Benefit of the Doubt: A Novel (9 page)

NINE

From his desk, Ben caught the odor of beer-laced perspiration mixed with cheap cologne. Seemed like his poke at the bear had worked; judging by the smell, McKenzie was close. Ben glanced at the clock and saw it was after eleven. He banged out a quick text canceling his coffee plans with Alex. It had been two days since their fight, and the ice around the house had just begun to melt.

Alex had reached out that morning, inviting Ben to meet her for coffee at some new place she wanted to show him. He knew she would give it to him about his last-minute cancellation, but too bad. He was closing in on his target, and one way or another he was determined to corner his most elusive detective. McKenzie loomed in the doorway, then collapsed into the visitor’s chair. On the desk, Ben’s cell phone buzzed and Alex’s number appeared. He sent the call straight to voice mail.

McKenzie spoke, the gravel in his voice screaming of a rough night. “What’s with the bullshit burglary cases on my desk? I work strictly dope, Sawyer. That’s the way Jorgensen wants it. You know that.”

“Hello to you too, Doyle. Nice of you to stop by.” Ben made a point of looking at his watch but kept his voice cordial. “Don’t worry. You’re still working Narcotics, but we’ve been getting hit hard with burglaries lately, and you don’t seem that busy. I didn’t figure you’d mind helping out.”

McKenzie put a hand up to block the sun streaming through the window, which Ben knew at this time of day had the intensity of an interrogation spotlight. As senior detective of Newberg PD and the holder of the prestigious title of Department Narc, McKenzie insisted he be provided free rein to develop his own cases. Property crimes such as burglary were beneath him.

“Anyway, where you been?” Ben asked. “The day’s half over.”

Ben watched as McKenzie worked to muster a response. He figured the old but still-cagey detective would launch into a series of bold-faced lies that would be hard for anyone to challenge. McKenzie came through.

“What the hell, Sawyer? Now you’re gonna get all black assed about the schedule I keep?” McKenzie sounded offended by the idea of having to account for himself. “I worked UC last night. One of my snitches had a line on a college kid who wanted to buy a pound of weed. Guy was a no-show. The deal never went down. I figured I’d just come in late and save the overtime you’re always busting my balls about.”

“Is that right?” Ben made no effort to disguise the skepticism in his voice. “Then document the contact in the informant’s file and write up an after-action report on the stakeout. And in the future, let me know before you work an undercover op. If something goes down, you’re going to need backup.”

“Jesus. Informant file? After-action report? What are you talkin’ about?” “It’s like you wanna be my nanny or some shit. You know, your old man and I had a good arrangement. Narcotics dicks ain’t like regular police. He knew how to stay out of the way. Never went around sweatin’ all this petty bullshit.”

Ben was accustomed to both the confusion and the comparison. “You’re talking about my father-in-law and you’re right. Chief Norgaard wasn’t one to sweat the small stuff; that’s the sergeant’s job. I’m sure Chief Jorgensen would agree.”

“How is old Red, anyway? I heard he still ain’t talking. Just lying around like a vegetable or something. Lars Norgaard? An invalid?”

Doyle McKenzie inquiring about his family’s personal affairs felt like an invasion of privacy. Ben answered with cold detachment.

“He’s getting stronger every day, Doyle. I’ll be sure to tell him you asked about him.”

“It’s a damn shame. No doubt about it, that guy’s a legend around here. Big old redheaded Norseman, forearms like ham hocks. When he was coming up through the ranks, all the crooks knew if Lars Norgaard couldn’t arrest you, he’d at least put a serious hurt on your ass. He sure enough ended some criminal careers.

“Damn, Ben,” Doyle went on in a judgmental tone, “it must be kind of strange for you with old Lars gone. I mean, you’re his boy. He’s the one that brought you on and handed you those sergeant stripes, huh?”

Ben felt his pulse pick up but didn’t let it show. The day Lars Norgaard went down, everything changed. Within three weeks, Assistant Chief Walter Jorgensen had arranged for Norgaard’s permanent retirement and his own installation as chief of police. A new day had dawned at Newberg PD, and storm clouds began to gather for Ben. It was pretty much accepted departmentwide that Sawyer would be gone soon, and there wasn’t exactly a line of folks coming to his defense. It had reached a point that McKenzie just pretended Ben was already gone. It was obvious to Ben that a deal of some sort had been worked out between McKenzie and Jorgensen, but they struck Ben as odd pair. One was known for being politically astute; the other was nothing more than an armed snake in the grass.

Responding, Ben’s tone was harsh. “I’m not anybody’s ‘boy,’ McKenzie, and nobody gave me anything. I ran a few teams in Oakland. I think I can handle whatever might come up in Newberg.”

“Oh, yeah, I know, Ben. We all heard about your time runnin’ with the big dogs out in California. Actually, I got a copy of that picture where you’re doing some dental work on that beaner piece of shit. I was hoping you might autograph it for me sometime.”

Ben stared at him, but McKenzie went on. “Don’t get me wrong, I totally approve. I’m on your side. Fact is, I was just saying to Chief Jorgensen we should let you work a beat. Our guys could learn a few things from a badass like yourself. Course, you probably prefer to keep those sergeant stripes.”

“We? Who is ‘we,’ Doyle?”

McKenzie stood to leave, swaying on his feet. He half suppressed a gaseous belch that filled the office with the noxious stench of digesting meat and fermenting beer, then smiled when he saw Ben’s expression of disgust.

“Unless you’ve got some objection,
boss,
I’m going to step out and grab a bite. Do I need to sign a check-out log or something? I mean, since you like keeping such a close tab on me.”

Ben ignored the comment, trying to control his building anger. “When you get back we should talk about those burglary cases. I want to hear your plans for working them. It’s almost noon. Let’s make it twelve thirty.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll hit a drive-thru and be right back.”

McKenzie turned to leave, then stopped, as if a thought just came to mind. “By the way, I was wondering. You and your wife. You planning on going into the coffee business or something?”

“No. What makes you ask that?”

McKenzie’s voice took on a snide quality. “Just your wife is spending a lot of time down at that new coffee joint. Heard some of the patrol dogs talking about it in the locker room. Word is she camps out there for a couple of hours at a time, talking with the stud that owns the place. I just thought maybe she was learning the ropes. Probably just killing time while you’re at work, huh?”

Ben held his tongue but not his eye. McKenzie rested against the doorjamb. “Don’t sweat it, Ben. I’m sure the guys were just … well, you know cops. They ain’t happy unless they’re breakin’ balls.”

Ben felt the blood rise to his face and his pulse bang against the collar of his shirt. McKenzie took two steps back into the office.

“Here’s the thing,
Sarge.
After going and getting all famous in California, seems like you might want to ease up a bit. Hell, maybe you should think about spending a little more time at home.” McKenzie winked. “Gotta keep that love light burning, right, boss?”

McKenzie turned to leave, and Ben stood from his desk.

“Hang on, McKenzie, get your—”

McKenzie spun back around. “No. You hang on, Sawyer. You got a problem with the way I do my job, go see Jorgensen. Maybe he can explain it better than I can. In the meantime, I’ll give those burglary cases you’re so damn worried about to the boys over in property crime. Now I got dope work to do. If you need to see me, I’ll be back in around five.”

Ben came around the desk, his fist balled up and his intentions clear. McKenzie stood firm but didn’t raise a hand. Ben closed to within inches of McKenzie’s face but he detected no fear. McKenzie smiled, exposing his yellow-stained teeth.

“Go on, Ben. Take a poke. That would solve everything.”

Ben worked to keep his voice low. “Get out of my office, McKenzie. We’ll finish this later.”

McKenzie turned and walked away, delivering one final jab as he left.

“I’ll see you around, Ben. Be sure to tell old Lars it ain’t the same without him. It’s a whole lot better.”

TEN

Ben stood in the doorway for nearly a minute, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The cell phone buzzed and vibrated across the top of his desk. He walked over, snatched it up, and saw his wife’s number. Ben slammed the phone against the desk. The buzzing stopped. He wheeled around in a fit of anger and raked his hand across the venetian blinds, and the strips of thin metal crumpled noisily. He dropped into his chair.

“Fucking prick—”

McKenzie had his number, no doubt about it, but Ben knew he couldn’t let people get to him like that. Alex was right. If it weren’t for his temper, they wouldn’t be dealing with any of this. Once again the memories burned to the surface.

“He’s got my gun. He’s got my gun.”

Ben spun his desk chair and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It didn’t work.

He took an officer’s gun. He was going to kill a cop. What was I supposed to do?

The air in the office grew stifling hot just like that day on the street in Oakland. Ben forced himself to stay grounded in reality. No more excuses, he told himself. Be honest about it for once. Ben sat at his desk and buried his head in his hands, but the images and the memories remained.

The second Hector Espudo’s hands had gone up, the rookie cop grabbed his gun and scurried free. The officer was already back on his feet, once again screaming in the radio. Other cops had begun to roll up on the scene. The situation was under control.

That’s the problem, Sawyer. The moment passed. Why couldn’t you see that?

Hector kept running his mouth, but he knelt passively on the sidewalk, his hands high over his head. Everyone watching would later say Hector’s actions amounted to unconditional surrender. With his gun still against the side of Hector’s head, Ben knew what he had to do.

Just reholster and take him into custody. Arrest him. You’re done.

But when Ben looked into his eyes, he saw something hidden behind Hector’s outward display of submission. Ben knew what it was. It was hope.

Hope still survived in Hector. After all those years of drills and dry runs on the prison yard, just
hoping
for a chance to kill a cop, he had come up short. Now the son of a bitch was biding his time, hoping for another chance on another day. Ben knew one way to kill that hope once and for all. That’s when all sense of reason left him. It came back clear and Ben didn’t allow himself to filter the memory. Even now, he could still see the flag-draped coffin. The widow dressed in black. And three fatherless children, their eyes filled with confused innocence.

Ben pulled his gun away from Hector’s temple and tucked it in close to his own body. In his peripheral view, Ben saw an officer standing by, handcuffs out and at the ready. In that last moment of clarity, Ben locked eyes with Hector and knew the man wouldn’t be getting arrested.

Standing over his prisoner with a fist full of hair, Ben reared back, then came forward and rammed the blue steel barrel of his gun into Hector’s still-running mouth. The torrid cursing stopped, replaced by a sound like shattering glass as the gun smashed against Hector’s teeth. Ben’s hand tingled with the memory of the sensation of the gun’s front sight raking through Hector’s lips and across the roof of his mouth, ripping away layers of tissue and skin.

He shoved the barrel three inches down Hector’s throat; Hector’s mouth filled with blood and his choking, gagging cough sounded almost life-threatening. Ben squeezed his finger, taking up every bit of slack, then stopped. He got down close, his lips to the man’s ear and the moist roughness of Hector’s unshaved face against his cheek. His words, uttered in a soft but guttural voice, flooded his memory and even now caused him to grit his teeth and tightened his jaw.

“So you wanna be a cop killer, huh, esse?”

With all the force he could muster, Ben pulled hard on Hector’s ponytail, and the man went from his knees to lying flat on his back on the asphalt. Ben straddled Hector’s chest and pushed his weapon deeper into his gullet. Hector’s fists and boot heels scuffed desperately against the hard ground as if he was trying to run away from the gun that filled his throat. Ben imagined the trajectory of the bullet and the damage it would do. He spoke his thoughts out loud.

“Straight out the back of your neck and into the concrete. I’ve never seen one like that, Hector. Hell, it might not even kill a badass like you, but I don’t imagine your dick would ever get hard again and you can damn sure forget your aspirations of bein’ a cop killer. You okay with that, big man?”

Hector’s screams, muffled by the weapon, came off more animal than human. His eyes watered. The shards of his front teeth made a hideous clicking noise against the metal barrel of the gun. His bowels and bladder let loose, and the air, already oppressive with heat, took on the sour stench of urine and waste. Officers standing nearby called out.

“Ease off him, Ben. Jesus, ease off.”

Ben’s finger pulsed against the trigger of the gun as the hammer reached full extension.
A flag-draped coffin, a widow, and three children.

From a thousand miles away, a familiar voice cut through the insane clutter that filled his head.

“Benjamin?”

He shook his head, dazed by his surroundings.

“Benjamin Sawyer? Did you hear what I said?”

Ben looked to the doorway and saw the familiar face of Bernice Erickson. He sat up and began to shuffle the case files on his desk.

“Hey, Bernie. How’s it going?”

No one else ever called him Benjamin, and Ben was the one person on the department who could call the chief’s secretary anything other than Mrs. Erickson. Ben had known Bernice Erickson since he was a boy hanging around the Norgaard household. Like Lars, Bernice had lost her spouse to cancer and was raising children alone. She and Lars had formed an early alliance in life and the police department. As Lars rose through the department ranks, Bernice worked as a civilian, filling a number of different administrative roles. When Lars was appointed chief of police, he selected Bernice Erickson as his private secretary. For now, Jorgensen had kept her on, even though she made it clear her loyalties were to Lars Norgaard. Ben figured he wasn’t the only one the new chief would love to get rid of. Ben was pretty sure Bernice’s days at the department were numbered.