Marrying Mike...Again (26 page)

After one hour on the scene, CSU hadn’t had many ready answers. They believed the blood was old, maybe twenty-four hours old. Preliminary theories were that Koontz had been ambushed, beaten, then led away from his vehicle.

Vice was still working the streets. The Gang Task Force had been making the rounds. No one had heard talk of anyone kidnapping a police officer, though. Twenty-four hours later, they were just discovering that Koontz was gone. Everyone knew that as each hour passed, so did their chances of finding him alive.

Officers were mad again. Mike could see the resentment building in their eyes as they studied broken buildings and pothole-ridden streets. Mike didn’t care anymore. He was angry himself and tired of feel-good speeches about everyone playing nice. He’d given those speeches to Koontz and look what had happened to him.

Koontz had been right to be wary. Koontz had been right to be afraid. When all was said and done, Koontz was probably going to die at the hands of some black gangbanger.

And it was Mike’s fault. He had let his partner leave alone. He’d been too consumed with taking care of Sandy. Blacks might kill Rusty, but it was his white partner who’d failed him first.

Sandra finally approached him from across the room. Mike read wariness on her face. He wished she’d listen to her own emotions and leave him alone. Now was not a good time. Especially with a room full of fellow officers watching.

“How are you holding up?” she asked quietly.

“Just dandy.”

“Mike…it’s time to go home—”

“No.”

“You haven’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours.”

“Don’t care.”

“You are useless in this condition!”

“Sandy, get the hell away from me.”

“I can’t, Mike. Lieutenant Banks just ordered me to get you out of here. He wants you gone.”

Mike promptly looked over at the lieutenant and snarled. Banks didn’t care.

Sandy tentatively brushed Mike’s arms. The concern was still bright in her eyes. “We have nearly fifty patrols working the streets, Mike. There is nothing we can do now but wait. Come on, Mike, get some sleep.”

Mike shook his head, shoving his way forward. But then the room started swimming before his eyes and he had to put out a hand to steady himself. Sandy was looking at him sympathetically. He had pushed himself too hard, and they both knew it. It all just made him angrier. Koontz was his partner. Koontz was his friend.

“Okay, Mike. Here we go.”

Sandra led Mike out to his car. He tried to protest, but his exhausted mind was no longer functioning clearly. He didn’t even remember the drive to her house. The next thing he knew, she was leading him into her bedroom, and all he could think was he’d made his bed and now he would have to lie in it.

Koontz all alone.
How could you fail your partner like that? How could you put Sandy ahead of Rusty? How could you not? What was a man supposed to do?

“Sandy, I can’t do this anymore. You, me—it’s not going to work. We’re just going to destroy each other….” Then, as sleep overcame him, he could hear Sandy crying quietly. And he couldn’t do anything. He had nothing left to give.

Hours later, he became aware of Sandra lying beside him, her fingers brushing back his hair. In his dreams, he had traveled someplace far away from him, leaving him empty. But now his eyes were open. Reality had returned. He was here. His partner was missing and probably dead.

“We’re going to find Koontz,” Sandra murmured as he shifted edgily. “It’s going to be okay.”

“He was my partner and I left him alone with a mob.”

“Shh.”

“I can’t be a good husband and a good partner. Koontz was right.”

“No. We’re going to get through this, Mike. You, me, and Koontz—”

“Will we?” He rolled over, feeling harsh. Too many images were raw in his mind. Sandra in a peach-colored teddy. Koontz’s car, covered in blood. He no longer knew how to make sense of them. “Tell me the truth, Sandy. Your life would be better without Koontz.
Our
lives would be easier. No more Mike belonging too much to his work. No more Mike hanging out with his partner at the Code Blue. It could be everything you ever wanted.”

“No,” she protested. “That isn’t what I wanted. Not us together like this.”

“Yes,” he insisted stubbornly.

“No!
Dammit.
” She sat up, grabbing his face and looking fierce, the way she always looked when they fought.

“Four years ago, Mike,” she said sternly, “four years ago I would’ve said yes. Let Koontz rot in hell. Let me get my husband as far away from the police department as I can. But
I was wrong.
Do you hear me? I was wrong. I wasn’t listening to my wedding vows. I wasn’t understanding what it really meant to say for better or for worse. Instead I wanted to love you only on my terms, if you’d live where I wanted you to live and work how I wanted you to work and speak to me when I wanted you to speak with me. I loved you without understanding what it meant to really love someone. And for my arrogance, I got to spend four years without you, Mike. We both had to pay our dues.

“Well, I don’t want to do that again. As far as I can tell, this is it. We love each other, we were meant to be together. Together we may fight, but boy, do we make love. Together may involve sacrifice, but apart is so much more lonely. Face it, we challenge each other and understand each other and drive each other nuts. And we’re going to grow old together. This time around, we’re not going to quit. I won’t, and if that means I’m spending the rest of my days with Rusty Koontz as well, then by God, let the man start whittling his rocking chair. Because I’m not letting you go, Mike. I’m not!”

“I can’t be both a good husband and a good cop!”

“You can! We were the ones tearing you apart, Mike. It was our fault, not yours.”

“He’s my best friend, and I failed him. What kind of man does that make me?”

“One who is learning.”

“I gotta get back out there.” He rolled over, still feeling edgy and undeterred.

“I know. I’ll go, too.”

Mike immediately shook his head. “You do what you gotta do, Sandy, as chief of police. But I have business out there as a partner. I have some of my own places to go.”

“You mean you’re going out on your own?” she asked sharply.

He simply nodded.

Sandra inhaled deeply. Her lips parted. He could tell argument was on the tip of her tongue. Then slowly, carefully, her shoulders relaxed.

“I trust you, Mike,” she said simply. “You do what you need to do.”

The phone rang. Sandra swiped up the receiver. She said hello, then nodded twice, hung up and bolted out of bed. Mike eyed her warily, already steeled for the blow.

“That was Lieutenant Banks,” she said simply. “We’re supposed to go look at the news.”

They both moved into the living room, and a minute later, sat stunned

Alexandria’s citizens were flooding the site where Sandra and Mayor Peterson had given their speeches. They were bringing search lanterns and flashlights and jugs of hot coffee. They were bundled up in warm coats and they were all offering their assistance to find Detective Rusty Koontz.

Smithy Jones, with his tattoos and leather jacket, stood on the speaker platform coordinating the scene. He had implored his neighbors to take a stand for justice on the east side, to pull together as a community, and they had responded. Young and old, black and white, they were all convening upon the square.

“Store owners, retirees, working moms, kids. They’re being matched up with cops and given a search grid,” Sandra observed. “Then they’re going door-to-door. Hundreds and hundreds of people, Mike. All looking for Koontz. Isn’t it the most beautiful sight you have ever seen?”

It was. Mike put his arms around Sandra. For a few moments, they simply sat beside each other on the carpet, holding each other close.

The news clip ended. Sandra and Mike rose together. No need for words anymore. They grabbed their heaviest jackets, two flashlights and headed for the speaking pavilion.

The night was cold and dark, but the crowd of people lit the way and warmed the air.

Hang in there, Koontz, Mike kept thinking. Hang in there.

In some house now. Vee didn’t know where. Probably belonged to somebody’s O.G.B. House reeked. All sweat and urine. Fridge held nothing but beer.

Couple of homeys be sleeping. Collapsed on sofas and snoring to wake the dead. Brothers had been drinking all night, Vee heard. Some wanted to sleep it off. He knew the type. Three others still be awake. Dark looks in their eyes. Crazy drunks. Vee be afraid of them.

Still didn’t know what to do. White cop awake now. He be propped up in a corner, shoulders slumped against the wall and legs straight out in front of him. Vee could see the dead man’s gaze patrol the room. Watching, waiting. Watching, waiting. White cop never moved, though. His breathing had gained a wheeze. Man not gonna make it much longer. Seemed to know it, too.

The three crazy drunks sat in the kitchen. One of them was bored now. He kept saying, “Let’s kill the dude and be done.” He had the cop’s two guns. He twirled them around and around on both his index fingers.

Other two crazy drunks weren’t sure. They were waiting for some other homeboys to arrive. Maybe they shoot the cop then and go dump his body in rival turf. Bring the heat down on the BGFs.

First banger laughed. He thought that was a righteous idea.

Vee roamed the living room, feeling the white cop’s gaze. Gotta do something. Didn’t know what. Still had two hand guns strapped beneath his shirt. Against a bunch of straight shooters, that meant squat.

Vee stopped in front of the white cop. Guy be staring right at him. He looked mad. Vee finally realized the poor dude was trying to gather enough saliva to spit.

Vee shook his head. “Don’t draw attention. Maybe they pass out soon.”

Man looked confused.

“I say, F-you mister,” Vee said more loudly. He stomped the floor. At the same time, he dropped a gun and quickly kicked it beneath the dead man’s leg. Cop’s whole body twitched.

Two homeys came into the living room. They looked at Vee, standing over the white cop, then laughed.

“Look, Vee’s talking trash to the Man. Ah, just don’t kill him too soon, baby dude.”

Vee faked a smile.

The white cop spit up blood.

And in the kitchen, the third banger said, “Hey, come here quick. Look what’s on TV!”

At the speaking pavilion, a rustic command center was quickly and efficiently coming together. Sandra commandeered a dozen phones from the police station and miles of telephone cord. She sent word out that card tables would be great and the next thing she knew, she had five grandmothers, two grandfathers and three gargantuan great-aunts standing in front of her with card tables and folding chairs. They announced they would man the phones. Sandra obediently set them up.

Shortly thereafter, a small contingency of kids ran underfoot, maintaining a steady pipeline of hot coffee to the tables. Sandra was offered four cups in three minutes, while ten pairs of old black eyes gazed on. She accepted each cup, thanked each child and downed the potent brew. She finally, reluctantly, received a stiff nod of approval.

Sandra decided the phone lines were definitely in good hands and she pitied the first crank caller.

She moved on to where Mike stood next to Lieutenant Banks and Smithy Jones, poring over maps of the city. Lieutenant Banks had sectioned off the city blocks into search quadrants. Smithy Jones was supplying local reconnaissance. This area fell under this gang’s control. This area belonged to this group. Drug dealers here, working girls there. If you’re going to send people down to that area, make sure they’re heavily armed.

Police officers, of course, were taking the most dangerous areas. Lieutenant Banks was also doing his best to assign at least one officer to each patrol group. The officer would give his members general instructions on technique and safety. In the worst-case scenario, the officer would also be present to advise his group on how to preserve the crime scene.

People were trying not to think about that, however. Two hours into the organized effort, the mood was optimistic and almost festive. Citizens were pleased to be part of a greater cause, while police officers were clearly touched. A few veteran cops were even spotted discreetly wiping tears from their eyes. Of course, search efforts generally started on a high note. Surely with so many people coming together they would get the job done.

The mood would slip later, when hours passed without result. When the hot coffee ran out and hope began to dim and the dark night turned into an even more daunting morning. People would stop thinking they were searching for a man and would start thinking they were looking for a body. Then the mood would be entirely different.

For now, Sandra shook Smithy Jones’s hand and thanked him for his part in getting this effort going. Smithy blushed and appeared almost giddy.

“Ma’am, that was some speech you gave this afternoon. I’ve been waiting years for someone to give a speech like that. Gotta say I can’t wait to see some things change around here and am just happy to finally have an excuse to act.”

“So I can count you in for community policing? Maybe you’d like to be a block leader?”

“Tell me where to sign.”

“You’re a great man, Smithy.”

The ex-marine blushed again. “Save that for when we find your detective, ma’am. Still got a little work to do here.”

He leaned back over the map. Mike tapped a new section and inquired about information.

From what Sandra could tell, it appeared regular patrol officers had thoroughly examined BGF territory during the daylight hours. Ironically, Koontz’s car had been found at the apex of three different gangland turfs, making it tricky to judge who might have grabbed him. Mike and Lieutenant Banks were still convinced he could not be held too far away from the automobile. They couldn’t imagine Koontz willingly walking anywhere. Rusty knew the rules: Never go anyplace with a captor, not even if the other person had a gun. Odds were always better in a public location than once you’d been led somewhere private.