been him. If he could only see. Should have waited for the backup and lights, but then probably would’ve lost the guy. No time. Follow him in and get him before he could do someone else. But…the dark. So dark.
He slowly reached ahead and slid sideways another couple of feet. He could see a dark shape ahead. Maybe a building wall coming up—the T of the alley? He was getting dizzy with the strain of trying to see. Reached out again, carefully, and touched—a fence? What…? Then panic hit him as he thought, “Oh, god, I’ve gone past him. He’s…”
BAM!
He almost screamed as he fell to the alley floor, trying to make himself as small as possible. Waiting for the next bullet. Lying in the freezing water, but so scared the shivering had stopped. The adrenaline raced him up so high his heart felt like it was exploding, then dropped him back down until he was part of the slime under him. Over and over like a screaming roller coaster. He vaguely realized he was pressed tight against the base of the fence and felt the rubbish beneath him. Funny what you feel when you’re about to die, he thought in an instant. Something was pressing hard into his side. Was that where he been shot? Moved a bit and felt—a piece of rock? A brick? Suddenly realized it hadn’t been a shot. The guy had thrown a brick? Where was…?
Then he heard the slapping of feet running back down the alley and knew that the guy had to have been hiding behind the Dumpster. The only place he could have been, but how could he have gotten behind there? He tried to force himself up to go after him—then sank back down and lay in the freezing water in the filthy alley, shaking violently, trying to breathe.
CHAPTER 2
Paul sat in the locker room of the station shivering. He had stayed in the hot shower for half an hour trying to warm up and get his system to relax, but it hadn’t been enough. He was wrapped in a couple of huge soft towels and his civilian coat had been thrown over his shoulders, but the shivering wouldn’t stop.
“Here. Drink this,” came the soothing voice, announcing the speaker as he came down the aisle. He heard the footsteps behind him and then felt the hand on his shoulder. The quick adrenaline rush made him jump, even though he knew who it was. Anyone else would have called the voice low and perhaps dangerous, but to Paul, the voice was safety and comfort. The cup of hot coffee (Where did he get fresh?) was pushed into his hand, and then Tony D’Angelo sat beside him on the bench. “You feeling any better?”
He nodded and simply said, “Yeah. A little.” Then, “Thanks.”
“Yeah. No problem.”
Paul had staggered out of the alley just as the patrol car screeched to the curb and Mark Jurgens and Tony jumped out. They had both grabbed him, demanding to know if he was okay, then almost threw him into the back seat and turned the heater to ‘roast’. They got the little bit of information he had on the suspect and radioed it to the other cars in pursuit, then headed him full speed to the station. They could tell he was close to being in shock from the experience and the cold, and they got him to the station, stripped him and stuffed him in the shower with a chair to sit on.
The Captain had come down to the shower, but Tony kept him out and had said, “We’ll bring him up when he’s ready, Cap.” Sergeant Carter came down a few minutes later and Tony let him in. Carter just stood at the shower door looking at Paul for a minute, then nodded to Tony and went back upstairs. Tony and Mark stood guard over Paul until he finally lifted his head and looked at them. They helped him out,
covered him, and sat him on the bench. Then they just stood by, silently.
After a while, Mark touched Paul’s shoulder, too, and said, softly, “We got him, Paul.”
Paul looked at him, then at Tony, then nodded and sipped some more coffee. Finally, in a raspy, shivering voice, he said, “I was so scared.” The men could hear the tears and said nothing. Then Tony simply said, “Yeah. Been there,” and put his arm around Paul’s shoulders for a moment. He pulled his arm back shortly, and the three men just sat side by side on the bench.
When Paul was dressed again, Tony and Mark took him upstairs to the Sergeant’s office, walked him inside and quietly closed the door on the two men. Carter looked at him for several moments, then said, “You alright now?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I hear we got the guy?”
“Yeah, just down the next block, hiding in another alley. Had lights and a couple of cars this time, so he was toast. He’s downstairs. But, you—okay? You need some time? A doctor? Sit down.”
“No. I’ll be okay. I’ll head back out in a few.”
“Okay.” He paused, then, “Tell me everything that happened.”
Paul looked the big Sergeant in the face and saw knowledge and acceptance. So he rested back a little in the chair and told the whole thing. Carter just listened. Paul’s composure broke when he got to the part of coming out of the alley and seeing Tony and Mark’s faces, knowing that then he was safe. Carter still just listened as Paul bowed his head. He waited until Paul looked him in the face again and then said, “Tell me again.” His eyes never left Paul’s as the story came out again.
The Sergeant hadn’t picked up a pencil, but after Paul finished, he said, “I’ve taken your statement and this is what I’ve heard. Everything you said about the pursuit and the alley is fine. He hid and you missed him. When he threw the brick, you ducked and slipped. You busted the skin off your knuckles and cheek when you hit the deck. He ran out ahead of you. When you came out, you were soaked and freezing. Tony and Mark brought you back here to warm up and clean up. The other guys caught the suspect in another alley. That’s what happened. Okay?” He looked at Paul until their eyes locked again. “That…is what happened. Nothing else. Okay?” He paused a moment. “I’ll call the Captain and tell him. It’s slow tonight. You get home and get some rest. Sure you’re okay?”
Paul looked at him for a long moment, then said, “Thanks, Sarge. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He got up and quietly left the office. Tony and Mark were sitting on the bench outside the office and stood as he came out. He held out his hand and shook theirs, then said again, “Thanks, guys. It sure was good to see you.”
Both men smiled a little, and replied, “Yeah. No problem.” Mark added, “You okay to get home? Need a ride?”
Paul said he was okay, and they parted. It was just past one in the morning.
When Paul got home, he sat in the warmth on his living room sofa for the rest of the night, shivering. He finally fell asleep as the sun was coming up.
CHAPTER 3
Paul had been a cop for eighteen years.
He and Diane had struggled through the lean years of college together, then the first couple of years as he worked at being a business manager with an accounting firm. When he finally realized that managing money and keeping books just wasn’t his thing, he enrolled again at college while keeping his regular job. He ended up taking courses in people—psychology, sociology, politics, government, and law—until one day he saw the hiring ad for the police academy. It was as if suddenly a light had turned on for him and he changed directions.
At first, Diane had been shocked and scared, but when she saw his face light up each time he spoke about working with the street people, the needy, the kids, she was won over and she finally jumped into the new life with him. When she thought about the darker side of police work, her fears flared, but, over and over, the joy his face showed when he spoke about the possibility of helping people calmed her and they worked it through.
He passed all the tests and entered the academy with ease. He graduated near the top of his class and was encouraged to get some experience and then move into leadership. “Someone always needs a good Chief or Commissioner, and you’d be good at that.” But, after six years on the force in San Francisco and having received almost an engraved invitation to make some strong upward moves, even Diane knew he was a street cop and likely always would be. The harassment and pranks that came to all new officers gradually died down as he paid his dues, and the beat became almost routine. Safe and quiet— never. Too many times he came home from his shifts with torn and dirty uniforms that spoke for themselves as to how his shift had gone. And the dreams he had had about working with people and bringing peace to the streets eventually became just that—old dreams.
Life on a beat was rough. Some people wanted caring and acceptance; too many didn’t. And he realized he didn’t have the time to be much of a counselor or priest. Hit the street; go to crime A, then to crime B, and on through the shift. Maybe dozens of calls a night. Try to pull people apart and settle messes, then move on to the next one.
Diane was pregnant with their first child then, and they sat and talked for hours about the choices in front of him, and he started putting out feelers for the East Coast. They had thought about moving there for years, and realized this might be the time. A few weeks after Jerod was born, Paul received an invitation to interview for the Washington, D.C. Metropolitan force, and three months later they were driving across country to a new life.
He was initially assigned to regular patrol in the Sixth and Seventh Districts of the city. The crime statistics were the highest in the city, but he was used to that from his previous location. What he found, though, were some people who needed help in their situations like back in San Francisco, but even while some of them came to know him a little, a lot of the hostility was still there and there was little opportunity to “help.” Paul knew that crime was just that—crime. But, he also knew that people were people—souls, persons, mothers, workers, beggars—and criminals. Yes, people were people, but the bad guys were the same everywhere.
He knew the statistics of environmental causes of crime, accepted them, but knew many of the causes were used to give criminals the freedom to simply be a criminal. “I don’t want to work at a low-paying job, so I’ll break in here and take things.” “I learned to fight growing up, so now I’ll do what I want and fight (or kill) if you get in front of me.” And he knew poverty, sickness and lack of hope turned people to things they would normally never do. Too many people, though, decided to become criminals because they decided there was nothing they could do to change or beat the system. There were ways out if a person hadn’t lost all hope, and that’s where Paul tried to make a difference. He wanted to help people find hope and work toward the way out.
Paul was good at what he did. He was smart and was able to figure things out instead of simply reacting and playing catch-up. He was tough on people when he needed to be and could roll on the ground with the worst of them when needed. He was also fair and gentle when he could be, and when he could still see the vestige of hope in a face. His arrest record was above average, but he continued to try to inspire a little hope wherever he went. Occasionally, some people listened.
After being in D.C. four years, he was moved to the Fourth District, one of the largest and most diverse residential districts in the city, then to the Third District, closer to the center of the city. It had a much heavier concentration of businesses in with the residences, and Paul was being groomed for work in business crimes as well as with the citizens directly. He was pulled into the downtown headquarters several times to work on cases that involved both politics and businesses, and he was recognized several times for his ability to think problems through instead of just reacting. He spent three years with the Special Operations Division, assisting on the Emergency Response Team and, because of his SCUBA abilities, the Harbor Unit. Ultimately, he jumped at the chance to join the Mobile Force tha
t basically moved wherever it was needed to support the rest of the Metro Force. He loved it because it enabled him to move through the neighborhoods and businesses working closer with more people.
Paul had been in D.C. for ten years when he was almost ordered to study for the Detectives exams. He spent much of two years doing that around his time with the Special Ops group and the Metro Force, and he took many classes from both the FBI and DEA academies. He had sat for the exam two months before and had just been notified that he had passed. When he finished his work with the street forces this month, he would be reporting to the Superintendent of Detectives downtown. He was somewhat ambivalent about the new assignment because he knew it would cause him to work any time of any day, but he also knew he would spend more time with the people on a single case than he had been able to as a street officer.
Most of the years of career change had been good, even great. However, life over the past two years had taken a disastrous turn that was contributing to his shattering nerves.
Eighteen months earlier, health problems that had bothered Diane over the years had exploded into dreaded cancer, and a shocking, excruciating month later, she was gone. Paul was devastated. There had been no warning and no chance out of it. She was there—and then she was gone. No chance even to get ready. That was when the dark had started pressing in on him. It was as if the sun had gone behind the clouds during the days and the moon had had a veil pulled over it.
Three weeks after Diane was buried, Jared, his twentyyear-old son, left a note one night that simply said, “I’m okay, but I have to get away. Maybe some day.” He had taken just a small supply of clothes in an old gym bag and nothing had been heard of him since. When Paul looked in his room the next morning, he was just gone—like Diane.
And, to top it off, two months later, Sarah, their barely eighteen year old daughter, had announced one morning that she was going to move back to California to work, and to live with a girlfriend from childhood. Again, the move had been quick and Paul had no chance to talk her out if it. Here today, gone tomorrow. But, the worst part of it had been when he tried to call her at her friend’s place and got the word that she hadn’t arrived. Before he could get the San Francisco police looking for her, a postcard arrived with a simple message: “Dad. Sorry I’m hurting you, but I have to be alone for now. There are some people here that will help me. Don’t worry. I’ll keep in touch. Love, Sarah.” It was the last time he had heard from her.