By His Own Hand

by Neal Griffin

  “I’m Trisha Washington. You the ones here about Henry?”

  “Yes, that’s us. Newberg PD.” Tia stood and presented her badge. “Someplace we can talk?”

  Trisha gave Tia’s badge a close examination, then walked away, signaling them to follow. She led them down a hallway bordered by cubicle spaces on both sides and walled off by six-foot partitions. Several were occupied by counselors engaged one-on-one with juvenile inmates.

  “Sorry, it’s going to be a little crowded,” Trisha said, ushering them into a cubicle barely big enough for a desk, a short file cabinet, and one extra chair. “We’ll have to make do. But hey, I’m lucky. Most of the cubicles are doubled up.”

  With Trisha seated at her desk and Rich perching on top of the file cabinet, Tia took the second chair. Quarters were so tight that her knees rubbed against Trisha’s pants leg. Tia got the sense that the counselor was an overworked but conscientious professional who happened to have picked a line of work that tends to wear down the soul.

  Omitting pleasantries or small talk, Trisha picked up the file sitting in the center of her desk and began. “Henry Tyler Hayes. He spent ninety-seven days here and was released this spring. His sentencing offense was auto theft and assault. If it’d just been the auto theft, he probably wouldn’t have been here more than a couple of weeks, but the assault was against a cop. That’ll always buy you some time. He’d been scheduled for a hundred eighty, so he did pretty well, stayed out of trouble, for the most part. Few demerits for shenanigans in class. He had some hygiene issues, didn’t like showering much. Probably because most of the other inmates figured he was an easy mark for taking out … well, frustrations and such.”

  “‘And such’?” Tia heard the implication.

  “Some of that goes on. We do our best but, you know, staffing being what it is … Anyway, Henry was small and he had that long hair. I imagine he got cornered more than a time or two.”

  “So did you know about Henry?”

  “Yep.” Trisha handed the file to Tia. “Suicide, right? Sorry to hear it. Bit of a knucklehead for sure, but I had hopes for him.”

  Tia didn’t correct Trisha’s assessment, just opened the file and looked at Henry’s intake photo. Unsmiling and sullen, with apathy in his eyes. The date on the photograph made the picture less than six months old, the most up-to-date photo she’d seen. She couldn’t help but think Henry was a pretty cute kid. A vision of his remains in the woods came to mind and she did her best to block it out. “Any suicide attempts while in custody?”

  Trisha answered quickly. “No, never. Didn’t see anything like that. In fact, for all the shit he had to put up with, he struck me as a tough kid. I wouldn’t have thought he’d do something that desperate.”

  “How about cliques. Who did he hang with?”

  “We’ve got a few Native American boys here, but Henry pretty much stayed by himself.”

  “What about Kimo?”

  Sheila nodded. “Oh, yeah. Kevin. I forgot about him. They did end up being pretty tight.”

  “Kevin?” Tia asked.

  Trisha reached for the file cabinet; Rich stood and stepped out of her way. She thumbed through the files until she found the one she was looking for. “Kevin Demetri Moore. He liked everybody calling him Kimo.”

  Rich was making notes, so Tia kept asking questions. “How do you mean that? He liked everybody calling him Kimo?”

  “Well, you know how it is,” Trisha said, handing over the file. “Some kids earn a nickname for something. Athletics, brains, whatever. Kevin? He’s the kind of kid who comes up with his own nickname. One that sounds cool. Then he makes sure everyone uses it. Kid was always trying to come off as a player. Thought he knew all the angles.”

  Tia looked at the photo of Kimo, taken against the same wall as the one of Henry, with his date of birth at the bottom. “Looks like he turned eighteen a few weeks back.”

  “Yeah,” Trisha said, sounding thankful. “Won’t be seeing him again. His next screw-up will land him in the big leagues.”

  “Think that’ll happen?”

  “With that kid? Absolutely. He’ll go pro for sure.”

  Tia looked at the file. “Grand theft? Doesn’t seem that hard-core.”

  “No, but damn sophisticated for his age. His scam was daytime car burgs of high-end vehicles parked in front of strip joints. He’d watch for the right victim profile, hit ones he figured would never make a report. The only reason he got caught was he broke into the car of a couple of undercover vice cops working a detail. Apparently they were working out of a court-seized Corvette that caught Kimo’s eye. They served paper on his house, found stolen property from a dozen unreported cases.”

  Tia looked at the smiling face of Kevin Moore, a good-looking redhead with broad shoulders and bright hazel eyes. Sure enough, he had the vibe of a kid who was always planning his next scam.

  “So he spent a lot of time with Henry?”

  “Kimo had been here a few months when Henry showed up. It was Henry’s first time in real custody, and like I said, it was rough for him. His size didn’t help him any. Not right off, but after a while, he and Kimo seemed to warm up to each other and the older boy started looking out for Henry.”

  Shaking her head, Trisha added, “Seems odd, though. Strange pair.”

  “How so?” Tia asked.

  “Kimo was a player. One of the older boys. City kid—on the outside and definitely in here. Pretty much a shot caller. Not sure why he bothered with Henry.”

  “Who got out first?”

  Trisha closed her eyes and leaned her head back as if trying to recall the order of events. “Seems like Kimo got out and Henry followed after just a couple of weeks. Sorry, I can’t keep them all straight. It’s pretty much like an assembly line. You can check with the discharge desk to get the exact dates.”

  Tia made a few notes. “Would it surprise you to know they hooked up. Apparently they were hanging around quite a bit the last couple of months.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me at all,” Trisha said. “It’s a pretty regular pattern—boys leave, get together on the outside, then end up coming back together. Birds of a feather kind of thing.”

  Rich piped up. “What about drugs? Either of them involved in that sort of thing?”

  Tia gave Rich a nod of approval. Good question.

  “No shortage of dope comes through,” Trisha answered. “But I don’t think either of them was slinging any of it. Didn’t strike me as users either.” She looked closely at the two cops. “This doesn’t sound like follow-up to a suicide.”

  “No, I don’t imagine it does,” Tia said. “Let’s just say the jury is still out.”

  When Tia didn’t offer anything more, the other woman nodded as if more than satisfied not to get overly involved in a couple of kids who were no longer her concern.

  Trisha reached into another file in the cabinet and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “If you want to take hard copies of personnel files out of the facility, you’ll have to fill out the release form. Then, I need to get it approved at a command level.”

  Tia took the form, looking back at Trisha. “Seriously?”

  Trisha rolled her eyes. “Yep. Sorry. New rules.”

  Tia completed and signed the one-page form and handed it back.

  “I’ll push it through. Should be able to get it approved in a few days.”

  Trisha put the completed form in a wire basket. “If that’s all you need, I got a couple of fellas locked up in solitary I should have a talk with. I swear it’s like herding cats, but some of the cats are damn tigers.”

  “Thanks for your time, Trisha. You were a big help.”

  “Not a problem. Hope you clear it all up.”

  All three stood at once and laughed when they practically knocked each other down.

  “All the money they spent investigating everybody,” Trisha said, “I just wish one of them eggheads had figured out we just need some damn space.” She volunteered to walk th
em to the discharge desk, where Tia could get information on departure dates.

  Heading down the hallway, Trisha told the cops more about the housecleaning that had occurred the year before, after a sixteen-year-old inmate had tried to hang himself in his room. Several officers had lost their jobs and others were demoted.

  “The whole problem is staffing. I feel bad for the new officers working night shift. Four guards for two hundred boys? And believe me, half these little shits? They ain’t boys. Assaults on staff have gone up every year. I can tell you right now, nobody’s investigating that.”

  At the outtake desk, they were given the exact entry and exit dates for Henry and Kimo. Tia did the math and realized that the two teenagers had spent a little over two months in custody together before Kimo was discharged. Henry followed him out twenty-six days later. Tia wrote down the last known address for Kimo and the name of his probation officer.

  Twenty minutes later they were headed south, discussing the day’s efforts.

  “So what do you think, rook?” Tia asked. “Was the trip worth it?”

  “Beats graveyard patrol, but I don’t know. I guess we have to wait and see, right?”

  Tia looked at the clock on the dash. She appreciated his positive attitude, but she wasn’t so sure. It had been a long day and Tia couldn’t help but be frustrated by the lack of progress. She did her best to put a positive spin on it. “That’s all you can do sometimes, Rich. Just go out and beat the bush and wait for someone to poke their head up.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  By the time they reached the Newberg city limit sign it was pushing five o’clock. While an interview of Kimo was vital, it wasn’t something they needed to do that day.

  On the other issue, Tia was stumped by the standoff with the CFPD detective and, for that matter, Mrs. Vickers. A noncriminal police report from eight years ago? How bad could it be? She knew they’d be taking another run at Vickers or maybe she’d even have Travis shoot a call to Chippewa Falls PD. Go over the detective’s head. But no doubt, the interview of Kimo was more pressing. He had a known relationship with the victim. That put him at the top of the list.

  Tia talked as they drove the last mile to the station. “Might even be good if we watch him for a few hours—Kimo, that is. See what he’s up to.”

  “What are you thinking?” Rich asked.

  “Nothing specifically, just a few hours’ surveillance,” Tia said. “Maybe we can get a twist on him. Sometimes that…” Her voice trailed off. A hundred yards up the road she saw four media trucks in the Newberg PD parking lot. Several cars with media door magnets were also parked nearby.

  Tia drove past the gauntlet of vehicles. Several reporters were lined up, using the station as a backdrop. Each one stood in front of a camera holding a microphone pointed in the face of Ben Sawyer.

  Parking at the far end of the lot, Tia and Rich entered the building through the back door. As they passed the report writing room, they saw several uniformed officers watching the television set mounted on the wall. Tia stopped and tapped Rich on the arm to draw his attention. The reporter on the screen was none other than Lucy Lee-Jones.

  “… a conclusion of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. But apparently, despite these findings of the medical examiner’s office, detectives of the Newberg Police Department have gone forward with what amounts to a covert criminal investigation that is now focused on the volunteer staff members of the Church of the Rock annual retreat. Sources with knowledge of the investigation reveal an alarming pattern of intrusive interviews and aggressive attempts to leverage information from retreat participants. It has also been reported that at least one officer has been suspended for misconduct related to this incident.”

  A collective groan and a few choice words went up from the officers gathered around the set. The reporter went on, “Earlier today I spoke with Phillip Myers, an attorney representing the Church of the Rock as well as individuals who attended the retreat, and he had this to say.”

  The picture cut to a different location and Tia recognized the man’s mop of hair and rumpled suit and resisted the temptation to curse.

  “It is my intent to file a formal complaint of harassment against the Newberg Police Department, specifically Detective Tia Suarez. This tragic case is being used to grandstand and harass innocent bystanders who had no involvement whatsoever in the suicide of young Henry Hayes. It is nothing more than showboating and an abuse of power.”

  She’d heard enough. “Let’s go,” she told Rich. “We need to check in with Sergeant Jackson.”

  At the sound of her voice, one of the uniformed officers turned and Tia saw that it was Stan Hansen, beat partner and friend of Jimmy Youngblood.

  “Well, no shit,” Stan said, sounding angry. Tia kept walking, then stopped when she heard Rich’s voice behind her.

  “Hey, Stan,” the trainee said.

  “‘Hey, Stan?’” the officer mimicked Rich, then his voice turned disdainful. “The fuck you say, boot. Youngblood gets suspended and you go off to play detective? All because of some bullshit suicide?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Tia heard desperation in the young officer’s voice. “I just told the Chief—”

  Hansen, who was about the same height as Rich but a good forty pounds of muscle heavier, moved in closer. “Save it, Puller. You’ll be back in a beat car soon enough. We’ll talk about it then.”

  Tia stepped between them. “Go upstairs, Rich.”

  Rich couldn’t let it go. “Stan, really. I didn’t mean—”

  “Upstairs, Puller.” Tia pointed down the hall. “Now.”

  Visibly reluctant, Rich walked away, leaving Tia facing off with Hansen, who was flanked by several other patrol officers. “Knock it off, Hansen. You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “I don’t, huh?” Stan didn’t back down. “Because we’ve never been here before with you, have we, Suarez? Going off half-cocked. Making the department look like shit. Do you just get off on the attention? Is that it? And now because of all your bullshit, Youngblood is—”

  “Oh, lighten up, Stanley.” Tia knew he hated the use of his full name and she enjoyed using it. “Youngblood made his own bed. If he can’t keep it in his pants for a whole shift that’s his damn problem.”

  Tia stepped in on the other cop, not the least bit intimidated by his size. “Now, stay away from my trainee.”

  “Your trainee? Jesus, this place…”

  The cop walked away shaking his head and Tia let it go. With a last glance at the television screen she saw a live shot of Ben Sawyer on the screen answering questions that came rapid-fire from a half-dozen reporters. Tia knew he was just outside the main entrance to the building and she fought the temptation to join him. Instead she headed upstairs to find out just what the hell was going on.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  An hour later, after giving a full briefing of the day’s activity to Travis, Tia took the time to talk to Rich about what had happened with Stan Hansen. The confrontation had left the young officer shaken, but he didn’t want Tia to formally report the incident. Tia agreed that was probably the best course, then made sure he got back to his car without any further harassment or run-ins with Patrol.

  Back in the building she walked past the admin offices. Carrie had gone home for the day but the light was still on in the Chief’s office. Tia stuck her head around the partially opened door and saw Ben behind his desk, still in uniform, watching himself on the computer. She’d caught most of the news broadcasts on the TV in Travis’s office. They’d flipped from channel to channel and both agreed the Chief held up well under the grilling. Three stations out of Madison and a half-dozen out of Milwaukee had carried the story, and all from the same angle: the Newberg Police Department was engaged in some sort of wildcat investigation.

  Tia walked into the office and collapsed on the couch. “How you holding up, boss?”

  “It’s like a walk down memory lane.” He smiled and Tia had to laugh.

/>   “Yours or mine?”

  Turning serious, he said, “What’s this I hear about a dust-up in the hallway? You and Puller going at it with Hansen?”

  Tia smiled. “Very impressive, Chief.”

  “I still have my sources,” Ben said. “You need anything from me?”

  “Nah,” Tia said. “I got it. Rich handled himself well.”

  “I don’t want this shit spilling into the hallway.” Ben pointed to his computer. “But who’s talking to the media? They seem to know a lot about our business.”

  She blew out a long breath. “Could be just about anybody. Rich and I have rattled some cages. Then of course there’s Youngblood. You gotta know he’s pissed.”

  Tia changed the subject. “What about city hall? Now they must really be breathing down your neck.”

  “Strangely quiet,” Ben said. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I’m guessing the mayor is waiting to see which way the wind blows with public opinion.”

  Tia knew even though Ben was playing it off, he had to be worried. This could be just the excuse the mayor was looking for. When this sort of public spectacle arose, the police chief was usually the first to go. She tried to reassure him.

  “Hang in there, Ben. Rich and I are running down some good leads. Eventually a couple will intersect, then we’ll know if we’re onto something.”

  Ben nodded. “Couple of wires touch, you get a spark, right?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

  “Okay,” Ben said and Tia knew he was probably pushing back pangs of jealousy. The man was not one to sit behind a desk. “You’re still sure this boy didn’t somehow manage to shoot himself?”

  Tia couldn’t blame him for asking. He wanted an easier solution, with no headlines and no internal bickering. Without the political infighting that could cost him his job. Tia knew all he had to do was side with Kowalski, give in to the mayor, just write the kid off as a suicide, and his life would get a whole lot easier. But Tia knew the man better than that.