Fatal Reckoning (Fatal #14)(50)

For a full minute, Joe’s mind went blank. He couldn’t formulate a single thought that made sense.

“Joe?”

“I’d like to consult with Tom Forrester.” Bringing in the U.S. Attorney would make this a big deal, and he didn’t do that lightly, but what choice did he have?

“Jesus.”

Joe stood, handed the stack of paper to his friend. “Keep digging and see if he called any other time. Check the half-year dates and let me know.”

“I will. Joe…”

“I know. Believe me, I know.” Joe left Jake’s office and returned to his own, walking past Helen, who said something that he acknowledged with a raised hand. She’d worked for him long enough to know when not to disturb him. Closing the door, he leaned back against it, reeling from the discoveries that pointed to his deputy and longtime friend having withheld evidence in a case that had struck so close to home.

They’d all come up together—Holland, Farnsworth, Conklin and Malone. The possibility that one of them could betray the others, as well as the department and city they served, was unfathomable. He wanted to go back to yesterday, before he’d known about it. As he lowered himself into his desk chair, the weight of command sat heavier on his shoulders than it ever had before.

Only one choice existed in this situation. He had to report it or he’d be as guilty as Conklin. As he reached for the extension on his desk, a wave of nausea hit him. This call would lead to an epic scandal that would engulf him and his department. As he battled through the nausea, he thought for a second that he might actually vomit.

He put down the phone, opened a bottle of water from the bagged lunch Marti made for him each day and chugged most of it. As he thought of Skip and the horrific ordeal that had followed the shooting, he focused on breathing through the nausea. Every detail of the day Skip was shot remained vivid in Joe’s memory. From the first call of “Officer down” to endless hours in the hospital waiting to see if Skip would survive the first twenty-four hours, the first forty-eight hours, the first seventy-two hours, every minute an epic battle. Then he’d had a stroke that had left him further diminished.

Through it all, Skip’s resilience and will to live had astounded them all. Joe remembered weeping with Marti over what’d happened to their dear friend, the fear of what could happen to any of them who wore the uniform and the heartbreak of it all. And now this. Confirming that Conklin had known something he hadn’t shared with the rest of them broke Joe’s heart all over again.

Sometimes doing the right thing hurt. This was one of those times.

He picked up the phone, requested an outside line and put through the call to Forrester’s office. “This is Chief Farnsworth with the MPD. I need to see U.S. Attorney Forrester ASAP.”



* * *



ON THE WAY back to HQ from Ninth Street, Sam took a call from Dispatch.

“Holland.”

“Lieutenant, we have a report of one DOA on 12th Street. Witnesses state that the victim was hit by a stray bullet.”

“Detective Cruz and I will respond.” Sam fumed at another delay. Four years of delays, distractions and dead ends. What was one more on top of hundreds of others? She directed the car toward 12th and noted the flashing lights from the Patrol cars that had already arrived on the scene.

The closest she could get was a block from the activity, so she double-parked and put on the hazards before getting out of the car. She flashed her badge to the crowd gathered on the sidewalk. “Let us through.” Sam wanted to ask the gawkers if they’d want someone staring at their dead body on a sidewalk if this had happened to them.

A few of them seemed to recognize her, and a ripple of gasps went through the crowd. When one of the women would’ve stopped her to say something, Sam’s fierce scowl had her thinking better of it. They pushed through the crowd to where a young man in a bloodied shirt and tie lay on the sidewalk. Upon a quick look, Sam could tell he’d been extremely handsome, and the ring on his left hand indicated he was married. The senselessness of it struck her hard, as it always did, knowing someone’s world would be shattered by the loss of this young man.

“What do we know?” Sam glanced up at the male Patrol officer, whom she did not know.

Reading from a notebook, the officer recited the facts. “Patrick Connolly, aged thirty-one, an agent with the DEA, according to a badge found in his pocket.” He offered the man’s home address, which he had found on his driver’s license.

“Sam.” A familiar male voice had her turning to face Darren Tabor, who stared down at the body with a stricken look on his face. “I work with his wife. They…they just got married a few months ago.”

She nodded to Freddie, silently asking him to see to Darren.

“Come on, Darren.” Freddie led him away from the body.

“Let’s get these people out of here,” Sam said to the Patrol officer. “And have you called the ME?”

“Yes, ma’am. She’s on her way.”

Sam took off her jacket and placed it over the dead man’s face. “If I see pictures of this man anywhere online, I’ll hunt you down and throw your asses in jail.” She said that loud enough for everyone around her to hear. “He’s someone’s husband and son. Show some respect and back off.”

The crowd backed away, leaving Sam alone with the dead man until Lindsey showed up a few minutes later.