Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues (11 page)

Curtis nodded and jerked his head toward Jorge who wrote the name down.

“Victor Gonzalez,” came the coach’s agonized voice. “That one”— he pointed to the screen where the boy in question grabbed a purse. “What were they thinking?”

“Coach,” Sergeant Curtis began.

Jenson’s gaze fixed on the screen transfixed. “Mitch,” he said, “knocked that poor woman to the ground, and Victor,” he said in a strained voice, “stole her purse.”

A tiny Latina woman, her thick black hair pulled back in a ponytail filled the screen. She wasn’t more than a hundred ten pounds. The victim rolled on the ground in pain; the two athletes bolted for a waiting vehicle out of camera range. A deadening silence filled the room.

“Show me,” the coach said. “Show me all of them. If my players are responsible for this, they’ll take responsibility.” The coach’s voice was flat and furious. “I’ve known and worked with these kids a long time. For them to do such a despicable thing…” his voice trailed off. “Whatever I can do to help, I will.”

It didn’t take the coach long to identify half of the suspects. The final clip rolled. The picture didn’t show the suspects as well as the previous ones, but the vehicle was crystal clear.

“Wait a minute,” Jenson said. “That looks like the car my son’s girlfriend drives.”

“Coach,” Curtis said, “we think the boys were getting the cars from girls they knew without telling them the reason why. That way if we identified a vehicle, it would lead us to a young woman who could actually be innocent instead of the young men who committed the crimes—and they were right. It threw us for a while.” He watched the coach still centered on the screen in front of them. “So are you certain this vehicle belongs to your son’s girlfriend?”

“Yes. I’m positive and I’ll have him down here in an hour,” the coach said. “I guarantee you he’ll tell you whatever you need to know.” He sat unflinching with the stern yet resolved face of a determined father.

True to his word, the coach had his son, Jeb, a lanky seventeenyear-old with a scowling countenance, in the same chair Jenson had occupied an hour before. The coach stared straight ahead, not sparing a glance at his son.

Curtis didn’t envy either one of them. He pushed the play button once again.

Jeb squirmed. “What’s this got to do with me? I didn’t do anything to those women. That’s not me.”

“We know, Jeb.” Curtis ran each video clip making sure to point out the women and their injuries as they lay on the ground. He even had the crime lab photos of their faces complete with gashes, blood, and bruises from their admittance to the hospital. Curtis guessed this dad had taught his son respect for women. He also thought Jeb hadn’t actually hurt anyone. He was probably one of the drivers. Maybe showing what they’d actually suffered might prick his sense of right and wrong enough to get him to talk.

He ran the videos again, set the photos in front of the kid. The bloodied, swollen faces of the small women seemed to mesmerize Jeb. “I didn’t do any of that,” Jeb whimpered. Sweat beaded on his temples. One drop slid down the right side of his face. “Dad,” he implored to his father. “I didn’t hurt any of these women.”

Bingo!
Sergeant Curtis almost said aloud. Jeb was making sure his dad knew he wouldn’t personally hurt them.

“I didn’t say
you
caused these injuries,” Curtis emphasized the word
you
and paused the screen. If his hunch was correct Jeb’s father had probably drilled into his son’s head it was wrong to pick on smaller people, to bully anyone.

Jeb slumped into his chair.

Curtis reached over and hit the play button again. He watched Jeb whose gaze focused on the clear video of his girlfriend’s car. “I’m glad to hear you didn’t actually hurt any of these women, Jeb.” The game was to get the boy thinking he was off the hook and to reassure his father that he’d instilled the proper values in his son. Made everyone more compliant and relaxed.

Curtis decided to shock Jeb. “You drove your buddies there, and they did the dirty work.” Jeb opened his mouth to speak.

Curtis cut him off. “Don’t even lie to me,” he said and pointed his finger directly at the kid’s nose.

“No! I-I didn’t,” came the reply. More sweat glistened on the young face.

“Oh sure, you didn’t want to hurt those women,” he continued, holding his palms above the photos. “That’s something good I can say for you, and I honestly believe if you’d known how badly these women were hurt, you wouldn’t have been part of this.”

Jeb nodded. “That’s right! No way!”

Coach Jenson stood and stepped in front of his son. “Jeb,” he said and paused a moment as though gathering his thoughts. He stared directly into his son’s eyes. “I want you to make me proud tonight. I want your full cooperation here…with these officers. Complete and total. Do you understand?”

“Dad, I didn’t think that—”

The coach didn’t take his gaze off his son, didn’t miss a beat. He tilted his head and softened his face. “Son.”

Jeb’s chin fell to his chest. A lone tear dropped onto his cheek. “’Kay, Dad.”

Within the week most of the “snatchers,” as they’d named themselves, were in custody. The Chief gave a news conference that filled every local channel and a few national ones. Accolades and praise rolled in from everywhere. The community as a whole breathed a sigh of relief.

The Chief was very pleased.

CHIEF RYAN “RUSTY” WILLIAMS HAD TWENTY-SIX YEARS ON the department. Strands of silver mixed with light brown fringe covered the back and sides of his head. He needed bifocal contacts to read anything, but his sturdy frame of five feet ten showed he could still handle himself in a tough situation. He’d worked his way through the ranks and most recently had headed up Internal Affairs for the past decade. IA meant that he’d investigated numerous officers for excessive force issues, citizen complaints, and legal violations. It all served to make him a hard-nosed supervisor who despised trouble-making officers. They made the department and law enforcement in general look bad.

It also made him a major influence over the conduct of the Omaha Police Department. His dedication to his job also made him a lot of enemies. There were more than a few cops he’d disciplined or even fired; they still had buddies on the department and were always looking for ways to undermine him or, better yet, make him look bad to the uniforms on the street or to the public.

After Internal Affairs, as a lieutenant he led an entire crew for the whole precinct. Whenever something happened in his jurisdiction, the officers who had a gripe with him made sure that they spread it around to everyone else that Lt. Williams was to blame. If something particularly embarrassing hit the news, the media would receive numerous anonymous phone calls from officers who wanted Lt. Williams’s name and reputation dragged through the mud. Humiliation was good for the petty soul.

Once Rusty made captain, many of the small-minded officers saw the writing on the wall: Captain Williams was on the short list to make Chief. The knowledge served to spur his enemies on. Try as they did, Williams’s work ethic, integrity, and his astute knowledge that numerous officers hated him made him carefully calculate all command decisions. Everything in both his public and private life was conducted in such a way as to maintain the integrity of his office while actively and vigorously enforcing the law in the metropolitan area.

No wonder he eventually became the Chief of Police. Now at the top of the command ladder, he brought with him the reminder that, throughout every point of the chain of command, officers wanted him to fail, were waiting for him to fail. And there was nothing he could do about it. Only one office under his purview was outside any chain: Public Information. All statements regarding press releases on crimes and public services were orchestrated through the Public Information Office (PIO) and the Chief ’s office.

The Chief placed his trusted friend and lieutenant, Monica Thorp, as the PIO supervisor. A petite brunette with caramel streaks in her bobbed hair, they’d known one another for twenty years, having graduated in the same academy class. They had remained good friends ever since, and she had his back as the new Chief. What he needed now was an officer he could depend on to be the departmental face to the media and the public.

Most officers wanted nothing to do with the media—or the public. The pressures of taking the flak when things went bad—and things would definitely get bad simply due to the nature of police work—made most officers balk at the mere thought of sitting in the PIO hot seat.

The Chief met with Thorp to discuss the opening. “Monica, there is just no way to say this, but I have pissed off almost everybody in this department.”

“A decade in IA will do that,” she said dryly. “You’ve disciplined officers on every shift and in every district in the city. Those who didn’t get disciplined were the buddies of those who did. Lousy job but somebody had to do it.”

The Chief rammed his fingers across his bald head. “I don’t know who I can trust to work in this office.”

“I agree, you’ve got quite the fan base, Rusty.” Her remark drew a mock glare from the Chief. “And we need someone who hasn’t had the pleasure of dealing with you for the past twenty-five years.” Another baleful glance flew her way. “We definitely need someone with enough law enforcement experience so the rank and file will respect him as well as the media. They need to see this person as a reliable source.”

“That’s about it,” Rusty said.

“Sounds like we’ll have to go outside our department!”

The Chief twisted his lips and shook his head. “Very funny, Monica. You know we can’t do that; the officer needs to come from our ranks.”

Monica shrugged.

“That’s the purpose of this meeting, right? You do know that. We need to actually solve this particular problem and soon.”

Monica nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor. Without moving her head, she glanced up at the Chief and smiled.

“You have someone in mind,” the Chief said in an accusatory tone and pointed at her for emphasis. “Don’t you?”

Monica raised her hands in false surrender. “You got me.”

“Great. Who?”

“Jake Mitchell,” she answered, her tone filled with certainty.

“Jake Mitchell?” The Chief sat in his desk chair, his brows knit together in silent question. “Which precinct is he in? I’m not familiar with him.”

“Exactly!” said Monica. “He’s been on the department for two years, and you’ve never heard of him. It’s perfect.”

“Two years?” the Chief asked. “He’s practically a rookie! Nobody’ll take him seriously. The media will laugh him out of a press conference, and the other cops won’t respect him.” He tossed a manila folder containing the current budget figures across his desk. “Get serious!”

“I am serious!” Monica said. “Dead serious. Mitchell’s only worked for
our
department for two years, but he was a detective in Salt Lake City over a decade. He applied for the Lateral Academy we offered two years ago; remember, the one for certified officers in other police departments. Pretty sharp guy.”

“Why would anyone leave there for here?” the Chief asked.

“His wife and daughter were killed in a car accident on a mountain pass in a winter storm. Guess he just wanted to get out and start over.”

“Makes sense I suppose. Definitely no mountains in these parts, nothing to remind him of the past. Anything else to it?” the Chief said. “Got to be more to the story than mountains.”

Monica nodded. “I heard he’s got family here. Brother owns a huge corporation. Filthy rich from what I hear.”

The Chief shot Monica a pointed glance. “You’re not putting him in our office so he’ll introduce you to his brother, are you?”

“Well, a girl can hope.” She fluttered her eyelids. “But seriously, he’s perfect.” She held up her index finger. “One, not from our department.” Her middle finger joined the index. “Two, he has loads of street experience.” Her ring finger went up. “Three, he doesn’t hate you…yet.”

The Chief tossed his pen on his desk. “Day isn’t over.”

“Four,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “he’s a lot like you. I was a sergeant in another district, but I knew about him thanks to the sergeants’ grapevine. A lot of street officers didn’t like him. Didn’t go drinking after the shift, didn’t talk the cuss’n cop talk. Didn’t really fit in, but he’s a good cop, does his job, dependable. Tell you the truth, I wouldn’t mind having a whole squad of Mitchells.”

“Really?” The Chief leaned back in his chair to consider that. Coming from Monica, it was high praise. He waved her toward the door. “Bring him in for an interview.”

Monica smiled. “He’s in the lobby.”

Taken aback, the Chief ’s eyes widened at her presumption. “He’s in the—oh, really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

He knew her well enough to realize she’d had this figured out from the very start. Still—he let out a long breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Fine, then. Send him in!”

“Yes sir,” she responded, her grin just this side of impertinent.

“The Public Information Officer,” Mitchell said. “Chief, I thought I’d committed some major screw-up. I’ve been going out of my mind trying to figure out what I’d done to get me called to your office.”

“When I’m finished describing the job, you may wish you were in trouble.”

Lt. Monica Thorp snorted a laugh but quickly covered it with a cough.

The Chief didn’t take his eyes off Mitchell but pointed in Monica’s direction. They knew one another well enough to know he meant zip it!

“I know your story, Jake,” the Chief began. “Sorry to hear about your family. How are you getting along?”

“Oh,” Jake responded, sounding a little surprised. “As well as can be expected, sir. It was really rough in the beginning, but moving here was a good plan.”

“Your performance ratings are excellent,” Lt. Thorp said.

“That may be,” the Chief continued, “but from what I understand, you don’t gel too much with the crews you’re on.”

“True,” Mitchell said. “I don’t drink, smoke, or chase women; that’s not me, not the kind of man I am or want to be. So I really don’t relate to a lot of what the other guys do. Makes them uncomfortable, so some of them don’t like me.” Jake straightened in his chair. “Chief, let’s get this in the open. Do you have a problem with Latter-day Saints?”

The Chief looked confused and glanced at Lt. Thorp. “I thought you were Mormon.”

“One and the same,” Mitchell said.

Another snort from Monica. Again the Chief pointed a silencing finger her way.

“Do you have problems with Mormons, Chief?”

The question took the Chief aback. “Of course not. I respect the Mormons—and I love Glenn Beck.”

Another loud snort, only this one came from Mitchell.

“Okay, Jake,” the Chief said, “here’s the deal. A lot of officers in this department don’t care much for me. Some of them—”

Jake held his hand up and finished the sentence, “Think you’re a back-stabbing second guesser who’d throw his own mother under the bus to get a promotion?”

The Chief leaned forward to stare at Mitchell, settling his elbows on his desk. “Yeah,” he said wryly. “Something like that.”

From the Chief ’s left side came an unmistakable sound.

“Monica,” the Chief yelled, all subtlety gone. “Knock it off!”

“The way I see it, Chief,” Mitchell said, “you’re not sure who you can trust. I know how important this position is and how much you need to trust the person in that position. I also know the unwritten job description is to protect you from being blindsided and looking like an idiot on television.”

The kid was a quick study. The Chief nodded.

“This is the only position where the chain of command has only three links: you, Lt. Thorp, and whoever’s in this job. I’d imagine the officer here shouldn’t have a lot of history in OPD.” Jake raised a brow of inquiry at the Chief.

The Chief nodded his agreement again.

“Someone who doesn’t have buddies to confide sensitive information to.”

“Uh-huh,” the Chief said. “Exactly.”

Jake smiled and looked almost angelic. “But has plenty of law enforcement experience so the media will take them seriously, and let’s face it, this someone also needs to be just stupid enough to take this job.”

“About sums it up, don’t you think, Monica?” the Chief steepled his fingers and tapped his chin.

Lt. Thorp crossed her arms as though clearly impressed with herself for recommending Jake. “I’d say so.”

“Well, Chief, then I’m your guy. I think this’ll be a challenge, and I’d like to be considered for the position,” Jake said.

A heavy weight the Chief hadn’t realized was sitting on his shoulders lifted. Jake seemed to fit every necessary qualification, and for that the Chief was grateful. “Welcome to the team then. Outside this office, proper titles are a must. Everyone needs to understand that you and Monica are my spokespeople—nobody else. In my office, however, rank is left at the door. I want frank assessments, honest advice, and I want you to feel completely comfortable talking to me or Monica about anything. We can disagree and disagree strongly about how to handle a situation, but once the decision is made, we all support it outside of the office. That’s the way it has to be.”

“No problem,” Jake said.