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Stacy decided to take the stairs to the Homicide Investigations floor. It felt good to walk, and she wanted to prove that despite the hold that thoracic outlet syndrome had on her life, she would never let it decide her fate or future.
When she reached the top of the stairs, another day in homicide had begun. People hummed around the floor, weaving around one another, talking to each other and to nobody at the same time. In between those conversations, the phones rang, and doors to rooms opened and clicked shut.
Stacy walked by her desk. It had been tidied up earlier, but she wanted to take another look to make sure it stayed that way. She looked over to Austin’s desk. He was either out of the office or enjoying a day off. Stacy had been placed on administrative leave to recover physically from her injuries at Fairview Park, and she and Austin hadn’t talked much during that time.
Stacy saw Diana’s office door cracked open at the end of the hallway, a sliver of light coming through and splaying a shadow on the hallway.
“Come in,” the voice inside called out, slightly annoyed.
“Got a minute, Captain?”
With her back to the door and her body bent over at the waist, Diana waved Stacy in. Diana was wearing a red sweater and navy pants. Stacy felt comfortable in her blue pantsuit with a white blouse blooming from inside the jacket. It felt weird to be dressed better than the captain.
Stacy looked around the office. The room was neat and tidy, and many of the folders and papers that always littered Diana’s desk had been removed. Some of them had been filed away in plastic containers behind her desk. Stacy even saw the entire receiver handle attached to the desk phone. That handle was usually littered with taped messages and notes.
Stacy arched an eyebrow. “If this is a bad time, I can come back.”
“It’s not,” Diana said, plopping down in her seat. “Take a seat, Stacy.”
“I’ll stand. I won’t be long.”
Diana peered up through the tops of her eyelids. “Something wrong? You’re supposed to be home, resting.”
Stacy reached behind her and removed her Glock from the holster and her shield and placed them on the captain’s desk.
Diana’s eyes nearly exploded from their sockets. “What the hell is this?”
“I’m leaving the department,” Stacy said. “I’m going to apply for disability.”
Diana huffed and leaned back in her chair, thrumming her fingers at the end of the table.
“Mind telling me why?”
“Because of what happened this morning, in that hearing. I’m in a lot of trouble. I’ve let down the department, myself, and my family.”
Diana eyed the gun and shield at the end of the desk. “Isn’t this a bit of a rash decision? CII is just doing what they have to.” She leaned forward over the desk. “I’m not going to bullshit this, Stacy. The chief is furious over the pay-for-drugs protection racket that Deerfield and Jackson had been running right under our noses. But Stacy, you’re one of the best cops in this department—with an unblemished record.” Diana tossed up a hand and made a nonsensical wave. “That means more than any answers given in a CII hearing.”
Stacy pursed her lips. “I’ve lost perspective, Diana. I put Chance first above everything.”
“That’s called being human and being a big sister.”
Stacy stepped back from the desk and drew an imaginary line in the carpet. “If that’s the line that separates what we do from becoming who we pursue, I had one foot over that line and the other one right against it.”
Diana leaned back in her chair again. “We all make mistakes. This job requires all of us to make split-second decisions, often without all the facts. What happened at the jail with Deerfield was a mistake, but I know you admitted it in that hearing this morning, and you apologized to everyone in this unit.”
“That’s not the point,” Stacy replied, trying to keep her voice even and professional. “This job requires us to see everything in black and white. The Devon Baker case, and now this one, have revealed the shades of gray that are there. I can’t operate here and do it effectively. I’ve got many people inside this department who’ll be furious with me when the details come out about what happened and my role in it.”
Diana and Stacy both let the comment hang, and the silence in the room pooled. Something had moved in the silence between them, which Diana noticed.
“What else is going on, Stacy? There’s something else.” She held up a hand. “And don’t lie and say that there isn’t. I know better than that.”
Stacy’s mind raced back to the time she saw Kendall outside of the captain’s office. Her stomach soured at the thought because he was probably there connecting loose ends and plotting his next moves.
“I came by the office a few weeks ago, and you were out.” Diana uncrossed her arms. “I saw a red folder on the desk. That folder had my name on it—and a note attached to it that said Retirement.”
All the peachy color from Diana’s face drained away. Her features grew slack as she set her jaw.
“I think the plan was eventually to force me into retirement, and these internal investigations are the excuse to make it happen.” Stacy stood at the front of the desk and bent down, facing the captain. “So, please don’t patronize me with statements about my record or value to the department. Moving me along is a way to cover your ass.” Diana looked away and didn’t make eye contact with Stacy. “I’ll be meeting with human resources tomorrow to file the paperwork.”
The captain remained stunned and motionless in her chair. Stacy could feel her eyes boring into her as she left the office, slamming the door behind her.
As she made it back to the elevators, she picked up her phone and called Austin. It went to voicemail. Stacy didn’t leave a message.
The second call she made was to her mother. “Ready?”
“I’m on my way to the station now. Where do you want to go?”
Stacy shrugged as she got onto the elevator. “I don’t know, but I have enough gas in the car to make it West Virginia.”
Melinda let out one of her raspy laughs. “Good enough.”
“I’m going to get some coffee, and I’ll meet you outside.”
Stacy waved at Marty as she went outside the glass doors, dodging plain-clothed citizens and men and women in suits coming inside to continue with the business of the day.
Outside, Stacy walked down Superior Avenue. She wanted to go back to the Starbucks inside Tower City, where she had met Monica DeVito for a conversation that would lead to events that would change her life forever.
As she crossed the street, she passed a small alley between two buildings. From behind her, someone called out her name.
Stacy turned around, recognizing the face. “Hey!”
Her eyes widened in horror as she eyed the barrel of a gun and heard a pop. A flash of white heat and light discharged from the end.
Stacy felt something rip into her stomach. Instinctively, she looked down. She braced her hands near her gut and saw blood soaking through her hands.
Her body went limp, and she felt like someone had let all the air out of her body. Stacy dropped to her knees and looked up. The shooter was gone, and so was the daylight.
Acknowledgments
Writing is often a solitary endeavor, but so many people were involved in making this book a reality.
Thanks to Rogena Mitchell-Jones, Collen Snibson, Elizabeth Tettleton Mason, and Lee Ingram, for reading drafts of the various parts of the book and for offering me feedback.
Special thanks to the public information office with the Cleveland Police Department for allowing me a chance to learn more about their department and to the officers who took time to talk to me and tell me their stories. Some of them, loosely, made it into the book.
Thanks Lisa.
Thanks to the Cuyahoga County Chamber of Commerce and the Cleveland Chamber of Commerce for all the information about the city of Cleveland and thanks to the staff of the Cuyahoga County Public Library for the assistance with locating records and data.
Thank you to my “attorney squad” who helped me understand the law and how it applies to police investigations. Thanks for always answering my procedural questions at 3:00 a.m.
To Bob Johnson, Julie Hensley, Nancy Jensen, and my classmates in the Bluegrass Writers Studio at Eastern Kentucky University, thank you for teaching me what makes a story and for encouraging me to keep writing. Thanks to your support, I can’t stop writing.
To Cathy Teets and Headline Books, thank you for believing in Stacy Tavitt and for allowing her story to continue. I can’t wait to tell more of her stories!
To my friends and family, I love each of you far more than my actions might suggest otherwise.
To Rob, thanks for believing in me and supporting me when I disappeared for days at a time to write.
To the places within and around West Virginia and (Cleveland) Ohio that helped raise me, thanks!
And, finally, to each of you readers: thank you! Time and money are precious commodities in our society. The fact that you spent either or both on this book is heartwarming and please know I do not take it for granted.