By the time Ben arrived, every officer who worked for Newberg PD was in the building. For most, the experience of an officer being shot was something new, but Ben called on his years at Oakland PD and took a leadership role. He visited with his fellow cops and spoke of solidarity. No bad thoughts. Tia was strong. Others took solace from his words, and there were no references to the case against Alex or Ben’s current suspension. The fact that Jorgensen was nowhere to be found was lost on no one. Ben could feel the rekindling of a connection. He moved to his old office that had been taken over by Plate Boyd. He gave some thought to driving to Danville himself but realized it would only hinder the investigation. He’d just have to wait. He sat for hours, talking with a few officers that stopped in. Trying to offer encouragement. Finally Boyd returned.
As soon as the older man walked in, Ben could see that the rotund sergeant was caving under the pressure of current circumstances. Plate willingly gave up the details of the case, and it seemed to Ben that Plate was looking for some guidance.
“This is a tough one. You doing okay?” Ben asked.
Plate sat in silence. Looking at Ben, he shrugged his shoulders as if to signal early defeat.
“If I were you, I’d let Danville do the work,” Ben said, trying to sound encouraging. “Our guys should just work parallel. Multijurisdictional cases are always complicated; just try to keep everyone on the same page. I mean, obviously you want to be in the loop on everything, and if Tia was down there on a duty-related issue, we’ve got a responsibility to her. We need to make sure they do right by her.”
Ben paused, then asked the obvious question. “Any idea what she was doing in Danville?”
“Seems like they were talking about a local case,” Plate said. “Some hooker who got beat to death with a ball bat. The case file was found at the scene.”
Plate looked at Ben with an air of nervous inquisitiveness. “You know anything about that? Why Suarez would be poking her nose around in Danville?”
Ben thought back to his conversation with Tia and decided to be up front about what he knew.
“Tia came by my house this morning.” Ben looked at his watch and saw it was after one A.M. “Technically, yesterday. She wanted to talk about Alex’s case; she was zeroed in on the nine one one call that came into the PD the night Carson was murdered. She wanted to try to ID the caller. I told her to hold off on it. Anyway, even if she didn’t listen to me, why Danville?”
Boyd was shaking his head as Ben went on. “Something must have developed. Something got her down there. The detective she was with—I’m betting he was the one working the local homicide?”
“Yeah.” Boyd seemed reluctant. “Real hot-shot guy. Worked Chicago PD for most of his career. Even worked lead on a couple of big-time mob cases. Made a lot of enemies. Transferred to this sleepy little town to get away from it all. Looks like somebody decided to track him down. From what everyone down there said, he was a hell of a cop.”
“How bad was it?” Ben asked, not really wanting to know the answer but certain that he had to, in order to understand what had happened.
“They got caught flat-footed, that’s for sure. Both their guns were still holstered. Whoever this bastard was, he went at ’em with what looks to be a three-eighty. No brass left behind, so we’re figuring a revolver. Seale, the Danville detective, he took two at close range to the back of his head. I don’t imagine he felt a damn thing.” Plate paused, as if taking a moment to contemplate the idea of such an end. His voice grew louder when he went on. “Suarez, by the looks of it, she put up a hell of fight. The ER doc says she took one to the right side that shattered a rib and then got lodged inside somewhere. A second shot was a through-and-through in her gut. From what he said, her vital organs are okay but her blood loss was crazy. They got her to a hospital in about seven minutes. Somehow she was still alive. Last I checked she was hanging in there.”
After a long pause, Ben said, “Tia got wind of something. Something about our case led her to Danville. Whatever it was, it got her shot and this other detective whacked.”
Plate jumped all over the comment like he had been waiting for it. “Horseshit, Ben. This has nothing to do with the murder of Louis Carson.”
“Come on, Plate. Someone is trying to keep us from making a connection between these two murders. What other explanation is there?”
“Like I said, this Seale fella worked the big time. This was a real hit. Even the shot to the face.” Plate was working to dismiss a conclusion Ben could tell he didn’t want to draw. “Well, not the face but the head. Same damn thing. That’s what these OC types do when they want to show disrespect.” The lack of confidence in his voice betrayed him. Ben figured Plate was repeating what he’d heard from someone familiar with the ins and outs of organized crime.
“Anyway, they’re pulling guys in from his old unit in Chicago to work on it. Maybe even state boys from the attorney general’s office. There’s nothing for us to do but stay out of it and wait to hear about Suarez.” Plate tried to put a finishing touch on the conversation. “I think Tia just picked a bad day for a road trip.”
Ben didn’t hold back. “You’re wrong. Whoever shot Tia is the same guy who killed Louis Carson. I’ll bet my life on it.”
Plate’s large body shot from the chair. “Goddamn it, Sawyer. Don’t go making this into something it ain’t.”
“Plate, Tia was at my house, talking about the Carson case, two hours before she got shot. That means after she left my house, she hightailed it for Danville. You’re going to ignore that?”
“What the hell do you want me to do?” Plate looked across the desk. “Ben, I’m sorry, but your wife’s case is closed. It’s headed for trial, and that’s that. I know it’s hard, but you need to come to grips with it.”
Both men fell silent until Plate waived his hands in the air as if signaling surrender. “Hell, I need to get some sleep. This place is gonna be crazy in the morning. Jorgensen told me to handle the press and the investigation. He’s not sure he’ll even be in tomorrow. Can you believe that shit? A cop from his own PD is shot and that prick gets pissed about a wake-up call. I hate dealing with that asshole.”
With his hand on the doorknob, Plate turned to look at Ben. “You gonna be okay? I know having to sit this out is hard. Believe me, I’d love to turn the whole mess over to you.”
Ben stared at the older officer but said nothing. Plate pulled a single sheet of folded paper from his pocket.
“Here,” Plate said. “Danville detectives put it together from witness statements. Something tells me you’re gonna need it more than I will. I can always get another copy.”
Plate tossed the paper onto the desk. Ben saw it was a black-and-white composite sketch. The face was all angles and bone. The eyes were set close, the features handsome but reeking of danger. WANTED FOR MURDER BY DANVILLE PD appeared in bold type across the top.
“But I’m telling you, Ben. You get caught poking around in this mess, Jorgensen will fry your ass. In case you don’t already know, he ain’t particularly fond of you.” Plate left, closing the door firmly behind him.
Left alone, Ben stared hard at the face on the paper. The eyes took on a life and the mouth sneered in defiance.
Who are you?
Ben knew Plate was right. Alex’s case was as good as decided, and it wouldn’t be easy to stop a train that was running at full steam. The shooting of Tia Suarez would be dismissed as irrelevant. He needed more. He had to overwhelm the energy of the state’s case, sink it with an indisputable knockout blow. Alex’s words echoed in his mind: I need you, Benny.
Ben put his hands to his face and tried to rub away his frustration and guilt. His wife needed him. She didn’t want anyone but him. With all that had happened in their lives, she still reached out to him and no one else. Rage forced Ben to his feet. He grabbed the sheet of paper from the desk and stepped into the hallway. Officers, still dazed from the turn of events, stepped aside as their sergeant stared straight ahead, acknowledging no one, and left the building.
In the car, Ben tried to focus. Wild ideas ran through his mind. Everything was a long shot. All of it fraught with risk.
Ben held the composite sketch and stared hard at the face looking back at him before folding the paper and putting it in his pocket. There would be no easy way, but Ben had never asked for that. Any way. Any chance. That’s all he needed.