Finding Carson: Mark Adler, #1

By Josh Soule

Best-Selling Author, Josh Soule brings a shocking and tragic legal thriller.
Sometimes bad things happen to good people.

Mark Adler had just finished a celebration dinner to mark the first day of his retirement as Detective Lieutenant with the Bay City Police Department. Adler looks forward to enjoying his retirement until he witnesses a city patrol officer assault a teenage girl. 

Wanting to do the right thing, Adler reports the incident, only to find that there is no trace of the officer or the suspect, and the department has no interest in pursuing it further. Desperate to find the truth, Mark Adler takes matters into his own hands, even at the risk of criminal prosecution; after all, if he doesn't help this girl - who will? 

In part two, Adler's protege, Detective Carl Brathis partners with FBI agent Regina Carrigan to dive further into the case revealed by Mark Adler's unlawful investigation. Their meddling spurs activity in a local gang and warrants the involvement of the Mexican Mafia, and the notorious "El Fuego". Meanwhile, the trial of Mark Adler sparks heated emotions in the community and the jury faces a difficult decision on his fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Josh Soule
• Release date: Mar 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393141808

Book preview

Part One

Chapter One

Y ou have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one may be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as I have just read them to you? Detective Howard asked as he placed the small Miranda Advisement card back in his pocket.

The card is essentially a legal defense. There were historical cases where some high-priced defense attorney questioned an interrogating officer about giving the Miranda advisement; an officer can state that advisement hundreds or thousands of times. On the pressures of a witness stand, however, the officer can fumble and make a mistake, giving ammunition to a defense attorney. Reading a card, however, ensures no mistakes are made, and the officer can refer to the card in court if asked to please recite what he told the suspect.

Although I had seen this hundreds, if not thousands of times, it was disheartening to see Detective Howard taking such precautions with me. I could be certain that Howard would be cautious and do everything by the book—a painful reminder of the severity of the situation I was in.

Yes, I understand, I replied, not willing to be intimidated by anything that was about to be thrown my way.

At this time, would you like to contact an attorney? He inquired.

No.

Interrogation room A102 was the best one; it was better maintained than the others, and further down the hall—the perfect place to walk felony suspects to increase tension. Over the years, it just became the preferable room to use for any interview or interrogation. I had used this room hundreds of times, however, this would be the first time I was not the one asking the questions. In fact, I had dug myself into a mess of trouble over the last 72 hours.

Detective Tyler Howard sat across from me at the solid steel table that was bolted to the floor. The floor was concrete, but unlike the other interrogation rooms was polished with a laminate finish that made it shine. The lighting was bright, and two-way glass windows lined the wall with the exit which sat behind Detective Howard. This was a rookie mistake on his part, you should sit the suspect closer to the door so they feel more comfortable and less trapped. This makes the suspect relax a bit and much more likely to share information with you. Howard was my replacement, he was an excellent officer and worthy of the promotion. Nonetheless, he had much to learn.

How are you doing Adler, Howard asked politely, do you need anything? Water?

It is unlawful to deny a suspect’s basic needs like water or bathroom breaks when requested, but offering these things is a sign of respect and a tactic to build rapport with your suspect. Howard was doing exactly what I would have done in this situation; we weren’t enemies and we never would be. He wasn’t trying to trick me or threaten me, but simply to make me feel as if I still had a friend to confide in. Although, Howard didn’t realize that I had accepted long ago that I didn’t have any friends.

I’m fine, thank you, I said dryly. I just wanted to get things over with.

Well, Howard said, opening a file in front of him I’m sure had nothing useful in it. I’m sure you know the process better than I do. Why don’t you just tell me what happened from the beginning, and I want to remind you that we are being audio and visual recorded for evidence.

I looked down at the metal table in front of me for a few seconds, the once smooth metal had scratches and divots from unruly suspects over the years. A pair of handcuffs were attached to the underside of the table, but my hands were not in them. No chance Howard was going to handcuff a cooperative retired investigator like myself. I looked back up at Howard and began my story.

Chapter Two

Good afternoon, my name is Mark Adler, I am a retired Detective Lieutenant with the Bay City, New York Police Department. On Tuesday, May 23, 2018, at 1700 hours, I ended my final shift after thirty years of service. I left the precinct and met my daughter, Tara, and her husband, James, at Shogun Sushi for a scheduled dinner to celebrate my retirement.  I arrived at the restaurant around 1730 hours where I waited in my car until James and Tara pulled up. The parking lot was very busy and the restaurant was mostly full.

We stood and waited to be seated for about ten minutes before the pleasant, young waitress brought us to our booth. Service was a little slow because the place was so packed, so we chatted a while before we saw our waitress again to take our drink order. Tara asked what I planned to do with my retirement. I told her that I was going to relax; for the first time, I could have nothing to do. No cases piled up, no nightmares to keep me awake. Just relax. I looked forward to some quiet time at home where I could find some hobbies, maybe write a book about some of my experiences. I also had taken up an interest in drawing, though I wasn’t very good at it yet. Occasionally some trees in a park or an old building would catch my eye, so I would try to recreate the beauty when I got home but would often just be disappointed.

I had a Master’s Degree in English, though I never used it until recently. About a year ago I got a job as an adjunct instructor at the local community college, teaching an adult literature class. I enjoyed the stories and creativity from the students, and it was a relaxing change from the stress of my day job.

The waitress brought our drinks, Tara and James both had wine but I stuck with water—an old habit of the job. I learned to stay sober and avoid alcohol because it was all too easy to depend on the stuff to cope with stress. We all got a sushi roll, James seemed to struggle a bit eating it, which I can understand—the texture can be difficult for some people to bear. It never bothered me, but truthfully, I had become pretty numb to most things. Even the delicacy of a more expensive meal had become just the same as a late-night sandwich, it was just sustenance. This was a symptom of the desensitization I had developed from years of experiencing gruesome and traumatizing events on almost a daily basis.

James is a good man, insurance broker. He and Tara met because a friend of hers knew his sister or something like that; he was quiet and respectful, hardworking, I never had any complaints about the guy. Tara works as an airline pilot, which may seem like a pretty great job but actually sounds quite stressful. She’s constantly rushing from gate to gate and flight to flight, shoving food in her mouth. She switches time zones, fights jet lag, deals with weather and cramped quarters for hours and days at a time. The pay is nice, and the benefits are excellent. Not to mention, she gets to travel to very exotic locations. Somehow, she and James built their crazy lives around each other and found happiness. They even manage to check in on me when they’re both home and free.

At approximately 1850 hours, we were finished with dinner. James and Tara mentioned something about how I could stay with them and save my pension money if I wanted, they were not home very often so it would not be an inconvenience at all to them. I politely declined and expressed my interest in solitude. I intended to stay home, do some hobbies and crafts, travel a bit, fish, hike, teach, see some sights, all the things I never had time to do in my life. I wasn’t exactly sure what it meant to relax, but I was intent on finding out. I wasn’t willing to accept that I was too old to take care of myself; in fact, I am probably more capable than most people half my age.

I opened Tara’s door for her on the passenger side of James’ car and said my goodbyes to them both.  They began to drive away and I walked to my vehicle, but as I approached, my phone rang. I knew it was against the law to talk on the phone while driving, so I paced around my car for a moment as I spoke on the phone to my brother, Kevin. He was calling to offer his congratulations and say that I would have to come visit him in Washington now that I couldn’t use work as an excuse. We shared some friendly banter and I hung up the phone.

It was around 1900 hours, I took my keys out of my pocket and prepared to unlock my car door. However, I paused for a moment as I noticed a local police officer had made a traffic stop on the far side of the parking lot. The officer was about thirty yards from my vehicle, she was a young female officer, maybe in her mid-twenties, blonde hair. The female suspect was standing next to the patrol car, she looked to be quite young, maybe eighteen years old. She was about five-five, one hundred pounds, brown hair, fair skin with a lot of freckles, and a few tattoos on her arms I could not distinguish. She was wearing blue jeans and a black tank top. The suspect appeared to be your run of the mill petty criminal, sunken cheeks, darkened eyes, timid, she overall appeared to have poor hygiene.

Although I noticed the traffic stop, I didn’t think anything of it at first. I proceeded to open my car door until I heard the officer shouting at the suspect.

She hollered something to the effect of, You better answer me!

I shook my head in disappointment. If I learned one thing performing interrogations and field interviews, it was that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. The suspect was arguing, stating she didn’t know. It was unclear exactly what the officer was asking her, but the two argued back and forth for a moment. I entered my vehicle, opting to stay out of it as it was no longer my business.

I started the car.

The officer then grabbed the suspect by the arm and performed a straight armbar takedown to force her onto the pavement, and continued to give loud verbal commands to the suspect.

You’re going to tell me where the drugs are, or I’m going to make you! The officer shouted at the suspect who was moaning loudly in pain on the ground.

At this point I turned off my ignition and exited the vehicle, not realizing that I had set my cell phone on the passenger seat. I decided that this poor-quality traffic stop had gone too far and I should offer some assistance to prevent it from getting any more out of control.

As I stood near my car the officer had her knee on the suspect’s back as she lay face down on the pavement. The officer had one of the suspect’s arms pulled back, cranking on it as she moaned in pain, the officer drew her taser from its holster and removed the cartridge from the front.  She drive-stunned the suspect in the ribs and continued to shout, Where are the drugs?.

The suspect screamed in pain, kicked and bucked, and began to cry. I began to jog towards the patrol vehicle. Hey, that’s enough, I shouted.

My shout caused the officer to look angrily toward me, I debated showing her my retirement badge and identifying myself to her. I had never seen her before, so in her eyes I was nothing more than a meddling civilian. I wanted to inform the officer on who I was and how she needed to proceed from here, but I did not want to do this in front of the suspect.

Officer, I stated authoritatively, please put the suspect in your vehicle so I can have a moment of your time.

My intention was to offer some guidance to the officer or request she contact the sergeant on duty if she was resistant to my attempts. As the officer looked at me, she had loosened her grip on the suspect.

Sir, I need you to return to your vehicle, the officer said boldly, not knowing who I was or that I was aware of the gross misconduct she had just committed.

Before I could respond, the suspect bucked hard