“She’s dead.”
“Captain Goh?” Steve says, switching the phone to his other ear and giving the conversation his full attention.
“Are you happy?” Goh says. “Your justice was served, and now Ally Cleason is dead, and Diego Ramirez is gone.”
Steve squeezes his eyes shut as the words pierce in his brain.
“He stalked her, waited to get her alone, then slit her throat and left her in the parking garage beside her car to bleed out.”
Evil trumps good. Steve knows it. He knew it when he called Ally to warn her. He knew it when he was sitting in his car outside Ramirez’s studio.
“But don’t worry, he made sure he said goodbye. On his way out, he smiled at the security camera and gave us the bird.”
He sounds drunk.
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s gone?”
“Of course, he’s gone,” Goh slurs. “The only ones we even have a chance in hell of catching are the stupid ones, and Ramirez isn’t that.”
“There was no choice,” Steve says, the words hollow even to him. “We had to wait until he was guilty of a crime.”
“Is he guilty enough for you now?”
“It’s still not up to me.” The words are laced with acid.
“It was. It was up to you and me. We knew who Ramirez was, and that girl’s death is on us. Not the system, not our forefathers and their deluded vision of justice. Us. We’re to blame.”
“We serve the system,” Steve says, hand clenching the phone so tight it trembles. “It’s not our job to make the rules, only to enforce them. If we don’t, the lines become blurred.”
“Tell that to Ally. Oh, right, you can’t.”
* * *
Steve drives to Chincoteague, buys supplies, and sets sail. The passion that drives him is confused, and he needs to get some perspective.
When he is far enough from the harbor he can no longer see the shore, he drops anchor and drifts. The sun roasts his skin, his stomach rumbles, and the wind blisters his lips, but he pays it no mind, grateful to feel something other than the throbbing in his brain.
For the system to work, it has to be protected. Civilians and cops cannot take justice into their own hands. Yes, some guilty get off, and some innocents get hurt, but society as a whole is better for it, the system not perfect but the best shot we have for not ending up at the mercy of those in power. It’s what safeguards us from becoming a mutinous, violent society ruled by paranoia, prejudice, assumption, and fear. And who is he or Captain Goh or Dr. Richard Raynes to question that?
The arguments make sense, so why does it feel like such a load of idealistic crap?
His job is to protect and serve. The military and his career in law enforcement have drilled that into his head. And when he was in war, he preached it with sincerity to his men, men he led into battle knowing some wouldn’t make it back. The greater good. You needed to believe in it. The understanding that the sacrifices you were making were for something worth saving, the betterment of the country and her future. It was imperative to have confidence that wiser men and higher causes existed and that the orders you were following, staking your life and the lives of others on, served a greater purpose, and to accept, without question, that commands and rules were to be followed regardless of the perceived consequences or price.
Ally Cleason was the price.
This is where the argument falls apart. The price too high . . . too arbitrary . . . too ignored, disregarded, and unappreciated. Dick said it’s the thing that makes America great but also what leaves it vulnerable. Could he be right?
Since their conversation, he’s kept tabs on Dick and his possible future targets, a list of thirty-some recently released pedophiles in his area. Diego Ramirez was on the list. And when Steve realized it, as much as he wants to deny it, he knows part of him wished Dick would do what Goh could not.
Perhaps he’s stayed in the job too long. Maybe it’s time to step down and let someone new take over, someone less hardened to those they’ve sworn to defend.
His life is changing, or maybe it’s him.