Chapter 2

The next day, Bryant called his lieutenant. The man was surprised to hear from the guy he considered his star detective.

"I was wondering, sir, if you might compose a letter of recommendation for me?" Bryant asked, hesitation clear in his voice.

"PPB on your ass already?" the lieutenant, Dan Murray, asked.

"No, Sir," Bryant answered. "At least, not yet. I, uh, I think I'm going to look at somewhere else."

"Somewhere else?" Dan asked. "Like where?"

"South Carolina, I think," Bryant answered. "Somewhere where the most I'm going to have to worry about is drunks on the weekend. I ... I don't think I can do this anymore. At least, not here."

"Bryant, wait until you talk to the p-shrink," Dan advised. "I've never been in your shoes so I won't pretend I have been. But you do good work here. You've closed cases that would never have been solved with someone else. I'd like for you to reconsider."

"Maybe I will," Bryant said. "But would you give me a recommendation if I don't?"

"Of course," Dan answered. "Stop by Friday. That's when your PPB hearing is. I'll be there, and I'll give it to you afterward — if you still want it."

Friday came and Bryant showed up at police headquarters a half hour before his scheduled hearing. The first person to see him was his usual partner, Jan Elliot. She had been with him Tuesday when he shot Malcolm Drewery. Jan gave him a companionable pat on the arm.

It meant a lot to Bryant because Jan didn't like to be touched. She didn't mind shaking hands or bumping a fist, but outside of that any physical contact was disdained. Bryant didn't mind. That's why they worked together.

"Good work, Partner," Jan said softly.

"Yeah," Bryant said. "The best part is that you got stuck with the paperwork."

Jan smiled — another rarity — and patted him on the arm again.

"Dan told you?" Bryant asked.

Jan nodded sadly.

"I hope you stay," she said. "I just got you broken in to my quirks. I don't want to have to do it again."

"You'll be upstairs in a year," Bryant said, referring to a promotion to Detective Lieutenant he was certain was in the cards for Jan Elliot.

"So will you," Jan said. Bryant shook his head.

"Not now," he said. "Maybe not ever. Jan, I'm going to request a new partner even if I stay. I'm toxic here. The media won't let this one go. My neighbor told me yesterday that the city has received a request for my service jacket."

"That's bullshit," Jan spat. "Let them come out there and do what we do. If I had a better backstop, I would have been the one they were looking at. I won't force you to partner with me if you don't want to, but don't you worry about my career path."

"I do worry about your career path," Bryant said simply. It was one of the primary reasons that he was always on a suspect's strong side when they performed an arrest and on the weak side during apprehension. A suspect was more likely to turn to his weak side if he had a weapon. It was a more natural motion than turning to his strong side — just like a left-handed shortstop or third baseman would have difficulty turning double plays. Similarly, a man who had been apprehended was more likely to try to use his dominant hand to reach for a weapon from another source – such as the officer's service belt.

"Well stop," Jan hissed, returning to the demeanor Bryant was more accustomed to.

"You'll get the same speech from someone else in a day or two," Bryant said. "Anyway, I've been reading about a department in South Carolina. I think it might be something good for me."

"If it's good for you, then do it," Jan said in a soft voice.

"I figured out that I can retire from here on half pay," Bryant said. "My service time counts double toward my pension. I'll have 20 years in next week."

"No kidding?" Jan said. "I knew you were close, but I figured it was a couple of years away."

"I'm going to put in my papers today if things go bad," Bryant said. It was a decision he'd only reached a moment earlier. "I think the higher-ups would be happier if I just retired. Anyway, sorry about the paperwork. I hope it wasn't too bad. I'll see you when I'm done with PPB."

"I'll see you in there," Jan said, frowning fully now. "I've got to give testimony in person. They didn't want my written report until afterward."

The meeting with the PPB was anti-climactic. Despite pressure from upstairs, the board found the shooting justified. It didn't hurt that a traffic camera had caught the entire episode. There was no question that the dead man had been given numerous opportunities to surrender. There was no question that he had raised his weapon in a threatening manner.

And there was no question — after ballistic reports — that the weapon in the dead man's hand had been used moments earlier to kill an entire family. That news made the media back off — but not some of the civic groups.

Bryant didn't have to offer to retire. The offer was made for him.

"You've got your 20," the lead PPB investigator told him. "They're willing to give you six month's severance and to double your accrued leave time if you retire."

Bryant glanced at the lieutenant, whose face did not display happiness.

"Bryant, think before you sign anything," Dan Murray said. "This is political bullshit, and it will blow over as soon as someone at Daley Plaza gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar."

Bryant shook his head.

"I'll take retirement, so long as I get a letter from the Commissioner stating that my retirement is voluntary, and is in no way related to this investigation," Bryant said.

The investigator nodded and made a note in his folder. Then he stood and motioned the rest of the group to leave the conference room.

"I'll have that for you by Monday," the man said, extending his hand. "This is not my idea. I want you to know that. I've been through your files a dozen times in the last couple of days. I don't think there is cop on the force who wouldn't have reacted the way you did — each time."

"Not if they wanted to live," Jan said. She had offered her testimony and had not spoken since. "I know his partner from the first two shootings. She said the exact same thing as I told you. There was no choice. By the way, I hope you tell the folks who made this decision that the rank-and-file are not going to be real happy about what happens to one of their finest. Total bullshit and so is your disclaimer that it wasn't your idea."

She turned to leave and stopped.

"If you get the job in South Carolina, call me," she said to Bryant. "I might join you if there is an opening. God knows that I can't trust this fucking place to have my back, if someone with the right colored skin decides I'm a fair target."

She slammed the door behind her leaving Bryant with Dan Murray and the investigator.

"Good luck, Bryant," Dan said, shaking his head, and turning to the investigator. "You can add my displeasure about the outcome of this hearing. This guy solves 90 percent of his cases and you throw that aside for politics."

After he was gone, Bryant turned to the investigator.

"I don't blame you — or City Hall," he said simply. "I think I knew it would be this way. So after you deliver the message from Lieutenant Murray and Detective Elliot, let them know I have no hard feelings. I'll stop in Monday and sign the paperwork."

Emerald Cove, South Carolina, had entered the 1980s as a small town with a population of barely more than 10,000. In 30 years, it had seen almost 30,000 new residents come to the area, courtesy of a new highway and two new manufacturing plants.

Its justice system had lagged behind until the city and county could no longer ignore it. The position Bryant applied for was new. The city didn't want a career administrator in the post. They wanted someone with experience on the street.

Most of the resumes had come either from longtime police chiefs looking to move south for retirement or from people who lacked the experience to compete for the job.

Bryant had e-mailed his resume and a copy of his letters of recommendation with a cover letter that told the city that a hard copy was being sent next-day mail.

Linda Roberts, the secretary to the city council, had seen so many resumes in the previous month that she was almost immune to them. But she dutifully opened the file and printed it out, along with the other attachments.

She stopped as she was making copies and raised her eyebrows.

"I think you've got a live one, here," Linda told Steve Curtis as she carried in copies for him and one to send to the chief of police at some point in the distant future. "Active-duty Chicago detective, looks like twelve years in the field. Military before that and a glowing letter of recommendation from his boss and his partner."

"No kidding?" Steve said. "Well, that makes one decent candidate. I guess I should have been a little clearer in the ad, maybe. The two we brought down here were too overweight to do any fieldwork. They've been out of the field for so long they would be learning instead of teaching. Contact number?"

"Should you check his references first?" Linda asked.

"Probably, but I want to see if this guy has some time to come visit us," Steve told her. "Then I'll check him out and schedule something."

Bryant was surprise to hear his cell phone ring. Outside of work, he received about three calls a year. He didn't recognize the number but he knew he was up-to-date on his bills so he figured it wasn't a creditor.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Hello," a Southern voice came through the line. "My name is Steve Curtis. I'm the City Council President in Emerald Cove, South Carolina. I'm trying to reach Detective Bryant Hawkins."

"Speaking, Mr. Curtis," Bryant replied. "Thanks for calling. I just sent the e-mail about ten minutes ago."

"I'd a called earlier if my secretary was worth a darn," Steve replied with a laugh. "It took her most of those ten minutes to make a copy for me. Of course, she perused it first so she could extol your virtues."

Bryant laughed along. He had worked in a bureaucracy long enough to know that the secretaries were the only people in the operation who were completely indispensable.

"Glad I put twenty bucks in with the hard copy I sent down," Bryant replied. "It's never too soon to start sucking up to the real bosses."

Steve Curtis laughed. This was far different from the other calls he'd made. The others he'd spoken too weren't used to dealing cordially with the public and they appeared to lack a sense of humor. Steve wasn't looking for a martinet to lead his department. He had one of those in the chief of police. He wanted someone to be a buffer against the man who was out of his element and refused to admit it.

But that would rectify itself in six months or less. The chief's contract was up for renewal and it wouldn't be extended. Maybe if this guy worked out, he would make the transition easier.

"I wanted to see if you were free to come visit us, soon," Steve wondered.

"Yes, Sir," Bryant answered.

"Call me Steve, everyone does," Curtis replied. "What's your schedule like?"

Bryant decided to go for honesty.

"Open," he said. "I've put in my papers up here. I'm on administrative leave for the next two weeks. My responsibilities have been pulled and I'll be retired before they're reinstated."

"I guess I should ask why you're on administrative leave," Steve asked.

"Police-involved shooting," Bryant replied.

"Did they force you out?" Steve wondered, his hopes fading. He couldn't bring in someone who left with a cloud over his head.

"Depends on how you define it," Bryant said. "I was cleared, if that's what you're asking. But, well, I've been really unlucky up here. This is the fourth time it's happened. I was cleared on all of them. But, well, you're on the city council there. You know how politics work."

"They cleared you and then got rid of you?" Steve asked. He was looking at the letter of recommendation from Lt. Dan Murray. The letter was highly flattering. It didn't make sense to him. Having lived in small towns all his life, Steve Curtis didn't find much unusual about an inner-city cop shooting four people in twelve years. To watch television, both the episodic series and the news shows, it appeared that cops shot people every day.

"That's about it," Bryant confirmed. "I can't blame them, really. Even though it was a good shoot, four times in twelve years is a lot. In fact, it's about four times past a lot."

"Really?" Steve asked, his interest piqued. He was surprised the man was being so candid but, he reflected, it also showed how little Steve knew about police work.

"Most police officers never fire their weapon except on the range," Bryant related. "In most cases, an officer using his weapon four times is either very unlucky, or looking to use it."

"Which are you?" Steve asked. He didn't like to conduct an interview over the phone but if this guy was a using a badge to escape murder charges he didn't want him around Emerald Cove.

"I've always thought I was just unlucky," Bryant told him. "I've worked in some of the rougher neighborhoods. I guess part of the reason I was so willing to leave the force here, is because I would be just as happy to never have to use a gun again. I can't say I wanted to use it, any of those times, but in each case I've felt I had to. Doesn't make dealing with it any easier, though. I almost cashed it in, after this last one."

"Cashed it in?" Steve asked before he understood the reference. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

"If you plan to hire me, you need to know," Bryant said. "The first time I just cried for a couple of days. The next one sent me drinking for a few days. Of course, that was a couple of days after my divorce was final. Thankfully, it wasn't a female perp. That one I might not have been able to explain. I was on foot patrol for those. The first was a meth-head. He pointed a shotgun at my partner and me. The second was a domestic. The guy had pistol-whipped his live-in girlfriend. He fired seven shots at us when we came to investigate. I'm just a better shot than he was, I guess."

"What about the others?" Steve queried.

"The third I was actually off duty," Bryant said. "I was in a bank when it was held up. One of the guys shot a security guard and I shot him. The second dropped his weapon and surrendered."

Steve was taking notes at his desk. He would need to confirm this but he was feeling a little better about bringing Bryant Hawkins in for an interview. It would have been easy to hedge but the guy seemed to be telling the truth. It was a terrible way to conduct an interview and Steve knew it. There was just something about the guy on the other end of the phone that made Steve Curtis want to know all about him. Perhaps it was the calm tone of his voice or perhaps it was because Linda Roberts had been effusive. Or perhaps, Steve thought, it was because every other person he'd spoken to on the phone about the position had been brusque and standoffish.

"This last one, well, I guess I feel a little less remorse as more information comes out," Bryant said. "A guy was in prison for molesting his two little girls. He got out Monday and hunted them and their mom down to some ratty apartment. He killed the three of them and barricaded himself inside. We were called to the scene and we waiting for the SERT team when he walked outside. I told him twice to lay down his weapon. He raised it and I shot him."

"What is SERT?" Steve asked. He vaguely recalled hearing about the mass killing on the news but that wasn't what held his interest right now. He could research it more fully later.

"Special Emergency Response Team," Bryant said. "Used to be called SWAT — Special Weapons and Tactics. But this city is so politically correct now that all the names have changed so as to not offend the masses. It does the same job but just has a new name."

"Oh, OK," Steve said. "Uh, I need to check a couple of things. But unless you hear back from me, how does Friday morning at ten sound for an interview?"

"That's good with me," Bryant said. "If you need further references I can provide them. I got a couple of e-mails from coworkers once word got out."

"Nah, I just need to verify what you've told me," Steve replied. "I'll e-mail a confirmation number on your ticket. Will you fly out of O'Hare?"

"I was planning to just drive down," Bryant said. "I was stationed at Fort Campbell and at Fort Jackson while I was in the Army. I'd like to visit there on the way."

"OK, sounds like a plan," Steve said. "We'll reimburse you 50 cents per mile for the first 200 and 35 cents per mile for any after – up to the cost of a round-trip ticket and a rental car. Just keep track of them and, if you can, send your odometer reading to my secretary. We'll pay for a hotel for you Thursday, Friday and Saturday at least. Maybe Sunday if we need to meet again Monday. Does that work for you?"

"You don't have to pay for my vacation," Bryant told him.

"We're doing this for all the candidates we bring in," Steve replied. "And believe me, I'm a lot more interested in meeting you than I was to meet the rest of them."

Bryant decided to leave the next morning. It would give him three days to drive across. The Jimenez family was excited and disappointed at the same time.

The family had spent more time visiting with Bryant in the past week, and they'd found they liked him. But they also knew it was in his long-term interest to be somewhere else.

Chapter 3 »