In the Darkest Hour

by Anna Carlisle

  “To announce the gun turn-in program, right?”

  “Yes. And people are saying she’s furious, that she wants to know who leaked it. That she thinks someone’s trying to sabotage the investigation.”

  “Surely she doesn’t think Tuck did…”

  “No. But Liam thinks Tuck might know who’s behind all of it.”

  Gin considered that for a moment. “Why does he think that?”

  Katie frowned. “Look, Gin, this is all just theories, you know? Water cooler conversation.”

  “I understand. And it’s totally fine if you don’t want to talk about it—”

  “No, that’s just it. I do, I could really stand to vent to somebody. But I can’t really talk to anyone around here because—well, there’s this whole atmosphere of mistrust, because everyone has theories about who’s behind the missing guns. Anyway, you’re probably the only person whose name has never come up when people are speculating about who it is.”

  “That’s got to be tough on morale,” Gin said.

  “Yeah, especially since it’s been going on so long.”

  “Really? I thought it was just the last few months.”

  “No, it’s just been in the last few months that someone noticed the discrepancy between the storage logs and what’s actually in impound. Wheeler was furious because some of the records have been destroyed. They’re supposed to log everything using the computer, but for stuff that they don’t have a code for, sometimes they put it in the paper log and then batch process it whenever the supervisor has time to figure it out. And apparently there are a bunch of pages missing from the log from last fall.” Katie looked around the forensics lab, with its bays filled with high tech equipment, and cabinets and shelves full of storage and labeling materials. “I would never trust our evidence to a system like that.”

  “Maybe someone should put a scientist in charge,” Gin suggested, only half kidding. “So no one knows how long this has been happening?”

  “There’s this theory going around, that the gun thing is just an escalation. Do you remember last fall when there were all those copper thefts from building sites?”

  “Yes—Jake was really worried about it. He and his foreman were taking turns staying on site early mornings, when the thefts were happening.”

  “Right, I forgot it came up in the Sigal case. Well, the thing is, witnesses said they saw a police cruiser driving slowly by the site short before several of those thefts. Like they were providing cover for whoever was coming in and stripping the copper.”

  “Then couldn’t they just check the logs to see who was on duty those nights?”

  Katie was already shaking her head. “Plenty of officers take their cars home. Or they could be rotating them out of motor pool. And anyway, those thefts stopped right around the time the problem started showing up in the impound inventory. So the theory is that whoever is responsible for stealing the missing guns, was working the smaller con before.”

  “But how would that work?”

  “Easy. Liam says all you’d need to do would be to identify the sites and provide cover, for a cut of the profits. Any off-duty cop could do it—he’d know exactly where the real on-duty patrols were and how to avoid them. And if someone happened to question them, they could just say they were responding to a report of someone breaking in.”

  “So the theory is that someone inside the department saw an opportunity to make some extra cash on the side, with the copper. Then it escalated—”

  “Because they got greedy. You can sell a gun for a lot more than a bunch of wire. And now Wheeler’s hired temps to help the clerks going back through to inventory everything—because if this extends to drugs, for instance, then she’s got an even bigger problem.”

  “Because of a public perception that she’s not doing enough to combat the opiate epidemic?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I have to say, I don’t envy her.”

  “Yeah, you can see why she’s so desperate to figure this out.”

  “But you said that Liam has some theories? About who’s behind it?”

  Katie looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Gin … everyone’s got theories, depending mostly on who they don’t like.”

  “So then Bruce must be the top suspect.”

  Gin had been joking, but Katie looked pensive. “The thing most people don’t know? And Liam only found this out because they’ve been partners ever since he got promoted—that’s a lot of time in the car together—but Bruce worked construction for his uncle before he entered the academy. And his uncle has been in trouble before—multiple lawsuits, shoddy construction and misuse of funds and all kinds of things. He eventually went bankrupt or Bruce might never even have applied to the academy. I mean, please don’t say anything. Liam doesn’t want to jeopardize his job.”

  “Maybe that explains some things,” Gin said thoughtfully.

  “Like what?”

  “I’m just thinking out loud, but Bruce’s always had a lot of animosity toward Jake. I’ve never understood why … but maybe he hated seeing Jake succeed in a business where he didn’t?”

  “And add to that that Jake is, well … hot, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Katie said, flashing a grin. “Bruce hates to be showed up by other guys. Have you noticed how he’s always putting Liam down? It’s like with Tuck—before he got transferred last year, people thought he might be in line for Wheeler’s job, if she runs for sheriff. And Bruce hated him.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed that they don’t get along, to put it mildly,” Gin said. “This is all very interesting.”

  She considered asking if Katie had any insight into why Tuck had been moved to Trumbull, but their conversation had already entered a gray area. “I’m sorry Liam has to put up with that kind of treatment,” she settled for saying.

  Katie shrugged. “He just sees it as paying his dues. He’s wanted to be a detective his whole life—it’s his dream.”

  Paula Burkett popped her head in the door. “Oh, hey, Gin, didn’t know you were here. They’re starting the press conference, if you guys want to watch it. Come on down to the conference room, we’ve got it on the big screen.”

  “Okay, be there in a minute,” Katie said. “Come with us, Gin?”

  “Sure, why not?” she said. “I don’t have to be at the school for a couple hours.”

  The forensics conference room was only large enough for a six-seat conference table, but at least double that number of people were jammed in, watching the press conference get under way. As the three women joined the others in the room, Captain Wheeler was finishing her introductory remarks.

  “… do everything we can to put an end to gun violence. The Allegheny County police department is committed to doing everything within our power to reduce the number of unlicensed firearms in our community.”

  She briefly described the plans for the turn-in program, saying that drop-off sites would be set up throughout the county, with local police coordinating.

  “See our web site for full details about what we will accept, and proper disposal.” She glanced down at the podium and squared her notes, before removing her glasses and gazing out at the reporters crowded around the large, upstairs conference room. “I’ll take a couple of questions.”

  Several reporters started asking questions at once.

  “Any news on the Internal Affairs investigation into crooked cops?”

  “Is it true that drugs seized in raids are also unaccounted for?”

  “Has anyone been identified in the corruption scandal?”

  “Cooper,” Wheeler said, pointedly ignoring Melanie Carter, who had pushed her way to the front.

  “Cooper Kincaid, WTAF. Is it true that former county homicide detective, and now Trumbull police chief Tuck Baxter has been suspended? Is he the target of an Internal Affairs investigation?”

  There was a shocked murmur throughout the gathered reporters, but Wheeler showed no emotion. “No charges have been brought against Chief Baxt
er at this time. I can confirm only that he will be on administrative leave until the investigation has been satisfactorily closed.”

  Everyone started talking at once.

  “Was he under suspicion last year when he left Homicide?”

  “Who will run the Trumbull department while he’s one leave?”

  “I’ve asked Westmoreland County Deputy Chief Morgan King to serve as interim chief. I’m afraid that’s all the time we have. Thank you and good day.”

  Wheeler stepped away from the podium and made her way to the exit, clearing a path through the reporters. Inside the forensics conference room, it was pandemonium, with everyone talking at once.

  “Did you have any idea?” one of the analysts asked. “Your mom’s the mayor, right?”

  “I—no,” Gin stammered, reeling from the announcement. Tuck was being suspended?—but she’d seen him just last night, and he hadn’t given any indication of what was coming. And what about her mother? Had Madeleine known? “I mean, yes, but I knew nothing about this until now. I need to go. Katie, thanks for everything. I’ll call you.”

  She raced for the door and hurried down the stairs. Tuck at the center of the corruption scandal? Gin couldn’t believe it. True, he had never told her why he’d been sent to Trumbull, only that he had ‘pissed some people off.’

  That he should have kept his mouth shut more often.

  Gin got in her car and locked the doors before calling her mother. She got the answering service; Madeleine’s office was probably being flooded with calls.

  She hesitated for a moment and then dialed Tuck, but that call too went straight to voice mail.

  Her fingertip hovered over the screen. She wanted to call Jake—but what would she say? All she had at this point were the same rumors and conjecture that everyone else had heard. There was no love lost between Jake and Tuck; Jake might even be happy to hear that Tuck had been relieved of his duties.

  Her phone rang in her hand, making her jump.

  “Hi, Brandon.”

  “Wow, Gin, did you know that was coming?”

  “Everyone’s asking me that, but I’m as shocked as anyone.”

  “I can’t believe it’s true. Baxter seems … but then again, you never really know anyone.”

  “I’ll be seeing my mom tonight. Maybe she’ll know something by then.”

  “Yeah, listen, about that … I heard you’ve moved back home.”

  Gin pressed a hand to her forehead. “It seems like everyone knows. The grapevine in this town works overtime.”

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry to hear it. I really am. And that makes me feel even worse about asking you for a favor…”

  “It’s all right—just ask, Brandon.”

  “Are you going to be at the school today?”

  “Yes, I’m just going to grab lunch and then I’m headed over there.”

  “Olive’s clarinet lesson got canceled. I was wondering if there’s any chance you could give her and Austen a ride home.”

  “Of course. It’s no problem at all. They’re welcome to come over to the house until you get out of work.”

  “No, Austen has to work on his report for Spanish. I’ll try to cut out a little early.”

  Gin said goodbye and headed toward the exit. Not a moment too soon—reporters was beginning to stream into the parking lot, setting up to record on-air reports. Melanie Carter had spotted her, and was walking toward her faster than Gin would have thought possible in her towering heels.

  As she pulled out of the parking lot, she felt like she was escaping a zombie horde. She was glad to be headed to the school as a distraction. With Tuck out of a job, and Jake having beat a retreat out of town, Gin was beginning to wonder if she understood anything about men at all.

  12

  Gin spent the afternoon alternating between assisting in Gordon’s classroom and working on her grant proposal on her laptop in the faculty lounge, but she found it difficult to concentrate, staring at the screen and reading the same words over and over. She had a faint headache which she suspected was the result of stress caused by her flashback during the autopsy. It didn’t help that no fewer than three teachers stopped in to ask her if she had any more information about why Tuck Baxter had been relieved of his duties. Opinions seemed split: while most people felt he hadn’t been on the job long enough to make an assessment, Colin Izzo, the math department head, was vociferous with his condemnation.

  “He came in here on a promise to clean up this dump. But there’s still trash in the street—the human kind and the rest.”

  “Those boarded up businesses downtown are just an invitation for trouble,” another teacher chimed in.

  “What I’m talking about. I saw two gangbangers out front of the hardware store, looking at lawnmowers. You want to tell me what a ghetto hood needs a lawnmower for? They don’t take care of their own property.”

  Gin bit back an angry retort; Izzo had been on the faculty back when she attended the middle school herself, and he was infamous for his inflammatory politics. He’d been reprimanded for sharing them with the kids in his class; now, apparently, he just vented to his colleagues.

  “Well, I think he’s doing a great job,” Yvette Correa, the Spanish teacher, interjected. “So’s the mayor. Your mom’s done a lot for this town, Gin. The new restaurants, the farmers market and the maker faire—”

  Izzo snorted. “A lot of hipster nonsense, if you ask me. I’d like to see what would happen if those snowflakes had to defend themselves. They’d fold like wet cardboard.”

  “Okay, Colin,” Natalie Bohn, the assistant principal, said wearily. “If I’m not mistaken, period five will be starting in a few minutes. How about we get back to the business of educating the kids of Trumbull?”

  The teachers filed out one by one, leaving Gin alone in the room with Yvette.

  “How are things going on the Girls in Science initiative?” she asked.

  “Really well, thanks. I’ve got more interest than I anticipated—I’m putting in an interim request to increase resources for this school year, and then looking to double it for the pilot.”

  “That’s fantastic! Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

  Gin tried to work on the proposal for a few more minutes, but made little headway. She was gathering up her things, slipping her laptop into her messenger bag, when her phone dinged a text.

  She checked the screen: Tuck.

  Can you meet? It’s important.

  She texted back: where and when?

  Now if you can. Come on over to my place.

  Gin stared at the screen for a moment before answering.

  Be there in ten.

  Not her wisest move, Gin reflected as she hurried to her car. In the midst of controversy and accusations, all it took was a single text from the embattled chief and she dropped everything to meet him.

  One of them wasn’t being rational.

  * * *

  When Gin knocked on the cheerful red door of Tuck’s rented house on the east side of town, Cherie answered the door.

  “Gin!” Cherie threw her arms around Gin and hugged her hard. Then she grabbed Gin’s hand and tugged her into the house. “Dad said you were coming over to help him with his homework! Want to see my homework?”

  Tuck emerged from the kitchen, drying a dish, wearing a red apron emblazoned with the words “World’s Best Dad.” When Gin laughed, he looked down at himself, embarrassed. “Christmas gift from one of my cousins,” he admitted. “I’m cursed with having all women cousins. They seem to think I need their help or something.”

  Laid out on the kitchen table were a tablet, a workbook, and a plate of graham crackers spread with strawberry cream cheese. Cherie pointed excitedly at the chair across from hers. “You sit there. Dad says I have to share my snack with you.”

  “Only if she wants some,” Tuck said mildly, going to the fridge. “Or, she can have a grownup snack with me.” Her pulled out a beer and held it up to Gin. “I’ve
also got juice boxes and some iced tea.”

  “I think I’ll have tea, thanks,” Gin said with a forced smile. Seeing Tuck here—in his kitchen, in that silly apron, with his daughter and the snack he’d made with such care—it was impossible to believe that he was mixed up in a corruption scandal. And she couldn’t very well talk to him about it, or anyone else, for that matter.

  “Suit yourself. Okay, Cherie, you have five minutes to show Gin your homework and then she and I are going to my study to work on my project.”

  “But Dad—”

  “Five minutes.” He pointed up at the kitchen clock with its large hands and numerals. “Where will the big hand be?”

  “On the eight,” Cherie said solemnly.

  True to her word, Cherie spent exactly five minutes chattering about the writing homework, which she did using a special program on her tablet that used a picture dictionary and a talking spell checker. Armed with her growing knowledge about assistive technology, Gin recognized the value of the tool for students like Cherie.

  “I hope you’re going to join my science club at school,” she said.

  “When is it starting?”

  “Not until next year,” Gin said. “I’m going to spend the summer working on it. But I might get to use Mr. Gordon’s classroom—won’t that be fun?”

  “Yes!” Cherie said, jumping up from her chair and spinning around. “Amanda is my partner. She likes planets!”

  “Somebody’s a little excited,” Tuck observed. “Okay, missy, how about you get back to your work and after Gin and I are done, you can help me shuck the corn.”

  “I love shucking corn!”

  Gin followed Tuck to the spare bedroom, which he’d furnished with an old, scarred wooden desk and a couple of rolling chairs that looked like they’d come from a secondhand office supply store. On the wall were family photographs, his diploma from Penn State, several awards from the County Police, and at least half a dozen framed pieces of colorful art that Gin assumed had been created by Cherie.

  “She was considering being an artist,” he said, following her gaze, “until you got her all stirred up on this science thing. Now she wants to do experiments.”