Chapter 7

Rather than have Steve and Allyson track down their vehicles, Bryant suggested they take his SUV — since it was parked right behind them. He tossed the keys to Allyson and climbed into the backseat.

Allyson admonished the lieutenant and patrolman to maintain radio silence.

"If either of you call ahead to warn them, I will add tampering with evidence charges against you," she promised. The men nodded and returned to their vehicles.

Then she turned to Steve Curtis.

"You drive," she said, offering the keys. "I have calls to make."

Her first call was to Jonah Attenborough, the city attorney.

"Things came to a head today," she said into the phone. "Can you contact the attorney general and the state police to let them know? I'm on my way to City Hall. The state police will need to take control of the scene and the evidence. Okay, we'll wait for you."

She put her phone away and turned in her seat.

"Steve, I have a confession to make," she began after a deep breath. "The state attorney general's office and the state police have been investigating the department for months. A grand jury in Columbia handed down sealed indictments two weeks ago. We convinced the state's attorney to wait to unseal them until you had someone in place to assume control of the department. He contacted us as a courtesy but we were forbidden from mentioning it. I'm sorry."

"Indictments?" Steve asked. He hated to take his eyes off the road. It was a summer Saturday and traffic was heavy. "Who has been charged?"

"I don't know," Allyson admitted. "I would assume the chief and some others. The charges are pretty serious — official oppression, malfeasance, misappropriation of public funds. I won't know for sure until the state police arrive at city hall."

She shifted her gaze to the backseat.

"I couldn't even tell you, Bryant," she continued. "I honestly don't think it will affect your ability to do the job or I would have found some way to discourage you."

Bryant nodded slightly. The rest of the drive downtown was done in silence. There was a bald man waiting in the lobby with Oscar Cremins and Jim Andrews standing with him.

Steve Curtis led the parade through the police department doors. Allyson was close on his heels, followed by Jonah Attenborough and the two police officers. Bryant stayed in the back because he had held the door for the rest.

"Sergeant, you need to contact the chief and get him back in town immediately," Curtis said.

The man behind the desk sneered.

"I don't take orders from you," he said.

"You won't be taking orders from anyone in a few minutes," Curtis shot back. Bryant decided it was time to step forward. He opened his new wallet and sat the badge on the desk.

"You're fired," he said simply. "Insubordination in any form will not be tolerated — not to the council, not to a supervisor, and certainly not to a member of the public. Remove your sidearm and shield, please."

The man looked down at the badge and to the man in front of him.

"Take them if you think you can," he said as his hand went to his weapon.

Before the last syllable was out of his mouth, Bryant had hurdled the counter, grabbed the man's hand, twisted it behind his back and pushed the man forward onto the desk with an elbow to the back of the man's neck.

"I can," he said simply. "Officer Andrews, I require your handcuffs."

The officer didn't look at his colleagues. He stepped forward and offered them. Bryant cuffed the sergeant, removed the man's weapon and his badge.

"Anyone else?" Bryant asked.

"Who are you?" a young black woman asked.

"Oh, yeah," Bryant said with a smile. "My name is Bryant Hawkins. I was appointed Chief of Detectives a few minutes ago. My apologies."

"So you're in charge?" the woman asked. "I mean, do you outrank Lt. Cremins?"

"Yes," Bryant said simply.

The woman smiled slightly. Bryant glanced down at her name tag. It read, "Coleman."

"Officer Coleman, would you contact all patrols, and have them return to base?" Bryant said. "I'll need a volunteer to contact all off-duty personnel and bring them in as well."

"I can do it," Jim Andrews offered.

Bryant nodded his agreement. Steve had simply stood back and watched the scene play out with interest.

"I'll need an evidence bag for the former sergeant's firearm and badge," Bryant said. Almost immediately, one was produced.

"The gun is mine," the sergeant said.

Bryant looked at it. It was a military issue Colt .45.

"Do you have a carry permit?" he asked.

"I'm a cop!" the sergeant said loudly. "I don't need a carry permit."

"You were a cop," Bryant answered. "You no longer are. You were fired for insubordination. Remember? That means you will need to produce a valid carry permit before I can return this to you. Produce that, I'll give it back. Until them, I'll hold onto it. I wouldn't want you to face more charges than you probably already do."

He turned to the room at large.

"Anyone else carrying a non-issue firearm?" he asked. "If so, take it home and leave it at home. If you want a hideout gun, come to me and we'll discuss it. But under no circumstances will anyone in this department carry a weapon that is not issued by the city. Am I clear?"

A chorus of "Yes, Sir," filled the room just as a state police captain came through the door.

He was familiar with many members of the Emerald Cove Police Department but he didn't recognize the man behind the desk addressing the patrol officers. The man was dressed in casual clothing and seemed to be directing traffic in the room. For a fleeting moment, the state policeman wondered if the FBI had gotten wind of the case and swooped in to steal it away from the ones who had done the investigation. The Feds hadn't expressed interest but they could have changed their minds. The case did cross state lines so it was their jurisdiction if they wanted it.

Bryant saw the state policeman and nodded in his direction.

"The state police will be conducting an investigation of how this department has been run," he said. "I expect your full cooperation. Anything remotely construed as obstructing their investigation will be grounds for dismissal and possible prosecution. I hope that's understood."

Bryant stepped away and turned the floor over to the state policeman.

"Who are you?" the policeman asked.

"He is Bryant Hawkins," Steve Curtis stated. "He is our new chief of detectives. Has Chief Tutwiler been indicted?"

The state policeman glanced at Allyson before answering.

"Yes," he answered finally.

"Then Chief Hawkins is our acting chief," Steve said. "I will call the City Council and we'll make it official by this evening."

The man nodded. He turned to Lt. Cremins.

"Oscar Cremins, you're under arrest," he said. "Sergeant Wilkes has already been cuffed so I'll handle you first."

"Arrest?" Cremins said, his face white.

"You've been indicted by a state grand jury on charges of official oppression, falsification of state records, embezzlement, fraud and extortion," the state policeman said. "William Wilkes, you're under arrest on the same charges."

He stood and looked around the room. He either knew the men under indictment or had seen their pictures. No one else on his radar was in the room.

"Who else?" Steve asked in a soft voice.

"Tutwiler and his crew," the officer said. "Cremins and three other lieutenants; Wilkes and two other sergeants. None of the rank and file. But you have other problems there. I'll fill Chief Hawkins in on those details once this mess is cleared up."

It took almost an hour before the rest of the other Emerald Cove police squad wandered in. The chief was still missing and one of the lieutenants couldn't be found.

The sergeant finally relented and gave the state police the chief's number in Georgia. The man answered and found instead of his sergeant, a state police captain was on the phone. The chief initially refused to return.

"You need to return to Emerald Cove," the captain said. "The Georgia State Patrol is on their way to your fishing cabin. They will arrest you and you will stay in jail until extradition. Then it is likely you will sit in jail until trial. If you return of your own volition, there is a chance you will be granted bail."

The chief made no promises other than to fight the charges vigorously.

While the state police were dealing with the chief and his cronies, Bryant was left to handle the Emerald Cove force. After Steve Curtis introduced Bryant, the new chief ushered the policemen into the briefing room.

"All right," Bryant said. "You've seen the state police out there when you came in. Chief, uh, whatever his name is, has been indicted."

"Tutwiler," a voice called out.

"Yeah, him," Bryant said with a shrug. "All the officers are under arrest or will be soon. That leaves me in charge. Anyone who has a problem with that, leave your sidearm and badge and head on your way. I've got too many things to get through to deal with crybabies and assholes."

Bryant waited but no one got up to leave.

"First thing, I will issue a new patrol schedule," Bryant continued. "This will be effective as soon as this brief meeting has concluded. I saw the sector assignments. From here on out – or at least until I'm shitcanned – we will have no more than four officers patrolling the beach section. Once I figure out which sergeant compiled the schedule, I'll revise it and post it."

"I do the schedule," Officer Coleman piped up.

"Well, effective immediately, you are promoted to interim duty sergeant," Bryant declared. "Revise the schedule and get more feet on the street. I want no more than four at the beach. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir," Coleman said. She pointed to four male officers. "You four are to return to the beach. The rest of you will patrol sections one through four. See me before you leave for a sector car assignment. Change sectors each hour. I will expect hourly reports on location."

The four men looked startled to be given orders by a young, black woman.

"Got it?" Bryant asked the room.

The men nodded grudgingly.

"Okay, one last item and we'll send you back to the streets," Bryant said. "I've been told that several of you are using personal firearms. Store them in your locker until you're off shift. Then take them home and do not bring them back. Any use of a non-registered weapon will result in immediate suspension. We'll have a full briefing before your next patrol. For now, I'm using an interrogation room as my office. If you have questions, that's where you'll find me."

Bryant had barely sat down when a red-faced, overweight man came through the door.

"I have more seniority than Coleman," he said. "You'll have to promote me and a dozen others before you get to her."

"Promotions are on a temporary basis and outside of union parameters," Bryant said without looking up from the personnel files he was perusing. "Call your shop steward if you have a complaint. They'll tell you the same thing. If you're supposed to be on patrol, get out there. If you're off-duty, just get out."

The man slammed the door when he left.

Bryant hadn't been able to finish Adele Coleman's personnel file before the state police captain knocked and entered. He gave Bryant a soft smile.

"You walked into a clusterfuck," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Ron Wilson."

"Bryant Hawkins," Bryant answered, shaking the man's hand. Wilson pulled out a chair and plopped down.

"The Georgia Highway Patrol is escorting Chief Tutwiler to the state line," Wilson informed him. "My guys are going to pick him up there and return him to Emerald Cove. I'm going to wait here and slap the cuffs on him."

"Sounds good to me," Bryant said.

"I don't want to step on your toes," Wilson said with a shrug.

"Don't worry about that," Bryant told him. "Are you the head of the local detachment?"

Wilson nodded.

"I want to see if you could pick up some of the outer areas," Bryant said. "I'm spread thin and I'm about to be spread thinner."

"We've offered a dozen times," Wilson confessed. "Tutwiler always claimed jurisdiction. We'd be more than happy to lend a hand around the city limits."

"Thanks," Bryant said. "You won't have any problems with me on jurisdiction unless you get ridiculous. I'm sure the same will be true for the woman who'll take over from me – whenever she gets here."

"You're not staying?" Wilson asked. He had been impressed with how Bryant had taken control of the room when the patrol officers arrived.

"I'm staying to run the investigations division," Bryant told him. "I think they plan to hire another Chicago detective to take care of the chief's post. She's a better administrator than I am."

"A package deal?" Wilson wondered.

"Nah," Bryant replied. "I saw the ad and sent a resume. I found out about the vacancy in the chief's chair when I got down here. I thought of Jan as soon as I heard. She and I partnered up for a while. She was pissed at the way everything happened up there."

"Happened?" Wilson pressed. He would have to interact with the lead investigator for Emerald Cove and wanted to know if the guy was a loose cannon.

"On-duty shooting," Bryant admitted. "Fourth in twelve years. All of them were clean ... but, well, you know how it is."

Wilson didn't know how it was. He had never drawn his service weapon.

"You get fired?" he asked with a frown.

"I retired," Bryant answered. "I would have been cleared but, well, I knew I was done. I knew I needed to get away from Chicago."

"Good to know," Wilson said. "So, the reason I'm bending your ear. You're going to lose about ten of your officers."

"Indicted?" Bryant asked.

"Not yet," Wilson answered. "We did a small sample and found some anomalies in their state certifications. A couple never completed the certification course. A couple need a firearms course. A couple have criminal records."

"Criminal records?" Bryant asked, mouth agape. "That isn't possible."

Wilson shrugged.

"It is if you falsify the records," Wilson said. "I don't have the official records. Those are here. If you want to handle this part, the City Council might appreciate it. I'm sure they would appreciate it if things were done quietly."

Bryant tipped his head back on the chair to stare at the ceiling. He wasn't sure if the officers had committed a crime by refusing to divulge an arrest record – or if Chief Tutwiler had simply omitted the relevant information.

"Yeah, I'll handle it," Bryant said eventually. "Christ. I have to get back to Chicago to get my shit. I didn't plan to jump in here feet first."

"Head first," Wilson corrected. "You are buried in bullshit from the get-go."

Bryant pulled the last of the personnel files and pushed the pages out across the desk. He had found seven officers who were not qualified to serve on the force. A couple of the men had come forward when they learned that Bryant was reviewing their files. They offered their resignations. The others had been brought in and fired. A couple didn't go quietly, threatening lawsuits and union grievances. Still, they went.

The last one was going to be the hardest. The man had been on the force for five years and had an exemplary service record. He had never been a problem. He had mentored some of the younger officers and did his best to keep them out of trouble. A knock brought Bryant's eyes up from the file.

Officer Scott Lewis appeared and Bryant ushered him to a seat across from him.

"We have a problem," Bryant said.

Lewis looked confused.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I'm going to have to let you go," Bryant said.

The man's mouth dropped.

"Why?" he asked.

"You have a juvenile arrest record," Bryant answered.

"That was a dozen years ago!" Lewis said. "Oh, Jesus."

"It's still there," Bryant told him. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

"I was a stupid fucking kid," Lewis said. "I was going through some shit and I thought it would be cool to hang with some stoners. We got busted for weed. I entered a diversionary program. My mom whipped my ass."

"Did you complete the diversionary program?" Bryant wondered.

Lewis looked at his hands.

"No," Lewis admitted. "My Dad got transferred to Fort Jackson and I still owed them 10 hours of community service."

Bryant nodded.

"Well, there are no arrest warrants out for you," Bryant said. "I ran everyone through NCIC. When I did the background check, this popped up."

"Dad went down and paid the fine," Lewis said. "Damn it. I got a kid on the way. What am I going to do?"

Bryant sighed.

"Let me make some calls," he said. "Until I get something straightened out, I'll transfer you to an administrative position. I'll move you to a civilian post, no cut in pay, no loss of benefits. Once we know for certain if we can get this charge dismissed, we'll see where we can go."

Lewis nodded as he got up to leave.

"We'll figure something out," Bryant promised.

"Sure," Lewis answered without much hope in his voice. He had seen that the new chief had little time for screw-ups.

Bryant had studiously avoided Allyson Granger in the three days he had been in Emerald Cove. It had been far too much work, far sooner than he had expected. The Jimenez family was packing up his house. He had a Realtor in Chicago put his home on the market. He had Allyson's mother looking for someplace in Emerald Cove. Jan had given the CPD a month's notice and was serving it out before heading south. She had given Bryant instructions to make sure the shit storm was done before he dragged her down there.

But he needed Allyson's help on the Lewis situation. He was surprised when her paralegal ushered him into Allyson's office without announcing him. Allyson greeted him with a smile.

"Got a minute?" he asked.

"Always," Allyson told him. "I've been expecting you earlier. Mom said she has some nice places for you to look at."

"This is a professional matter," Bryant told her as he took a seat opposite her.

"We have nothing pending that I know of," Allyson told him, glancing at her court calendar.

"It's about one of my officers," Bryant cut in. Allyson closed her calendar and fixed her gaze on Bryant.

"Tell me about it," she said.

Bryant explained about Scott Lewis' youthful indiscretion.

"By all accounts, he's a good officer," Bryant told her. "I was two dozen short when I took over. I've had to let a dozen more go in the past three days. I don't want to lose this guy. The young officers look up to him. He does the job the right way."

Allyson nodded.

"Do I have options?" Bryant asked.

She shrugged.

"If the charge is dropped or dismissed, he's clear," Allyson said. "Tutwiler is the one who falsified the clearances. From what I've heard, everyone was honest on the application. The only one who might be in some trouble is the guy who was charged with domestic violence down in Georgia and didn't mention it to anyone. Let me make a call. Where am I calling?"

"Kansas," Bryant said. "The dad was at Fort Leavenworth. Lewis said he was ten hours short of completing the community service. The Dad went down, pleaded him guilty and paid the fine. There was no jail time. I mean, it was a misdemeanor arrest. But it was drugs and you know how that goes."

"Screws you up for a lot of things," Allyson said. "No student loans, no bank jobs, no civil service clearances. Let me call out there and see if I can sweet-talk a judge into either dismissing the charges or going through with ARD. It'll probably take a month or so."

"Thanks, Allyson," Bryant told her. "I've moved him to a civilian post for now. I think I'm clear on that. I have two people working as dispatchers I'm going to have let go. Right now, Lewis is my community liaison. I guess I'll leave him there if we can't work that out."

"But you'd rather have him on the street," Allyson said.

"I would," Bryant told her.

"Then I will do everything in my power to make it happen," Allyson promised.

It took until after the weekend before Bryant could sit down with the Mary Beth Brockleman case folder. It was remarkably thin for a murder file.

There was no murder book, no witness statements. It consisted almost solely of crime scene photos. There was no autopsy report and no preliminary report from the state crime lab — despite the fact it had been more than three months since the crime occurred.

Bryant picked up the phone and called the state police detachment. No one there had received a copy of the crime lab report either.

"Only the jurisdictional authority would get a copy," the officer told him. "I have a note that our forensic tech called Emerald Cove for a copy but none was sent."

After hanging up, Bryant called the number for the state crime lab that the state police sergeant had provided.

"This is the first request we've had for this file," the young tech told Bryant. "We sent notification last month that it was available. Do you want the password?"

"Password?" Bryant asked.

"Everything is online now," she told Bryant. "It's part of our state intranet. Hey, do you want to release the password to the staties? I had a call about it a couple of weeks ago."

"Release it to them," Bryant told her. "Or I can print it out and take them a copy. Whichever works best."

"I've got enough to do without trying to figure out where to call next," the woman replied with a laugh.

"I figure," Bryant told her. "Uh, look, I want the files on two other cases. Can I get those through you?"

"If you have the file number," the woman told him.

"I can't find the original files," Bryant admitted. "I've just taken over the job here and things are a mess. I have the names of the victims. They're a year old or so."

"Give me the names and I'll call you back," the woman said. This wasn't the normal way of doing business but the guy had been nice enough.

"No hurry," Bryant said. "A year or more is too long. But I want them on-hand in case something breaks. You never know. Anything unusual on the Brockleman case?"

"Semen," the woman said. "Two sources, one in the DNA database from Ohio – no name, just the markers."

"Ohio," Bryant repeated. "The Brockleman girl was from Ohio, too."

"Spring Break," the crime tech said. "Probably 20,000 kids down here from Ohio. The things is, this popped on three open cases."

"Near Cincinnati?" Bryant asked.

"One," the woman asked. "Another from the Dayton area and one from the eastern part of the state."

"Gallipolis?" Bryant asked, sitting up straight in his chair.

"Yeah," the woman said. "How did you know?"

"The girl," Bryant answered. "The girl was from outside of Gallipolis. This wasn't random. This was someone who knew Mary Beth Brockleman. I can't believe no one called you about this. Christ. If I get a DNA sample, can you rush it?"

"If I can," the woman said. "Homicides get priority. Give me a call when you get it and I'll work you in."

"Thank you, Miss Harrison," Bryant answered.

"Bea," she said. "And you can buy me a drink the next time you're in Columbia."

"Deal," Bryant said with a laugh.

He hung up the phone and wished that Jan Elliot would get her ass down to Emerald Cove so he could head up to Ohio and put this case to rest.