Megan
Those of us who’d worked the Fourth of July celebration had been given the fifth off, and I’d intended to take full advantage of it by sleeping in until noon. Unfortunately, my partner had other plans. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, the sky still hazy with an orangey-pink glow, when Brigit slid down from the bed and woofed softly to wake me. Woof.
“Please, Brigit,” I moaned. “You went out at two A.M. Can’t you hold it?” I pulled the sheet up over my head.
I’d nearly fallen back asleep when she woofed again, louder and more insistently. Woof!
I pulled the pillow over my head now, but it wasn’t enough to drown her out.
Woof! Woof!
I tossed off the covers, sat up, and glared at her. “Next time you’re napping I’m getting even.”
I climbed out of bed and let her out the back door. Knowing she wouldn’t be satisfied with just a potty break, I set about fixing her breakfast, spooning some wet food into a bowl for my partner to enjoy. As if the dog weren’t pesky enough, my roommate’s fluffy calico cat leaped up onto the counter and nudged my hand with her nose, feline code for feed me now or I’ll hork up a hairball in your closet. Rolling my eyes, I retrieved a can of her wet food from the cabinet and set about filling her bowl, too. I pushed it to the back of the counter where she could eat in peace without Brigit trying to steal her meal.
After letting the dog back inside, I looked from one of the furry beasts to the other. “You’re really the ones in charge, aren’t you?”
They both cut me looks that said if I was just now figuring that out I was behind the curve.
“’Mornin’.” The five-feet-eleven-inch Amazon that was my roommate Frankie slunk into the room, her spiky blue hair sticking up in all directions. “What’s for breakfast?”
“I gotta feed you now, too?”
She dropped into a seat at the table. “It would be nice.”
I scoffed, but it was halfhearted and we both knew it. Frankie had taken me and Brigit in when I’d had no luck finding a house to rent that was both suitable and affordable. She’d taken a chance on us, having known us for only the fifteen minutes it had taken for me to nearly run her over in my squad car, discover she’d been dumped by her boyfriend, and return to the house to prevent her boyfriend from taking the television she’d helped pay for.
Luckily, things had worked out well for both of us. Brigit now had a nice yard to play and poop in, and I no longer had an upstairs neighbor with a prostate problem who flushed his toilet all night long or a bastard landlord who refused to fix anything until the apartment complex nearly burned down. Frankie gained a new friend and a guard dog to keep her, her cat, and her valuables safe. Of course the most valuable things she owned were the TV I’d mentioned and the Luigino Atom Matrix skates she used to play roller derby. Those skates cost nearly five hundred dollars.
I fixed Frankie a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and made a bowl of organic granola for myself.
Frankie had been working as a nighttime stocker in a grocery store and still trying to figure out her life plan when Seth suggested she might enjoy the physical challenges of being a firefighter. It was as if a lightbulb had gone off in her head. She’d immediately applied for a position and was currently working her way through the required training, which took several weeks.
“What’s up in training today?” I asked her.
“More physical testing,” she said. “They’re also making us climb an aerial ladder today. Gotta make sure we’re not afraid of heights.”
“You’ll do great. You’re not afraid of anything.”
“That’s not true.” She smirked. “I’m afraid the Fort Worth Whoop Ass might lose this weekend’s bout against the Sherman She-Devils.”
As we ate, my cell phone pinged with an incoming text. It was from Seth. Up yet? Dog park?
I texted him back. We’ll be ready in half an hour. It was crazy early, sure, but if we didn’t get the dogs to the park by eight o’clock, it would be too hot for them to run around and play.
I finished my cereal and rinsed the bowl in the sink, leaving Frankie at the table with Zoe on her lap. I showered, washing my own back this time around, and dressed in shorts, a tank top, and sneakers. Seth came to the door as I was rounding up my dog park bag, which held a cooler of cold water, a plastic bowl, and an assortment of throw toys including a Frisbee, a tennis ball, and squeaky squirrel. No need for me to call Brigit. She’d heard Seth’s car pull up and was already at the front door, sniffing at the bottom and wagging her tail as if to say Our dates are here!
As we stepped onto the porch, Brigit and Blast greeted each other with a playful tussle that ended up with Blast on his back and Brigit hovering over him, chewing affectionately on his neck. Seth and I did essentially the same, though our tussle culminated in a kiss. Much less slobber.
Seth rested his forehead on mine, his green eyes looking into mine. “How about another shower before we go?”
“I’ve had two in the last six hours. I’m plenty clean.”
A grin tugged at his lips. “I could get you dirty.”
I pushed him back. “Behave yourself.”
He raised his palms in surrender. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
He took the bag from me and stashed it in the trunk while I loaded the dogs into the back of his seventies-era Nova. The muscle car sported blue paint with bright orange flames down the side and license plates that read KABOOM, apropos for a member of the city’s bomb squad.
Once the dogs were situated, we humans slid into the front, sitting side by side on the bench seat. My skin stuck to the duct-taped vinyl, but it was a small price to pay to get to sit thigh to thigh with Seth.
Seth pulled into the dog park, taking a spot near the chain-link fence that enclosed the area. As Blast and Brigit descended from the backseat, an adorable rust and white papillon rushed the fence, barking up a storm.
“Hello, Lady!” I called to the dog.
Lady Fenton was one of Brigit’s dog park pals and seven pounds of pure attitude. I think that’s why Brigit liked the fluffy little dog so much. A Rottweiler or mastiff had sheer size on their side, and all they had to do to look tough was stand up. But for a tiny little thing like Lady to show no fear among dogs ten or more times her size was truly courageous.
I raised a hand to her owner, who offered a friendly smile.
We let Brigit and Blast in through the double gates, and they joined with Lady, trotting off to greet their buddies and make the acquaintance of the dogs they hadn’t met before.
Seth and I found a spot to stand in the shade of a live oak. There, we did the same things the dogs had done—greeted the people we recognized and introduced ourselves to those we didn’t. We made small talk, the conversation starting with the weather and someone asking the inevitable question, “Hot enough for ya?’”
We all agreed that, indeed, it was hot enough for each of us. A man named Pete who owned a boxer said, “Hell, it’s hot enough for Satan himself!”
A sixtyish man with short and wiry gray hair not unlike that of his schnauzer took a sip from his water bottle and eyed Seth. “That reporter from Dallas with the big bazoombas said some girl nearly died last night at Panther Pavilion. You know anything about that?”
“Little bit,” he said.
“What happened?” he asked. “Was it heatstroke?”
“Sorry,” he replied, “but medical information is confidential. I’m not allowed to talk about that kind of thing.”
The man scowled, insulted.
Brigit loped up, stuck her snout into the bag at my feet, and pulled out the Frisbee. Blast grabbed the other side and the two engaged in a brief tug-of-war until Seth managed to wrangle it away from both of them. He pulled his arm back and sent it sailing across the park. “Go get it!”
He didn’t have to tell them twice. They were off in an instant, kicking up dirt and grass in their determined quest to be the one who snatched the disc out of the air.
Brigit won, circling back and dropping the disc at my feet. I tossed it this time, though my throw didn’t have nearly the reach of Seth’s.
A few minutes later, the dogs flopped down at our feet, tuckered out from the activity and the heat. We offered them some cold water, which they drank with gusto. Slurp-slurp-slurp!
After bidding the group good-bye, Seth and I led the dogs back to the car.
“So,” I said, once we were seated inside, “what happened to the girl?”
“You heard me. That’s private information.”
I snorted. “Right.” He might not be permitted to share private medical information with the general public, but I was a fellow first responder, not to mention his girlfriend.
He cut a look my way and spoke in a whisper, as if that somehow negated his breach of confidentiality. “She’s still in the hospital. Bad reaction to Molly.”
“Molly?” Dammit! She—or someone who’d sold her the drug—had sneaked it past the K-9 units. I knew we couldn’t be everywhere, and that people possessing drugs would take pains to avoid the K-9 teams, but it still rankled. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Who knows,” he said on a sigh. “Last I heard it wasn’t looking good.”
I closed my eyes for a moment. No doubt the girl’s parents were going through hell right now. The kids who took these drugs didn’t seem to realize the risk they were taking, the danger they were putting themselves in, that they were essentially practicing medicine on themselves without the benefit of a medical school education and a regulated pharmaceutical company producing the drug. They might as well be playing Russian roulette.
We returned to my house and spent a lazy day on the couch watching movies, sometimes using our dogs for pillows, other times being used as pillows by our dogs. Though my eyes were glued to the screen, my mind was in that hospital room with the young girl I’d seen being loaded into the ambulance. Would she survive? If she did, would she have permanent brain or organ damage?
* * *
The same questions still ran through my mind when I arrived at work shortly before eight Thursday morning. I stepped up to the front desk to consult with Melinda, a fortyish blue-eyed, bushy-haired blonde who served as the W1 Division’s office manager/administrative guru/receptionist. Melinda was the cog around which the entire division circled, the scheduler, the keeper of information, the guardian of the key to the supply closet. In other words, the rest of us might carry guns and night sticks, but she wielded the real power.
“Good morning, Melinda,” I greeted her. “Can you print me out a copy of the arrest report on Graham Hahn?”
“I could,” she replied. “But what’s the point?”
“What do you mean?”
“I was here when Officer Mackey brought the kid in. We had to let him go. Somewhere between Panther Pavilion and the station Derek lost the evidence.”
My mind took a second to process that piece of information before my mouth cried, “He what?!?”
“You heard me,” the no-nonsense Melinda replied. “The drugs were gone. Hahn was released. End of story.”
“But Hahn had thousands of dollars’ worth of pills!” I cried, as if that could somehow make the evidence materialize. “He wasn’t just using the drugs. He was selling them!”
“Yet they’re still gone,” Melinda said. “Now can I get back to my other work or is there something else I can help you with?”
“No,” I told her, fuming so hard it was a wonder flames weren’t shooting out of my nostrils. “That’s all I need. Thanks for the information.”
She angled her head to indicate the hallway to my left and spoke under her breath. “Derek’s in the men’s room if you want to give him some hell.”
“Oh, you know I do!”
I stormed down the hall and positioned myself across from the men’s room door with my back to the wall, Brigit sitting at my feet. When the door swung open a moment later and Derek stepped out, I was on him in a heartbeat, my face only inches from his. “You lost evidence and botched my arrest? How could you!”
He frowned, but was otherwise nonchalant. “The drugs either fell out of my pocket or I accidentally threw them away with some other trash. As they say, shit happens.”
Shit happens? That’s his response? While Derek worked as a training officer on occasion, he’d been flying solo for the past few weeks. Too bad. If he’d had a partner or trainee with him, maybe he or she would’ve kept a closer eye on the drugs and prevented them from being misplaced.
“So that’s a ‘yes,’ then?” I demanded. “You admit you screwed up?”
The Big Dick stiffened and glared down at me. “You best step back, Megan.”
“Don’t tell me to step back!” I snapped. “There’s a girl in the hospital clinging to life, Derek! She was at Panther Pavilion and had a bad reaction to Molly. There’s a chance she bought it from Hahn. And now he’s gotten off scot-free!”
He waved a dismissive hand. “That boy isn’t the only one dealing Molly in Fort Worth. Hell, he probably wasn’t the only one selling Molly at the pavilion. Besides, if anyone’s to blame, it’s you and little miss sniffy.” He gestured to Brigit. “You two were supposed to catch anyone trying to bring drugs into the event and that little pecker-head snuck right past you at the gate. Now get off my ass and get out of my way.”
I got off his ass, but I didn’t get out of his way. Nonetheless, he circled around me and stalked down the hall and out of the building to begin his shift.
“Bastard,” I muttered after him.
The guy was infuriating, mostly because he kind of had a point. It was the job of the K-9 teams to find drugs. Even if the Big Dick hadn’t lost the evidence and Graham Hahn was sitting in jail right now, the girl would still be in the hospital, hooked up to God knows what machines.
Just after Derek went out the door, Detective Audrey Jackson entered through them. Detective Jackson was in her early forties, with dark skin and hair she wore in short, perky braids. She’d taken me under her wing and allowed me to assist in an unofficial capacity in a couple of her investigations. She knew I hoped to make detective one day, and she’d become a wonderful mentor for me.
She raised a brow. “Why do you look like you want to hit something?”
Apparently my Irish temper was showing itself. “Because I found out Derek lost critical evidence in one of my arrests.”
“The Hahn case?”
“Yep,” I growled.
“About that,” she said quietly, angling her head to indicate her office down the hall. “Let’s talk.”
I followed her down the hall, Brigit’s nails click-click-clicking on the tile floor as we went. Jackson held the door open for me and my partner, closing it once we were inside. I took a seat in one of the chairs facing her desk while she dropped into the rolling chair behind it.
She eyed me intently. “You think Derek really lost those drugs?”
I wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at, but her question gave me an uneasy feeling. “As opposed to what?”
She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “As opposed to keeping the drugs himself, or maybe selling them.”
No beating around the bush. That was one of the many things I respected about the detective. She didn’t waste anyone’s time, especially her own.
I felt my eyes widen of their own accord. “You think Derek stole the drugs?”
She gave me a patient smile. “I’m asking you that question, Megan. You recently spent months as his partner. Aside from the chief, you probably know him better than anyone on this force.”
What she was really asking was whether I thought Derek could be a crooked cop. My mind tossed the thought around, tried it on for size. Derek Mackey was a jackass, no doubt about that. He was rude to both his coworkers and suspects. He didn’t use enough deodorant and was in constant need of a breath mint. He liked to bang his dick and had been rougher than necessary with some of the people he’d arrested. His reports looked like they’d been written by a second-grader. His grammar was deplorable, his vocabulary limited, and he’d never mastered the rules of punctuation. He— Wait. Where am I going with this? Oh, yeah. Derek was a very big, very pointy thorn in my side, not to mention an absolute asshole. But a crooked cop? I shook my head. “No. No, I don’t think he stole the drugs. I think he’s a sloppy cop, not a bad one.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgment. “All right, then. I know I can count on you to give me an honest opinion.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
She gave me another patient smile. “Just because I’m sure you’re being honest doesn’t mean I’m sure you’re right. Opinion and fact are two different things.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Way to burst my bubble.”
“I’m only being honest, too. I know that’s what you want.”
She had me there.
She leaned forward, picked up the stapler from her desk, and brandished it. “Between you, me, and the stapler here,” she said in a quiet voice, “this isn’t the first time Mackey has lost evidence.”
Uh-oh. A warning tingle began to make its way up my spine. Unfortunately, more than a few members of law enforcement had been caught pilfering drug evidence to feed their own addictions. Still, Derek and I had been partners for months. I’d gotten to know the guy well. Too well, really. Derek had been known to have a few too many beers now and then when out with the boys, but nothing he’d ever said or done had hinted at any sort of illegal drug use. On the other hand, people could hide their addictions well, especially when the consequences of others finding out would be great. “The other lost evidence,” I said, “was it drugs, too?”
“No,” she said, “it was cash. Two grand, to be exact. It was years ago, when he was new on the job. He and his training partner busted a guy for selling stolen merchandise out of his apartment. Derek claims he left the cash behind on the kitchen counter, but it wasn’t there when they went back.”
“Was it possible someone else had a key to the apartment? Maybe the fence’s friend or girlfriend or family member went in and took the money.”
“It’s possible,” she said, “which is why Derek was given only a stern lecture and was allowed to keep his job. Every cop makes mistakes on occasion, and there was enough stolen property seized to convict the guy three times over.”
Unlike the current case, where the loss of evidence ended any chance of prosecution, the misplaced cash hadn’t prevented the lawbreakers from being prosecuted. Good thing.
“His stats are down, too,” Jackson said. “Over the last month, he’s issued fewer citations and made the least number of arrests of any officer in W1.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s crooked,” I said. “It probably just means he’s lazy.”
Derek didn’t like the day-to-day grunt work that came with being a cop. I knew that for a fact because, when we’d been partners, he’d made me handle all of the boring, routine stuff. Rather, he lived for the large news-making busts, the ones that posed the potential for both violence and heroism. He liked to go toe-to-toe with criminals, to bust heads. Issuing a speeding ticket to a soccer mom who was running late picking her kids up from practice was something he considered beneath him. I told Jackson as much. Not that any of this excused his behavior. But it did explain it.
“What you say may be true,” she agreed, “but he’s got to do his job, whether he thinks these things are beneath him or not. He might be Chief Garelik’s golden boy, but numbers don’t lie. If Mackey’s stats don’t improve, he’s going to have to answer for them. Captain Leone’s ready to go head-to-head with the chief if necessary.”
“Is Derek aware of this?” I asked.
“Oh, hell, yeah,” she said. “The captain called him in and they had a come-to-Jesus meeting.”
With any luck, Derek would see the light and change his ways, stop leaving the routine police work to the rest of us.
“Getting back to the matter at hand,” Jackson continued, “once I check my voice and e-mails, I’m off to the hospital. Gonna see what I can get out of Miranda Hernandez. She’s the girl who collapsed at Panther Pavilion. Hopefully she’ll tell me who she bought the Molly from so we can get a bust out of this.”
“I was there when the ambulance t-took her away,” I said. “I saw the EMTs speak with a tall, skinny guy with dark hair and a girl with wavy red hair. They looked pretty freaked out. The girl was crying. I’d planned to check in with them, but they left before I had a chance.”
She offered a harrumph that said when people don’t stick around a crime scene, there’s usually a reason. “You think you could identify them?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I only got a quick look and the lighting wasn’t good.”
“I’ll see if the EMTs got their names,” she said. “You best get out on the road now. This city needs you and your partner on the job.”
I stood and led Brigit to the door. “Have a good day, Detective!” I called back over my shoulder.
Officer Hinojosa drifted past in the hall, good-naturedly muttering, “Suck-up.”
I blew him a raspberry. Pffft.