The Menace of the Years: River City, #5

By Frank Zafiro

It is December 1999, and the spectre of Y2K hangs over the police department.

More menacing yet, officers respond to a hate-fueled home invasion robbery. As the entirety of the River City Police Department prepare for possible chaos when the calendar turns over to the year 2000, they also must stop a gang of white supremacists who plan to use that same chaos to mask their biggest crime yet.

Meanwhile, Officer Katie MacLeod falls under the suspicion of Internal Affairs. Officer Thomas Chisolm tries to keep the remnants of his platoon intact. Officer Connor O'Sullivan mourns the loss of his partner while he tries to care for the fallen officer's family.  In spite of these significant, real life struggles on and off the job, the men and women of RCPD strive to stop the brtual robberies, to do what is right, and to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Code 4 Press
• Release date: Sep 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386159766

Frank Zafiro

Frank Zafiro was a police officer from 1993 to 2013. He is the author of more than two dozen crime novels. In addition to writing, Frank is an avid hockey fan and a tortured guitarist. He lives in Redmond, Oregon.  

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The Menace of the Years

Frank Zafiro

A River City Novel

The Menace of the Years (A River City novel)

Frank Zafiro

Copyright © Frank Scalise 2018

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without the prior written permission of the copyright owner(s), except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Code 4 Press, an imprint of Frank Zafiro, LLC

Redmond, Oregon USA

This is a work of fiction. While real locations may be used to add authenticity to the story, all characters appearing in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover Design by Eric Beetner

For Linus

The world dies over and over again,

but the skeleton always gets up and walks.

Henry Miller

Part I

December 27, 1999

Monday

One

Monday, December 27, 1999

0326 Hrs

Officer Katie MacLeod jumped slightly at the alert tone that broke into the early-morning winter silence which had settled into her patrol vehicle. She’d been staring at the amber screen of her newly installed Mobile Data Terminal, trying to figure out all the commands to navigate through its various screens. She’d been at it for over half an hour, struggling with what seemed to be unnecessarily difficult key combinations for the simplest of functions. At least this graveyard shift had settled into a quiet one shortly after bar closing, allowing her to focus on learning this new tool.

Computers were supposed to make things easier, she’d thought. Not harder.

The alert tone was accentuated by flashing text on the four-inch screen.

"Baker-112, -16, and -22," came the familiar, steady voice of Janice Koslowski, one of the graveyard dispatchers. She didn’t wait for the patrol units to acknowledge her initial call. 2808 East Joseph, report of burglary in progress.

Katie dropped her car into gear and started in that direction. There was a time when a call like this would have resulted in a flood of adrenaline, but now it barely registered a drip. Too many false alarms, she supposed. And too many times dealing with the real thing, she realized a moment later. Even so, she turned on her overhead lights, not bothering to engage her siren. Traffic was nearly non-existent at this hour, and there was no need to let the bad guys know she was coming.

Janice continued her broadcast. The neighbor from 2809 reports three to four men approaching the victim house. One may have been carrying a rifle or shotgun. Calls into the residence go unanswered. 2808 East Joseph, burglary in progress.

At the mention of firearms, the missing adrenaline zinged through her. Katie eased through the S curve, climbing to Illinois Avenue. The roads were mostly clear, but still moderately slick. Not quite chain weather, but bad enough to warrant lower speeds and extra attention to her driving.

She reached for the microphone, instinctively waiting for Thomas Chisolm to acknowledge first.

Baker-112, from Francis and Wall, came Chisolm’s gravelly voice.

Katie uttered a clipped, -16, copy into the mike and returned her hand to the wheel.

"-122, 3400 West Carolina," Connor O’Sullivan transmitted, obviously out of the car and on his portable radio.

She pressed her lips together, the thrill of catching a possible burglar momentarily dampened. Both men were outside of Baker Sector. Chisolm was coming from a favorite graveyard patrol break location, a convenience store where officers frequently stopped in for coffee or to write reports. It was one of the few that was clean, had a few booths for seating inside, and an owner who was law enforcement friendly. And it was only six blocks into Adam Sector.

Sully’s location was even deeper into Adam Sector, off Indian Trails. She knew why he was there, understood it completely, but it still meant that she was going to arrive on scene long before either of them.

Janice obviously did the same math. Any unit closer than Baker-122? she asked.

There was no reply. Katie knew James Kahn and Paul Hiero were out at jail, booking someone on a domestic violence call from an hour ago. Sergeant Shen had returned to police headquarters to do whatever sergeants did in their offices. Paperwork of some kind, she figured.

Aaron Norris finally chimed in. Adam-105, I can start from Joe Albi.

Not closer, Katie muttered. It was actually about the same distance away as O’Sullivan, but that wasn’t the part that irritated her. The fact that Norris was out at Joe Albi stadium told her he was probably parked and sleeping. If he was alone.

Already past your location, O’Sullivan replied, and Katie could hear the big block engine of his patrol vehicle surging in the background.

Be careful, Sully, she whispered, and no sooner were the words out of her mouth than the back end of her own car slid to the right. She corrected immediately, keeping her movements small and controlled, and steered out of it before any skid could develop.

When she turned onto Crestline, she found it recently plowed. Strips of asphalt showed through the snowy street in patches, and she risked driving faster. If there had been traffic, she probably wouldn’t have, but empty streets begged for greater speeds. At Wellesley, she turned right and found the roadway even clearer, so she punched up her speed as fast as she dared.

Any update? Chisolm asked the dispatcher.

Negative, -112.

Katie braked for Regal, turning northbound. She had to slow down again. The street had at least two inches of snow and ice, crisscrossed with tire tracks. She shook her head in mild frustration. It hadn’t snowed since sometime yesterday, and the plows hadn’t made it past the arterials yet?

Joseph Street approached quickly, even at her reduced speed. Two blocks away, she killed all of her lights, cutting through the wintry night like a stealth bomber. She knew 2808 would be on the south side of the street, probably the second house from the corner, so she pulled up short of the intersection.

Baker-116, on scene, she transmitted, then shut off the engine without waiting for the reply. She was out of her car in a flash, sliding her side handle baton into her belt with one hand and easing the driver’s door shut with the other. The latch caught with a muted click, much quieter than the telltale sound of a slamming door. With any luck, they still didn’t know she was coming.

Mounds of snow lined both sides of the sidewalk, creating only a narrow footpath for Katie to walk on. She strode as fast as she could while remaining quiet and hopefully not slipping and falling on her backside. As she approached the corner, voices cut through the cold night air.

"Now, now, now!" came a male voice, gruff and confident.

They’re still here.

Another shot of adrenaline flared in Katie, feeling like a warm spray on her shoulders and chest, then zipping out to her extremities. She crouched slightly, and drew her pistol, all without breaking stride.

Let’s go! ordered the same voice.

A car door opened and quickly slammed shut.

Ricky, goddamnit!

Katie abandoned the sidewalk and moved swiftly to the side of the brick house on the corner. She needed to have some kind of cover before she engaged the suspects. With her left hand, she reached up and keyed her mike.

-16, suspects still on scene.

Copy, -16.

Katie reached the corner of the house. She was keenly aware of the large plumes of her breath visible thanks to the corner street light. The porch light of the house she was next to was turned off, and she was grateful for that. Porch lights blazed from several other houses, though, and Christmas lights threw colorful beams across snowy lawns.

A car engine rumbled to life.

Ricky!

Katie peeked around the corner, bringing her gun up in case she had to fire. A green four door was parked in front of the victim address. A wiry man in a black ski mask stood in the open passenger doorway, looking back toward the house. She couldn’t see if he had a weapon or not, but if the complainant was right and he had a rifle, then she was severely outgunned. Then again, at this distance, if he had a shotgun, the advantage went to her.

Engage or wait.

Tactical considerations flew through her mind like algebraic equations. She was outnumbered, but didn’t know for sure by how many. Possibly outgunned. At thirty yards away, and with only porch bulbs and Christmas decorations for light, her accuracy with a handgun under stress was questionable. The backdrop for any shot she’d have to take was residential houses on the other side of the street, likely full of sleeping people. Innocent people.

She knew she should wait for backup. Watch and wait. Try to get a good look at the suspects. The license plate on the car.

A shrill scream erupted from inside the house.

Ricky! Now, or we’re leaving! the man at the passenger door of the car bellowed.

No, Katie thought. They’re not getting away.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, then leaned against the corner of the house for support as she raised her Glock. River City Police! she yelled, her voice carrying across the dirty snow between them. Don’t move!

The man’s head snapped toward her. Without hesitation, he raised a rifle from along his leg and pointed it toward her. Katie ducked and moved around the corner just as he blasted away at her. The heavy boom echoed through the air, followed by an unmistakable click-clack racking sound.

Shotgun, she realized.

She keyed her mike. Shots fired, she said, trying to keep her voice even.

Immediately, a siren erupted in the distance, followed by a second, even further away. The sound was comforting for a brief moment, until followed by another realization.

They won’t get here in time.

She was on her own.

Katie made a quick move to look around the corner again. The man was still pointing the shotgun in her direction. She ducked back as he fired another blast at her. The pellets tore into the brick, sending chunks showering into the air.

She didn’t wait for him to rack another round. As fast as she could, she leaned around the corner, drew a bead on the shadowy figure and pressed the trigger.

The gun bucked in her hand, but the sound it made seemed like a muted pop to her. She wondered for a moment if she’d had a malfunction, but when she fired again, everything still worked. She heard the metallic thunk as her rounds struck the car.

The man ducked inside the open passenger door, slamming it shut behind him. Katie hesitated, then fired again at the side of the door. She was rewarded with another satisfying slap of bullet on metal.

The engine revved and the tires spun on the icy roadway. The car slid to the side, then fishtailed back the other direction before coming under control and leaping forward.

Katie held her fire.

A dark figure streaked into her peripheral vision, running from the house toward the car.

Wait! he hollered after the fleeing vehicle.

The car whipped around a corner and accelerated out of view.

Katie aimed at the man they’d left behind, who was without a mask. Don’t move, Ricky! she yelled, making an educated guess. Police!

Ricky’s gaze spun toward her position. The street light wasn’t bright enough for her to make out his expression, but she could almost sense his panic. His hands were out to his sides, though, and she could see the clear outline of a gun in his left hand.

Drop the gun! she ordered.

Ricky glanced down at his left hand, froze for a moment, then flung it away as if it had burned him. She heard it land in the crusty snow. Ricky’s hands went into the air in the universal sign of surrender.

On your knees! Katie ordered, dipping her barrel slightly to accentuate the command.

Ricky didn’t move.

Katie reached for her radio. -16, suspect vehicle has fled with at least two suspects. Armed with a shotgun. Last southbound on Haven. Green, four-door Caprice or similar. I have one at gunpoint.

As she spoke, Ricky’s arms wavered and started to drop. By the time she finished her transmission, his hands hovered at shoulder level.

On your knees! she repeated. Now!

Ricky ran.

Katie let out a small curse, holstered her gun and took off after him. She considered checking on the victims, but immediately rejected the idea. That would mean letting Ricky escape.

And that wasn’t going to happen.

Katie crossed the yard, which was calf-deep in snow, until she got to the walkway, then she was able to speed up. Luckily, Ricky stayed on the sidewalk. His thin form streaked down Joseph Street, the slap of his boots echoing back to her. She lengthened her stride, hoping she didn’t hit a patch of ice, fall, and crack open her skull. Her baton slapped against her leg with each step.

-16, I’m in foot pursuit, she managed to report as she sprinted. Eastbound on Joseph.

Copy, -16. Suspect description?

Katie didn’t reply. How many people were running like a bat out of hell down the street at four in the morning? Besides, she could already feel the bite of the cold air in her lungs and decided to save her energy.

Ricky took a right on Haven, just like his getaway vehicle did.  Maybe he was hoping that they were still there around the corner, parked and waiting for him. He even slowed slightly, looking around, which allowed Katie to gain a few yards on him. She redoubled her efforts, pumping her arms and leaning forward as she ran.

Ricky must have sensed her coming, because he glanced over his shoulder at her and took off again. But his hesitation cost him, and Katie rapidly closed the distance between them. She steeled herself for a running tackle.

Somehow, though, Ricky was able to match her speed and after another second or two, it seemed like he was pulling away.

He’s too fast.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Katie heard the wailing siren that had been drawing closer end suddenly in a blink.

Without thinking, Katie reached for her baton. The action caused her to slow slightly, but she didn’t care. She drew the heavy baton, grasped it by the end, and cocked her arm. Then she flung it square at Ricky’s retreating back.

And missed.

The metal baton sailed past his right shoulder and clattered noisily to the sidewalk ahead of him.

Katie would have cursed again, but her breath was already starting to become ragged in the freezing air.

The surprise of the baton flying past him and hitting the sidewalk caused Ricky to duck a moment later. His delayed reaction threw him off balance. Katie felt a surge of satisfaction as Ricky’s foot caught something slick. He wind-milled crazily, then crashed to the ground.

She lowered her head and sprinted forward again.

Ricky rose to a knee and pushed upward, but his foot slipped underneath him again. His knee slammed onto the icy sidewalk and he let out a howl of pain.

Katie slammed into him, her momentum driving him prone. The pair of them slid several feet, Ricky on his belly and Katie riding him like a sled.

Even as they came to a stop, Katie was scrambling upward to pin his head to the ground by placing her knee across the back of his neck.

Ricky howled again as she drove his cheek into the cold cement.

Katie ignored his cries. Hands out to the side, she panted, trying to catch her breath.

Get off me! Ricky screamed.

Hands! Katie ordered.

Ricky complied half-heartedly, flopping his arms out to the side. That was good enough for her. She reached for the nearest gloved hand, grasping his first two fingers and applying a wrist lock.

Ouch!

Shut up, she muttered.

Katie brought his arm up and levered it against her knee, removed her handcuffs, and ratcheted the first cuff onto his wrist. She lowered his wrist to the small of his back.

Give me your other hand, she directed him, applying some pressure to his back so he knew where she wanted him to go with his free hand.

Christ, get off me! It hurts! It’s cold and it hurts!

Your hand, Katie repeated.

Ricky brought his hand back. She took control of it, pushed the glove back, and slipped on the second cuff. Out of habit, she checked both cuffs to make sure they were effectively tight but not biting into the suspect’s wrists. Then she reached for her radio. Headlights, punctuated by flashing red and blue rotators, washed over her as she transmitted.

Baker-116, one in custody. Code Four here.

0331 hrs

Thomas Chisolm slammed his patrol vehicle into park and got out while it was still rocking on its frame. It appeared to him that Katie had complete control over her suspect, but he never liked to make assumptions.

However, as he hurried toward her, Katie held up four fingers. Chisolm slowed, but continued toward her.

The ones in the car got away, she told him, her right hand methodically sweeping across the suspect’s body as she conducted a search for weapons. But this one was busy inside.

Chisolm nodded and keyed his radio mike. Baker-112, I’m with -16. Have -22 head straight to the house.

Copy, Baker-112.

-12 to -22, be advised the house hasn’t been cleared yet.

Sully clicked his mike in response.

Katie pulled the suspect onto his side and continued her search. Chisolm noted that she did it quickly and was obviously only checking for weapons. That was okay. He knew they’d do a more thorough search incident to arrest once they’d gotten the suspect to his feet.

It only took a few moments for Katie to clear him of any weapons. Together, they helped the suspect stand, and Chisolm maintained control over him while Katie searched his pockets.

They were all empty.

Katie peeled the suspect’s gloves off his hands.

Hey! he complained. It’s goddamn cold.

She ignored his whining. Tom, can we throw him in your car? I’m parked on the next block over. Normally I’d walk him back, but…

No problem, Chisolm said. I drove a Hansom cab in a former life.

You guys are dicks, the suspect said.

Chisolm didn’t respond. Sometimes he liked to banter with suspects, just to keep things interesting after almost twenty years on the job. But there was still work to do.

He and Katie got quickly into his car. Katie had to contort her body to rest uncomfortably atop the large duty bag in the passenger seat.

I can put that in the trunk, he offered.

She shook her head. It’s a short trip.

You can ride back here with me, bitch, the suspect said, his tone half threat and half leer.

Why? Chisolm asked. So she can kick your ass again?

The suspect didn’t have an answer for that.

Chisolm glanced over at Katie and gave her a grin.

As he pulled up next to Katie’s car, another patrol car turned onto the street, lights flashing but with no siren. Sully, he figured. The car went past them and pulled up in front of the house.

Chisolm frowned at the tactic. True, they had the suspect here, but they still didn’t know for sure if there were others inside.

In front? Really, Sully? Katie’s tone echoed Chisolm’s thoughts.

He almost spoke in Sully’s defense, but held his tongue. The suspect in the back seat might overhear. So instead, he hopped out and popped open the door so that Katie could remove her suspect and place him in her patrol vehicle. He waited while she started her car and started the heater. Then he and Katie huddled briefly at the front tire wheel well, catching the scant warm air from the engine while they spoke.

We need more bodies here, Chisolm said.

I’ll call Shen and let him handle it, she agreed. They’ll want to get the detectives out, as well as Crime Scene.

Chisolm nodded. She was right, but there was an easier way. Baker-112, advise L-123 that we need at least two more units here. Also.

Copy. Go ahead your also.

Get the dix started, and CSFU.

Janice copied.

Chisolm grinned. Marconi magic, he told her. Then he motioned toward the back of her car. You might as well take him down to the detective’s office for an interview.

After I help you guys clear the house.

We can handle it. With the car gone, he figured there were no further suspects, but he knew they had to be sure. Still, he didn’t want to leave the suspect in the car alone. You can’t leave this guy unsupervised. Remember Houdini?

It was Katie’s turn to frown. Earlier that year, an officer on the south side had left a domestic violence suspect in the back seat of a patrol car while he finished his interview with the victim. When he came out, not only was the suspect gone, but so was his car. Somehow, the man had slipped his cuffs, jimmied the protective shield between the front and back seats and drove off in the patrol car. They found the car six blocks away and the suspect was later arrested when he showed up at the victim’s house again, but the entire incident was lampooned in the River City Herald, making it a cautionary tale for the rest of patrol.

All right, Katie sighed, resigned. She returned to her car, and Chisolm headed toward the house.

0335 hrs

Officer Connor O’Sullivan stood to the left of the front door, his weapon drawn. He knocked loudly and announced, River City Police!

There was no reply, though he could hear shuffling movement inside. A terrible thought suddenly occurred to him. What if there were more suspects still inside the house? He’d parked right in front and walked up like this was some kind of a neighborhood dispute call or something.

I’ve got my head up my ass, he lamented.

And yet, once at the door, his training had taken over, and he’d drawn his gun and took up a tactical position. A perfect example of not rising to the occasion but falling to the level of your training.

He rapped on the door again, louder this time. River City Police! Come to the door!

As if by magic, Thomas Chisolm appeared at the corner of the house. Sully hadn’t heard the tramp of Chisolm’s footsteps in the snow, but whether that was a tribute to Chisolm’s silent and invisible deployment or his own oblivious state these days, he didn’t want to hazard a guess.

Chisolm took up a position against the side of the house at the edge of the porch. He trained his pistol on where the opening would appear when and if someone answered the front door. He gave Sully a nod, and Sully banged on the door a third time.

The door edged up hesitantly. A middle aged Asian man peered out at them with a frightened expression. Blood trickled down his face from a ragged gash on his brow.

Police, sir, Sully said. Show me your hands.

The man let the door wing open further, holding up both palms for Sully to see.

Who else is here? he asked the man.

No one.

You’re alone?

The man gave Sully a confused look. No. Family here. No one else.

Okay, Sully said. Let’s step inside, sir.

The man moved aside, allowing Sully and Chisolm to enter. Sully holstered his pistol and guided the man deeper into the living room. Please, sir. Sit down.

The man complied.

Meanwhile, Chisolm brushed past him and began a protective sweep of the house. Sully considered going with him, but decided that he believed the man. Besides, if anyone could handle a situation alone, it was Chisolm.

He turned his attention to the man in front of him. The wound on his brow was fresh, but the blood was already coagulating. The man didn’t seem to notice it.

Shock, Sully thought.

He keyed his mike, requesting medics. He knew they’d standby a block or two away until he advised that the scene was safe, but Chisolm would complete his clear of the house before the firefighters got the sleep rubbed out of their eyes.

What’s your name, sir?

Tran, he answered.

What happened tonight, Tran?

Men. They come, with guns. He formed a pistol with his thumb and index finger. Want money. Make threats.

How many men?

Tran held up four fingers.

White? Black? Asian?

White men.

Would you recognize them if you saw them again?

Tran shook his head. No. They wear masks.

All of them.

He gave a short nod. Yes, all.

Was anyone hurt?

Tran just stared back at him.

Sully felt a flash of embarrassment. Great question, Captain Obvious. I meant, besides your cut. He motioned toward the man’s brow.

Tran reached up and touched the thickening blood. When he drew his hand away, he stared down at the redness on his fingertips in something that Sully could only describe as wonder. Then he looked back at Sully.

Not me, he said. They hurt my daughter.

Then Sully understood.

0345 hrs

By the time Chisolm cleared the house and gathered the family into one place, medics had arrived. While they set about tending to the victims, he and Sully stepped onto the porch.

Crime Scene is on the way, Sully told him.

Good.

But apparently no detectives.

Chisolm raised his eyebrows at that. Why not?

Sully shrugged. I dunno. But Sergeant Shen just advised that we’re supposed to do preliminary interviews with the family, canvass the block, and let crime scene process everything. They’ll assign an investigator to do follow up in the morning.

Chisolm shook his head. That doesn’t make sense. This is a home invasion. We need to jump on this.

I agree.

Then why the hell…

Sully rubbed his fingers together. Too expensive.

Chisolm clenched his jaw. He believed in being a good steward of the people’s money, but this was ridiculous. Good police work ran on manpower, and manpower cost money. Why did politicians try to make it more difficult?

If these guys get away because the brass doesn’t want to spend money on overtime... he trailed off, not knowing exactly what the consequence would be. The wrath of Thomas Chisolm wasn’t something the police brass worried about, but they did fear public opinion.

Like I said, I agree, Sully said with a sigh. But there’s them that makes the decisions, and…

Thems that gets to live with the decisions, Chisolm finished. He wagged a finger at him. Don’t throw my own bullshit wisdom in my face, Sully.

It’s not bullshit.

It is when you say it.

Sully smiled, something Chisolm hadn’t seen him do a lot of in the past year and a half. But the smile faded quickly. I’ll take the family interviews, if you want to canvass the block.

Chisolm thought about it for a second. Most of the neighbors had probably been asleep during the event. He’d be knocking on a lot of doors and listening to a lot of accounts of how people saw the police show up, but in the end, it wasn’t going to be a ton of work. Interviewing the families on the other hand…

Let’s split the family member interviews, and let Adam sector cops handle the canvass, he suggested.

Sully shook his head. They could only spare two cars, and they’re handling the perimeter.

The canvass can wait, then.

No, Sully said, it can’t. Listen, I know I’ve been pulling less than my weight since… He hesitated, then finished, … for a while. And I’m sorry about that.

You’re fine, Chisolm replied, but even he could hear the artifice in his voice. Sully was right, and both of them knew it. He’d been a shell of himself over the past year and a half. To Chisolm, it still seemed odd to see him out on patrol alone, without the presence of Anthony Battaglia.

I’ve got the family interviews, Sully repeated.

All right, Chisolm answered. He clapped Sully on the shoulder, turned around, and headed toward the first house on the block.

Soonest begun was soonest done.

0421hrs

Officer Katie MacLeod put Ricky into the interview room, affixing his handcuffed right wrist to a chain bolted into the wall. She was pretty sure it was a gross violation of the fire code, but so far no one had figured that out.

She spent the next fifteen minutes on the computer, running white males within Ricky’s size range to see if she could find him in the system. She found nothing, even though she tried variations of Ricky and Rick, even Richard. The descriptors were simply too broad, and the system returned hundreds of entries. She needed something to narrow the search.

Ricky had been strangely quiet on the way to police headquarters. She wondered if the gravity of his situation had begun to sink in. Or maybe his adrenaline dump had subsided and he was crashing. Then again, if he was crashing, she found it more likely that it’d be methamphetamine that he’d be coming down from.

The only words he spoke were a blunt profanity when she asked him his last name.

I should check him for tattoos, she thought. That might narrow things.

Katie smiled. Among the criminal element, having a tattoo wasn’t uncommon. In fact, Sully and Battaglia used to joke frequently about violations of the ratio of teeth to tattoos on graveyard patrol.

Actually, she remembered that it had been Chisolm who first posited the theory. Sully and Batts just used it all the time.

Battaglia.

God, she hadn’t thought of him in days. Maybe longer. If someone had told her a year ago that she would go longer than ten minutes without thinking of the fallen officer, the very idea would have offended her. But life does go on, and Officer Anthony Battaglia wasn’t on her mind as frequently as he once was.

She knew the same wasn’t true for Sully, though. The ‘twins’ had been close, and Sully took the death of Batts particularly hard. Probably the only reason he kept going was because of Battaglia’s family. Sully had become almost a surrogate father to those kids, and a rock for Rebecca Battaglia.

And here I am, forgetting about the guy.

Katie let herself feel bad for a small moment, then flushed the thought away. She hadn’t forgotten Batts. None of them had. But they had to go on living. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by shouting and thumping sounds from the interview room. A terrible image flashed in her mind as she stormed back toward the door. This guy better not be another Houdini, she murmured. She reached the door, unlatched it, and swung it open.

Ricky was still there. He glared at her. I have to piss.

What’s your last name? Katie asked.

Fuck off.

Sounds Russian, she said, and gave Ricky her best Thomas Chisolm cold smile.

Very funny, Ricky said. You have to let me piss. It’s the law.

Katie arched her brow. I’m not familiar with that law.

Don’t be such a bitch, he said, but the words lacked any bite. If anything, she heard a slight whine creeping into his tone. I really gotta go.

I can’t. You’ve got to be escorted.

"Escorted? To piss?"

Yes, and I don’t have a male officer to do that right now.

Ricky frowned, then glanced over her shoulder. What about him?

Katie didn’t react right away, wary of a trick. But Ricky only had six inches of slack chain, so even if he lunged at her, he’d pull up short. Besides, he kept staring past her.

He can urinate at jail, said the voice behind her.

Katie turned, pulling the interview room door shut as she did so. Sergeant Shen stood nearby, his eyes tired but his expression otherwise impassive.

Sarge?

O’Sullivan has been trying to reach you, Shen said.

Katie glanced down at her radio. She’d turned off her portable when she got into her patrol car to avoid creating feedback from the car radio, and had forgotten to turn it on again once she’d reached the station. Sorry, Sarge. I guess I figured I’d be here until the detectives showed up.

No detectives tonight, Shen told her.

No detectives? Katie repeated in disbelief. But it’s a home invasion. I fired rounds at the suspect. He shot at me with a shotgun!

Shen didn’t respond directly to her comment. Instead, he said, Some decisions get made at the highest level, and there’s nothing we can do.

Katie stared at him. What exactly did that mean?

O’Sullivan said he has enough probable cause to book your guy tonight for first degree burglary, Shen continued. The detectives will revise the charges later if they need to. You can transport him over to jail, where presumably his trip to bathroom will be the first order of business.

But I don’t even have a name for him yet. Does Sully?

Shen shook his head. No. But jail can run his prints. If he doesn’t come up with a local scan, book him as John Doe until they can run him nationwide.

All right.

Good, Shen said. He turned to go, then stopped. You all right?

Fine, Katie said. No one got hurt. Just the side of some poor house.

Shen seemed to measure her with his eyes. Still, shots fired, right?

Yes, sir.

Do you want to take a comp day? To decompress?

Katie shook her head without thinking. No. I’d rather work.

Shen considered her words, then nodded slowly. Okay. But if you need anything, call me.

You got it.

Good work, MacLeod.

Thanks, Sarge.

He nodded to her, then strode away.

Katie watched him go. She couldn’t get her head around the fact that no detectives were being called out for a home invasion robbery. She knew there were budget issues brewing at City Hall. Part of it had to do with the police contract that expired in March. Reports from the union negotiators were that the two sides were far apart. Was this some kind of ploy from City Hall to put pressure on the police department?

She didn’t think so. That sounded too greasy even for politicians. But she knew this had to be about money, and in her mind, money should never come before people.

More thumping arose from interview room. Katie opened the door. Take it easy, she told him.

Piss! Ricky yelled at her.

Katie didn’t react. Instead, she unhooked the restraint chain. Stand up. We’re going to jail.

I don’t care where we go, as long as they have a toilet.

It’s jail, Katie thought. The whole place is a toilet.

But she said nothing.

0506 hrs

Anything else you can think of, sir? Chisolm asked the elderly man in the doorway of 2809 East Joseph.

The man’s hands were clutched at the edges of his bathrobe, pulling it tight against the night air. The white robe had a red sheen to it from the Christmas lights strung above the door. The man shook his head. No, officer. I was headed back from the bathroom, when I heard several car doors slam. I looked out my window and saw the four guys heading toward the house. It just seemed odd to me, the way they were moving all purposeful-like, you know? And then I saw one carrying a rifle, so I called you guys.