Police Brutality (Hazard and Somerset: A Union of Swords Book 2)

by Gregory Ashe

“Oh fuck,” he said, a hand over his eyes. “I really fucked up.”

  “That’s right,” Hazard said, leaning forward. “Last night you—”

  Somers spoke over him, smoothly, calmly. “Just tell us what happened.”

  “Is he really dead? Someone called and told me, and I—is it true?”

  “Yes,” Hazard said.

  “Oh fuck.”

  “What happened?” Somers asked.

  Wiping his eyes, Wesley said, “I went over there. I shouldn’t have done that, I know, but I needed to talk to him. Things got . . . heated. He just kept laughing. Throwing it in my face. I took a swing. That was the last thing I should have done; he just got mad, and it took everything to the next level. He came after me, and the rest of it happened so fast, I don’t really know how I ended up in the street.” He touched a bruise on his temple and winced. “I shouldn’t have tried to fight him, but I get so tired of being pushed around. I’m so tired of it.”

  Somers was frowning. Hazard spoke first: “Why did you need to talk to Officer Hoffmeister?”

  The flash of irritation on Somers’s face was warning, but it came too late. Wesley was shaking his head. “You don’t know?”

  “I want to stay focused on last night,” Somers said.

  But Wesley kept shaking his head. “You don’t know, so why are you here?” Then he shot to his feet. “Oh my God. You think I killed him. That’s what it is, right? You think I killed him. Oh my God. That’s . . . you can’t actually believe that, ok? You can’t really think that’s possible. I mean—you can’t.”

  “Just talk to us,” Somers said. “Tell us everything that had been going on between you and Officer Hoffmeister.”

  “When you came and asked about him after the tree lighting,” Wesley said, “and then you came again, the next day, and asked where I had been—” Realization worked through his face. He closed his mouth and set his jaw.

  “Detective Somerset told you to talk. Start talking. You need to tell us everything, right now.”

  “I want my lawyer.”

  “You haven’t been charged—” Somers said.

  “I want my lawyer.”

  Somers didn’t turn, didn’t give Hazard a look, didn’t sigh. He didn’t do anything that might have indicated his frustration at the way Hazard’s question had derailed the interview. But the set of his shoulders as he stood was a red flag.

  “All right, Mr. Wesley. I’m sorry we have to do it this way, but we’d like you to come down to the station with us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  DECEMBER 19

  WEDNESDAY

  7:02 PM

  HAZARD WASN’T ALLOWED IN the interview room; he wasn’t sure if that was Cravens’s decision or Somers’s. Finding out seemed like the first step down a dangerous road, so instead, he just stalked around the bullpen, snapping at anyone who got in his way, pausing just long enough on each circuit to drink a cup of coffee and bitch about someone brewing it like piss. Dulac had come back from watching Andy-Jack, and a lawyer Hazard recognized from a variety of local cases, Aniya Thompson, joined Wesley in the interview room.

  When Somers finally came out, his face was drawn, and he kept rubbing at his eyes as though trying to clear them. Dulac joined him a moment later, and they stood off to one side while Thompson and Wesley left. The only sound in the station was the whir of the fax machine gearing up and the click of Thompson’s heels. When the front door swung shut behind them, the whole building seemed to take a collective breath.

  As Somers and Dulac came towards him, Hazard set down his fourth or fifth cup of coffee and said, “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have asked him that.”

  “He wasn’t going to say anything anyway,” Somers said, still rubbing his eyes. “Once he realized what we wanted him for, he stopped talking. We couldn’t get anything out of him. He even went back on the story about the fight once his lawyer started talking to him. He said he was confused. Thought we were talking about a different night. Dulac pointed to the bruises and asked how he’d gotten them.”

  “Falling down the stairs,” Dulac said, dropping down at his desk. “Can you fucking believe that? I asked him if somebody had been standing down there to catch him with really big fists.”

  “He’s lying,” Hazard said. “You know he’s lying.”

  “Of course he’s lying,” Somers said. “But how am I supposed to prove it? He said one thing; then he says he was confused. He’d gotten into a fight with Hoffmeister months ago. He thought that’s what we were talking about. Can’t even remember what they fought about. Nothing physical, just a shouting match. And then that damn story about the staircase last night.” Somers dragged both hands through his hair, mussing it worse than usual. “What do I do? Show him the video from last night? ‘See that blurry spot? Well, that’s you.’ Thompson’s not a defense mastermind, but she’d hand me my own ass if I tried that.”

  “So we go back, canvass the neighborhood with a picture of Wesley, and find somebody who can put him there last night.”

  Somers just nodded.

  “What happened with Andy-Jack?” Hazard asked.

  “Oh, big stuff,” Dulac said. “I got to watch him come out on his porch, drink a beer, and go back inside. Then I got to watch the windows. Pretty interesting windows. Really great windows.”

  “Ok,” Hazard said.

  “He’s got these curtains. They’re white, but not really white, you know? Like, maybe they’re ivory. Or cream. Or something really exotic like Madagascar vanilla.”

  “Vanilla beans are brown,” Hazard snapped. “And I fucking get it.”

  “But I’m just not sure what the exact shade is, so I’d probably better go back and spend another five or ten days watching. Really lock it in, you know?”

  “Do that,” Hazard said. “Stay the fuck out of my way.”

  “Hey, asshole, just because you can’t keep your fucking mouth shut when police are doing their work, that’s not my fault.”

  “If you did your work, I wouldn’t have to get involved.”

  “Fuck off,” Dulac said, a flush backlighting his freckles. “You come in here, sneaking around like you’re trying to get to your prom date’s bedroom. Next time I catch you? I’m going to throw your fucking ass in a cell, and I won’t give a fuck that you’re my partner’s boyfriend.”

  Hazard wondered if he could put a stapler through Dulac’s eye so hard that it hammered out the back of his skull. Dulac, for his part, seemed to realize he’d made a mistake; the flush darkened, and his chin dipped, but he didn’t break his gaze.

  “What?” Somers said.

  “Nothing,” Dulac said. “I’m pissed and I’m being an asshole.”

  “You were in here?” Somers said. “Sneaking around? When?”

  “I don’t sneak,” Hazard said.

  “Dude,” Dulac said. “Drop it. I said something stupid. I was just talking out of my ass.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Somers said. “You came in here and talked to Savanna. While she was still in jail.”

  “John, listen, I—”

  But to Hazard’s surprise, Somers rounded on Dulac, one finger jabbing into Dulac’s chest.

  “Ow,” Dulac said, falling back a step. “Jesus, dude, you’ve got, like, sharp nails.”

  “I expect this kind of behavior from him, ok? It’s like an addiction. But, you, fuck, you’re my partner. You fucking lie to me again, and we’re done.”

  “Dude,” Dulac said, massaging his chest. “I didn’t lie. Not, um, exactly. I just didn’t tell you I ran into Emery. And it’s fine. It’s totally cool. We worked it out between us.”

  “Technically, he’s right,” Hazard said. “It’s not even a lie of omission because you didn’t ask him if I had been in the station.” Hazard thought he could taste dog shit when he added, “And he’s right: it’s fine. We worked it out.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Somers said, stabbing a finger at Dulac aga
in, although this time Dulac managed to avoid him. Then, turning on Hazard, Somers repeated, “Shut the fuck up.” Then, raking both hands through his hair again, he looked at the ceiling. “Sweet baby Jesus, why am I stuck with these two enormous fuck-ups in my life?”

  “Bro, you’re overreacting. Everything’s cool. Emery and I are, like, tight.”

  “Don’t talk.”

  “Bro—”

  “Don’t talk.”

  “John, in the first place, it’s ridiculous to pray to baby Jesus since the whole point of the Bible is that Jesus grew up to be an adult. In the second place, it’s ridiculous to pray at all, since the whole point of prayer is—”

  Somers had slowly dropped his head until he was looking at Hazard.

  Hazard suddenly forgot what he had been explaining.

  “Don’t.” Somers smiled after the word, and then it vanished again. “Talk.”

  Then he sat down at his desk, logged in to the computer, and started working.

  Dulac and Hazard exchanged a look. Hazard knew that he could be a very stupid man on occasion, but he didn’t want to be particularly stupid, not right then. He decided he was going to let Dulac make the mistake of opening his mouth first. But Dulac’s mouth was set into a frown, and he kept looking at Hazard and then looking at Somers, looking at Hazard, looking at Somers, the ping-ponging obviously meant to communicate some sort of significant message. Whatever it was, it was lost on Hazard.

  After a few moments of those annoyingly significant glances, Dulac seemed to realize that Hazard wasn’t getting the message. He bent over his desk, scribbling something, and then stood and passed Hazard a scrap of paper.

  Hot stuff: take him back to the supply closet and fuck him out of his mind. I stashed some lube behind the paper towels.

  Hazard stared at Dulac. He wanted to crumple the note. He wanted to ask if Dulac was out of his damn mind. But—

  He couldn’t help himself. He grabbed a pen and wrote: Why the fuck did you stash lube in the supply closet?

  Grinning, Dulac dashed out an answer and passed it back.

  There’s this hottie from the college who’s got a major boner for everything police, and a couple times, when I’ve had to work late, I sneak him in the back door. Dude. That’s kind of a pun, you know? Sneak him in the back door.

  This time, Hazard did crumple the note.

  With a sigh, Somers rolled back from the desk. “You can’t be quiet for five minutes?”

  “Hey man,” Dulac said. “We didn’t talk.”

  “Technically—”

  “If you finish that sentence,” Somers said, “I might shoot you. Or scream.”

  Then he walked to the bathroom.

  “Dude,” Dulac breathed, staring first at Somers’s departing figure and then at Hazard.

  “Thanks a fucking lot. You got me in trouble.”

  “Dude!”

  “Be quiet.”

  “Is ‘shoot you’ code? Is that like, you know, laying pipe or something? Jesus, dude. He’s going to fucking give it to you tonight.”

  “Be quiet, or I really will kill you.”

  For some reason, the threat seemed to work better coming from Hazard. Dulac’s eyes got really wide, and after a few sidelong glances, he started tapping manically at his keyboard.

  As Somers came back from the bathroom, he paused, drew out his phone, and glanced at the screen. At the same time, something pinged on Dulac’s computer.

  “What?” Hazard said. “What’s happening?”

  “It’s this other case,” Somers said. “The predator, Dennis Tonda. The guy who’s been raping college girls.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s online,” Dulac said with a bemused grin. “He’s chatting with that girl right now.”

  Hazard moved around the desk to study Dulac’s screen. Sure enough, Dulac was signed into a social media interface. A dick pic, taken at a bizarre angle, popped onto the screen with text below: he’s missing you. Then the next picture, the dick slightly more erect. he’s thinking about you.

  “How the hell do you have this kind of access?”

  “Keyboard logger,” Somers said. “And a warrant. Jesus, this asshole has no game.”

  A picture of breasts, taken to show just the hint of nipples, popped up under the screen name mary_sue123. hey cutie!!!! i miss u!!! god ur dick is so hot!

  Another dick pic: ya babe show me more.

  And the exchange went on and on like that. None of the three men did anything; Somers and Dulac seemed like they didn’t even want to risk taking a breath. Hazard watched as the pieces fell into place: the girl’s age (fifteen); the girl’s address (on the edge of town); the girl’s hesitation, followed by Tonda’s reassurances (that he loved her, that he wanted to be with her).

  The conversation ended with a date: that night, at eleven, because mary_sue123’s mom would be working third shift at the Tegula plant.

  “Got him,” Dulac said, spinning away from the desk and pumping a fist.

  “Damn,” Somers said. “Ok, I guess we’ve got to handle this tonight.”

  “This is good,” Hazard said. “You’ve got a lead on this son of a bitch, and you’ve got evidence that he’s arranging sexual encounters with minors. Tonda just dropped his prosecution in your lap.”

  “But we’re going to have to press pause on the other investigation.”

  “Not really; I’ll just take a picture of Wesley to Hoffmeister’s neighborhood and start canvassing. It won’t be a problem.”

  “I want to do that with you.”

  “That’s stupid. There are three of us; you two need to take care of another investigation. Fine. I’ll work on the Hoffmeister case in the meanwhile.”

  “No, I don’t want you going down there alone.”

  “I’m an official consultant on this case.”

  “We’re talking about a murderer, Ree. And we’re talking about an official investigation. If we’re going to canvass, I’ll find some uniforms and send them door to door with the picture. Or you can wait until I get back, and we can do it tomorrow.”

  “You’re being stupid about this. I’m perfectly capable of canvassing—”

  “Jesus Christ, Ree, it’s my investigation. Can’t you just do what I tell you?”

  Silence. Then heat grew in Hazard’s cheeks like the words had clipped him at thirty miles an hour. “Do what you tell me?”

  “That’s not what I meant. Damn it. Yes, actually, it is. This is my investigation. You’re a consultant. I want to do my job, Ree, and I want you to do yours. I don’t want to have to worry that you’re going to run off and get hurt or—” Somers stopped. He didn’t slap his hand over his mouth to keep the rest of it from spilling out, but the whole production was pretty damn close.

  “Or fuck up your investigation.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Somers’s gaze darted to Dulac, who was staring at them with huge eyes.

  “Don’t you have something to do?” Hazard snapped.

  Dulac shot out of his chair and disappeared down the hall.

  “Fine,” Hazard said. “I’ll walk home.”

  “You can take my car; we’ll pick up the van tomorrow.”

  “No, I’ll walk.”

  “It’s freezing. Come on—” Somers was working the keys out of his pocket. “I’ll walk you out and—”

  Hazard buried his hands in his pockets and walked out of the stationhouse. The cold swirled around him: first like the tide, catching his ankles near the door, and then swirling around him like a whirlpool. It had force and spin; Hazard thought his heels came up once or twice because the cold was pulling on him so hard. Above him, a few stars glittered like ice.

  Behind him, the door opened. Footsteps clicked out on frozen cement.

  But whoever he was, he didn’t say anything, and the footsteps stopped after a few yards, and Hazard kept walking.

  A few minutes of brisk walking ge
nerated heat, but it was December, and the night was cold. Hazard’s ears and nose tingled; his cheeks stung, as though scraped raw. He remembered being young and stupid at college. He remembered raising his hand, interrupting his professor, saying something that had seemed relevant, something about Cohen’s Neo-Marxism. And he remembered the cool, controlled contempt in the professor’s eyes. The brittle edge of the response. He didn’t even remember what the woman had said. Something that had left him like this, fists shaking in his pockets, his cheeks burning, like he’d had his ass paddled and been sent to stand in the corner.

  First thing in the morning, he was dropping the job. Somers and Dulac could finish the investigation, and Hazard would send a final invoice to the Wahredua PD and close their account. That would mean returning the remainder of their retainer, which would be a bitch, but it would be better than doing nothing at all. It would be better, by far, than Somers’s voice when he said, Can’t you just do what I tell you?

  Hazard was halfway home when his phone rang. He took it out, considered it, and thought about throwing the phone out into the darkness. Or dropping it. Crushing it under one heel. Then, after a careful breath, he answered and said, “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

  On the other end of the line, a man’s breathing broke its rhythm. Then, Sheriff Engels, whose son had died in Hazard’s arms less than two months before, said, “I know.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  Another slight arrhythmia in the breath, but nothing more.

  “I’ve had a few cases. And Evie came down with something. And there’s always a mountain of paperwork, even when I’m not earning jack shit.”

  “Work will eat you up,” Engels said. “Doesn’t matter the job.”

  “That’s the fucking truth.”

  “I’d still like you to come out there with me.”

  “I said I would, didn’t I? I’ve just been busy. Listen, I’ve got to—”

  “Hold on, Emery. That’s not why I called. Is John-Henry with you? I guess I should say Detective Somerset; this is an official matter, after all.”

  Official matter. Hazard thought about the sting in his cheeks. The walk home in the dark. The stars like ice. The cold dragging on him like it meant to rip him up off the ground.