Hastings looked at the copy of the petition that named him as a defendant. The City of St. Louis had also been named as a defendant. The suit had been filed in federal court and it made allegations of violations of constitutional rights and of state law. It was eighteen pages long. Hastings began paging through it, reading pieces of the story it told, the bad things he had done to the plaintiff.

Chief Grassino said, “Is this the first time you’ve seen this?”

“Yes,” said Hastings, flicking ahead to the last page. At the end the plaintiff demanded a sum in excess of ten million dollars in compensatory and punitive damages. “I see it. I don’t quite believe it.”

“You’ll probably get served personally today or tomorrow. It’s a psych game. They want you to be scared, having a lawsuit handed to you.”

“I’m being sued,” Hastings said. He still couldn’t comprehend it.

“I’ve been sued plenty of times,” the chief said. “It’s not that big a deal. You want to work in law enforcement, you’re going to get sued. It’s the way it is these days. Your first time?”

“Yes.”

“Try not to let it upset you.”

Chief Mark Grassino was in his mid fifties, about fifteen years older than Hastings. He was lean and fit and he looked good in the uniform which he wore for funerals and photo ops. He had the look of a leader. Grassino had been chief of the St. Louis Police Department for only a few years, having spent most of his law enforcement career in Atlanta. Grassino and Hastings were not exactly friends. They did not socialize together off duty or exchange chit-chat. But Hastings respected him and more or less liked him. Hastings had been a police officer long enough to know that every police chief is to some degree a politician and that solid friendships with such men are usually illusory.

Hastings said, “It lists me and the City as defendants. No one else.”

Chief Grassino spared him the insult of pretending to re-examine the petition. He looked across his desk and said, “Yeah.”

“So you didn’t get sued,” Hastings said.

“No. Would you be happier if I did?”

“No,” Hastings said. Which was probably a lie and they both knew it. Misery takes comfort in company, particularly on the receiving end of a lawsuit.

The chief sensed his anxiety and said, “Look, I asked you to come here so I could tell you about it personally. I could have just given it to your captain and told her to tell you.”

“I know,” Hastings said. He realized he was supposed to be grateful. But somehow gratitude was not something he could express right now. He still was having trouble taking this all in. A man murders a twelve year old girl and grievously wounds her mother. The victims are his stepdaughter and ex-wife, respectively. He somehow escapes conviction and then sues the police. It didn’t seem real.

After a moment, Hastings managed to say, “Why me?”

“You were the lead detective on the case. You sat at the table with the prosecution team during the trial. Their table rep. It was your baby. Bradbury didn’t sue the prosecutors because they have absolute immunity by law.”

“Don’t I have immunity too?”

“You have what’s known as qualified immunity. You may have.”

“May have?”

“George, it’s a complicated legal issue. I’m not a lawyer. Listen, you’re not on your own here. The City’s lawyers are going to defend you. They’ll have to, as you were acting in the scope of your employment.”

“Well, that’s nice.”

“I know how you feel. I’ve been there before. You get sued and you take it personally.”

“Wouldn’t you take it personally?”

“Yeah, but…that’s not the point. With a man like Ryan Bradbury, you shouldn’t be surprised he would do this. He is a vindictive, evil man. Without remorse, without shame.”

But with a lot of money, Hastings thought.

Ryan Bradbury was one of four sons of the late Cole Bradbury, a man who had made a fortune in the hotel business. The Bradbury holdings did not put them on the Forbes 400 list, but conservative estimates of the family’s net worth were around sixty million dollars. Like many sons of wealth, Cole Bradbury’s boys had not amounted to much. Ryan, who was the youngest, turned out to be a monster.

Ryan Bradbury had been trouble from the start. A short man of stocky build, he was known to frequent the clubs of St. Louis with a couple of bodyguards. Anyone who dared to insult him or not show him what he believed was due deference would find themselves roughed up by his men. If criminal charges were filed, they were soon dropped after threats were made or people were paid off. When it came to women, Ryan Bradbury did the beating himself. His girlfriends all seemed to have trouble falling down stairs. Despite his violent reputation, he never suffered from a shortage of female companionship. He was rich and powerful and women were drawn to him. His father retained some control over him while he was alive. But after the father died, Ryan felt free to marry. He had a taste for wild blondes with big tits and trashy exteriors.

At the age of thirty-eight, he selected a divorcee from Granite City, Illinois. Her name was Rana McElroy and she had what Ryan was looking for. She was married to a car dealer in South County and she was bored with her upper middle class life. Ryan called her Rana Redlight and told her she was the prettiest girl he’d ever known. He took her on trips to Bimini and Aspen and Paris and gave her diamonds and BMW’s. He paid for surgeries that made her nose smaller and her chin more pronounced and her bust bigger. (Even though Rana’s friends believed her boobs were already oversized.) Rana left the auto dealer and married Ryan. She brought with her to the marriage a daughter who was ten years old. The girl’s name was Tonya and her parents always called her Toni.

Two years of beatings persuaded Rana Bradbury she had made a bad choice. She filed for divorce and persuaded a judge to grant a temporary order giving her the house during the divorce proceedings. A month after the judge granted that order, Ryan Bradbury tried to kill Rana.

He lay in wait at the house while Rana was on a date. He hid in the kitchen, the lights off, a .357 revolver in his hand. Perhaps he was genuinely surprised when Toni walked into the kitchen instead of Rana. In any event, he shot Toni in the face and then in the chest. Dragged her body into the living room and waited for the girl’s mother. He shot at Rana Redlight three times, hitting her twice. He had not brought anymore ammunition. Rana ran to her car and locked herself inside and Ryan Bradbury took off.

Toni McElroy died. Her mother survived. Lieutenant George Hastings was assigned the homicide and after taking Rana’s statement, arrested Ryan Bradbury.

Hastings was surprised that Bradbury tried to take a swing at him. But he dodged the punch and made a point of cuffing Bradbury himself. Bradbury said, “Do you know who I am?” And Hastings told him to shut up and read him his rights. Then Bradbury turned and gave him some sort of Jimmy Cagney look and said, “You’re going to find out.”

To Hastings, Ryan Bradbury was just another punk. A forty year old boy who had never grown up and liked to smack women around and was willing to kill them if he thought he couldn’t control them. Bradbury was a loser and a homicidal misfit and money wasn’t going to change that.

But Hastings had underestimated what money could buy. Millions for defense, none for tribute. Bradbury hired a lawyer named Simon Cray and paid him a half million dollar retainer. Things went bad from there. The case was assigned to one of those judges who means well but is not especially bright or perceptive. The judge was a political appointee, a nice man who got along with just about everybody. A man who, at heart, could not quite comprehend how a rich white man from a good family could commit murder. The judge was no match for Simon Cray.

The defense’s strategy was clear from the beginning: demonize Rana Bradbury. She was, after all, the only witness. Bradbury had murdered the other one. Simon Cray brought up evidence of Rana’s drug use and promiscuity and the dubious, sometimes criminal history of some of her lovers. The number of men she had let stay overnight at the house. Who knew how many people had access to that house? Rana Bradbury was a slut. A greedy, coke-snorting whore.

The judge donned a thoughtful, considerate face and let all this “evidence” in. The jury, unconsciously or consciously, thought there must be a good reason for it. The focus shifted from the murder of a twelve year old girl to the character of her mother.

Hastings testified, mostly about the physical evidence. His voice broke when he talked about seeing Toni McElroy’s body. He did not tell the jury that the sight of her made him think of his own daughter. The defense attorney rolled his eyes, trying to signal to the jury that Hastings was performing. Ryan Bradbury just smiled at him.

Ryan Bradbury never took the stand. The jury took two hours to acquit him.

Hastings would remember the sight of the trial judge smiling at Bradbury and his lawyer, the three of them talking about a restaurant they liked. He wondered if he could get away with punching the judge.

Now Bradbury and his lawyer were suing him.

Chief Grassino said, “George, the suit isn’t going to go anywhere. They’re doing this because the girl’s father is going to file a wrongful death suit against Bradbury. They want to create a distraction.”

“I just can’t believe they can do this,” Hastings said. “After what he did.”

“You got a hundred and fifty dollars, you can file a lawsuit.”

“But the man murdered a child. And now he’s suing me?”

“He can do it.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then the chief said, “I don’t mean he can win it. I mean he can file it.”

Hastings sighed. “What happens now?”

“The City Attorney’s office will be in touch with you.”

“All right.”

Hastings stood up to leave.

“George?”

“Yeah.”

“We do try to take care of our own here. My opinion, I think you should take a couple of days off. You’ve got some comp time coming, don’t you?”

“Plenty.” Hastings became defensive. “Why? Do I look like I need to take time off?”

“No one’s saying that. But I want you to know that the best of us can get burned out and need some rest. You’ve been doing this long enough to understand that.”

“Are you ordering me to take a couple of days off?”

“No,” the chief said firmly. He didn’t like being pushed anymore than Hastings did. “It’s a suggestion, nothing more. Okay?”

“Yes sir,” Hastings said. Though he didn’t seem grateful for the advice.