Critical Pursuit Page 7

  “I’ll tell you when I see you.” Brinna flipped the phone shut and grinned, cutting off Maggie’s protest. She hopped in her truck and headed for the coffee shop. Driving down Ocean toward Second Street, contemplating Jack O’Reilly while cursing Hester Shockley and Gerald Clark, Brinna grudgingly admitted to herself that maybe the temporary reassignment was for her benefit. She’d seen good cops destroyed when lawyers like Shockley got to court and twisted the truth. And being destroyed was not a destiny she’d consider.

  When she reached CBTL, she shoved worrisome thoughts to the back of her mind, vowing not to let the press turn her into a lame second-guesser—or “zip,” as Milo liked to call anyone whose paralyzed thinking kept them from making decisions or solving problems effectively.

  The parking lot at the coffee shop was full. No surprise even for a Sunday night. CBTL sat where Second Street, a busy, six-block section of the Shore, began. Popular bars, restaurants, and shops made up Second Street, and the area always percolated with activity. Brinna found a spot on a side street about a block away and jogged back to CBTL.

  Maggie waited at an outside table. She sipped a coffee, and Brinna smiled when she saw a second cup on the table.

  “That for me?” she asked as she took a seat.

  Maggie nodded, mouth turned down in a pout. “I bought you a latte, though after leaving me in suspense, I should have let you stand in line.” She folded her arms across her chest. “So what’s the story?”

  Brinna sipped her coffee and told Maggie the news.

  “Jack O’Reilly?” Maggie’s cup stopped halfway to her mouth.

  Brinna nodded.

  “We were just talking about him,” Maggie exclaimed. “I thought he was certifiably 5150, ready for the rubber-gun squad.” She shook her head and put her coffee down.

  “Apparently, according to Hoffman, O’Reilly requested the move back to patrol,” Brinna explained. “He wasn’t kicked out of homicide. That should prove he’s 5150, as hard as it is to get into that detail.” She blew out a disgusted breath. “You think maybe it’s really just politics? That homicide wants him out but can’t demote him without agitating the union?”

  Maggie laughed. “My, how cynical you are. Actually, Rick heard a locker room rumor that it was O’Reilly who wanted out of homicide. He’s burned out. You can handle an old burnout. I don’t call you Briny for nothing. You’re a salty old copper.”

  “Ha. I like working on my own, with just Hero. He doesn’t argue with me about what we’re going to work on.”

  “You’re worried about your kids, aren’t you?”

  Brinna nodded and took a long gulp on her latte. “Rodriguez says we can work a wild car so we won’t be tied to one beat. I might still be able to follow leads, carefully.”

  “But you’re the Kid Crusader.” Maggie laughed.

  Brinna sighed. “I don’t even know this guy. He may run and tattle on me. Plus, I have to admit all the stuff Hester Shockley is saying about me shooting an innocent kid is distracting. Remember Pratt and Barker?”

  Brinna brought up a pair of Long Beach cops who’d been forced to resign after a use-of-force incident. Hester Shockley accused them of being racist, and the pressure from the community left the pair no other option but to get out of police work.

  Maggie shrugged. “That’s the game Shockley plays. But the difference is the department deserted Pratt and Barker, left them out to dry. From what you told me, they’re supporting you.”

  “I guess.” Brinna sighed and sipped her coffee. “But even Sergeant Rodriguez said these things take on a life of their own. What might happen next week? I love my job.”

  Maggie waved a hand. “Don’t be a glass-is-half-empty person now. You’re a good cop. And there is a bright side. O’Reilly’s not hard to look at.”

  Brinna snorted and concentrated on the coffee. “I just want to do my job with a partner I can count on, not a boy toy.”

  “Boy toys can be fun. By the way, what’s going on with Marcus? You two still dating?”

  Brinna shook her head, making a circle with her thumb and fingers. “Nada. He told me I’m too obsessed with missing kids and pedophiles.”

  Maggie threw back her head and laughed. “Much as I don’t care for Marcus, he hit that on the head.”

  Brinna frowned. “Come on,” she scoffed. “I am not obsessed.” She punctuated her last four words by tapping on the table with an index finger.

  “Of course not.” Maggie tossed her hair back. “You’re in serious denial. I don’t know any other cops with a whole wall in their home office plastered with creepy sex offenders.”

  “I need to know those guys so if I find them in violation, I arrest them on the spot. It is not an obsession. It is a mission.” She set her coffee cup down.

  “What’s the diff?” Maggie clicked her tongue and regarded Brinna with raised eyebrows.

  “An obsession sounds twisted.” Brinna leaned forward. “There is nothing twisted about wanting to keep kids safe.”

  “I don’t want you to stop helping kids. I just want you to see that this obses—mission—can’t consume your life. The last three guys you dated couldn’t handle taking second place to missing posters. Sometimes it seems like you hide behind those kids.”

  Brinna drained her coffee. “When I meet the right guy, my missings will not be an obsession to him. Let’s change the subject. I don’t want to talk about my love life.”

  “Or lack of one? All right, back to O’Reilly. What are you going to do if he’s 5150?”

  “Hotfoot it back to the station and drop him at the back steps.” They both laughed and hit their cups together in a toast.

  “Rick and I will be there to back you up if you need it,” Maggie promised.

  “Thanks. For the first time in my career I find myself wishing for a quiet couple of weeks. At least until Hester Shockley runs out of steam. Don’t want to get into anything big until I know I can trust my partner.”

  14

  JACK GRABBED HIS GEAR and headed out of the house for a workout. It was after 10 p.m. but thanks to twenty-four-hour gyms, he had a place to go. This was the time the walls in the house really began to close in.

  The clock couldn’t strike ten without Jack feeling Vicki’s loss as if it were an abscess on his heart, aching and festering. Ten or ten thirty was the time they used to settle into bed, talk about the day, watch the news, or whatever. He hoped that returning to patrol would relieve some of the despondency he felt. At least he’d be out of the house most of the dark hours and not dwelling on how empty everything was without her.

  He found a parking place quickly. The gym was usually pretty empty at this time of night. After flashing his membership card at the receptionist, Jack changed in the locker room and hurried out to the free-weight floor.

  Happy to see he had the area to himself, Jack began with squats. He loaded up the bar and cinched his weight belt. Before he stepped under the bar for his first set, someone called his name.

  Turning, he saw Ben Carney walking toward him. Jack worked to keep his face neutral. He and Ben had grown up together, gone to school together, and eventually attended the police academy together. After the academy their careers took different turns. Baby-faced Ben had been sucked up to work undercover narcotics while Jack became a star patrol officer.

  They were reunited three years ago as partners in homicide. It was a great partnership, until . . .

  Jack blinked hard to banish the images that flashed through his head. Ben as best man at the wedding, Ben helping celebrate the year Jack was voted best investigator in the division. Ben stepping into the office to tell him Vicki was dead.

  “Jack, buddy, it’s me. You okay?”

  Jack focused on the man standing in front of him. “Yeah, I’m peachy. What are you doing here? You’re not dressed to work out. Are you stalking me?” Ben wore a polo shirt and slacks, homicide call-out dress.

  “No, I’m not stalking you. You just avoid me at work, so I tried to t
hink of where I might get a chance to talk to you for a minute. I figured you’d be here. I didn’t come to work out. I came to wish you luck back in patrol.”

  Jack turned away from Ben and back to the bar. “That’s right. As of tomorrow, I’m gone. I’m out of homicide. You don’t have to worry about your albatross of a partner anymore. Right now you probably have a call-out. Don’t let me keep you.” He stepped under the bar, hefted the weight off the hooks, and began his warm-up set, ignoring Ben, simply concentrating on his form in the mirror in front of him.

  “How can I make you see that I’m on your side? I never saw you as a burden—or an albatross, as you put it. You’re the one who didn’t want to go on call-outs anymore.” Ben stepped beside Jack as he finished the set and put the weight back on the hooks.

  “My side?” Jack faced Ben, breathing hard, angry for having his own weakness tossed back in his face. “I made that request with you in mind. All I got as thanks was preaching.”

  “I’m sorry you thought it was preaching. All I wanted to do was impress upon you that you weren’t alone.”

  Jack waved him away and slammed more weight on the bar, pushing Ben out of the way to get to that end of the bar. “So I’m supposed to thank you? You and Gary can continue being deluded by religion. I want nothing to do with it. God deserted me. I’ve returned the favor.” He turned away and stepped back under the bar to complete his second set.

  Ben sighed. “God will never leave you, no matter what.” Ben moved in front of Jack, blocking the mirror. “Whether you want to believe it or not, I am your friend. Ever since Vicki died, you’re a shell of the Jack O’Reilly I used to know. All I can think of is how it would break her heart to see you like this.”

  Jack grunted and shoved the weight onto the hooks. The hard clang reverberated through the empty gym. Face flushed, seeing red, and breath coming in gasps, he came out from under the bar and grabbed Ben by the neck, shoving him against the mirror.

  “Don’t talk to me about what Vicki would want! Don’t even say her name!”

  “Okay, okay. Hit me if it will make you feel better.” Ben’s calm eyes regarded Jack. His words made Jack realize he’d raised one hand in a fist, as if he were going to slam it into Ben’s face.

  Immediately ashamed, Jack dropped his hand and let go of Ben’s neck. He stepped back under the bar and to the bench-press station, where he sat down heavily, shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me,” he mumbled while staring down at his shoes.

  Ben walked around and knelt in front of Jack. “Forget it. I know it’s been a rough year. But I don’t think isolating yourself and shutting out your friends is helping. You’ve stopped going to church, to studies. You’ve shut yourself off from the world. This isn’t healthy.”

  “Church isn’t healthy,” Jack said bitterly. “All I got there were empty platitudes. I was a Christian all my life. So was Vicki. And what did it get us?” Jack shook his head. “You want to help me? Leave me alone.”

  Ben stood and sighed. “I’ll keep praying. As much for you as for me. I want my partner back, and I’m praying that your working a beat car will do the trick.” Ben stayed there for a moment. Jack felt him watching but refused to acknowledge him, saying nothing. After a long silent minute, Ben turned and left the gym.

  Jack sat on the bench for a long while before resuming his workout. When he finally did return to the squat rack, he studied his reflection in the mirror. Bloodshot gray eyes glared back at him. Six-two, two hundred pounds of solid muscle, thanks to all the weight workouts of the past few months, Jack was a big, strong man. But he took no pleasure in his physique or reflection.

  “Pray all you want, Ben,” he whispered. “Someday you’ll find out just like I did: all prayer is, is talking to the wind—nothing more.”

  15

  BRINNA FIDGETED and paced her small living room on Monday afternoon. She watched the clock tick closer to the time she’d have to leave for work. As if worrying about the reassignment to work with Jack O’Reilly weren’t enough, the morning’s headlines had screamed with Hester hype attacking Brinna’s actions.

  Though Brinna had been warned not to read the paper, she’d glanced over the current edition, read the headlines, and turned the page only to find letters to the editor running three to one against her. Everyone seemed inclined to believe Hester Shockley’s latest rant, calling Brinna an out-of-control maverick cop.

  As it usually was with cops, Brinna felt people perceived her guilty before any charges were filed. When she tried to shut Hester out of her thoughts, concern about her new partner weighed heavily. She loved her job but knew that riding around in a car for ten hours with someone you didn’t like was hard work.

  “Hero, how about a run? I can’t relax, might as well do something active.”

  Hero jumped off the bed, tail wagging.

  Brinna grabbed her running clothes and changed quickly. She picked up Hero’s leash and started for the door as the phone rang. Groaning, she checked the caller ID and recognized the homicide office extension. Dread pricked her heart like a hot fireplace poker. What if they found Heather?

  She answered the call. “Caruso.”

  “Brinna, Ben Carney here. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

  “No, you didn’t. I was just heading out for a run.” Brinna tensed. “What’s up? The shooting? Or did one of my kids turn up?”

  “Neither. I just wondered if you’d be able to meet me for coffee before your squad meeting.”

  “This afternoon? And it’s not about the shooting?”

  “Nope. Just a friendly chat is all I’m after.”

  Brinna relaxed but frowned as she tapped on the counter with an index finger. What could Ben want? She thought about their short time as partners. He’d been friendly but very devoted to his wife. Once he went to detectives, she hadn’t heard a word from him until the night of the shooting. Curiosity got the best of her. “Sure, where do you want to meet?”

  “Someplace close. I don’t want to make you late to squad. How about Starbucks on Pine? About three?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Great, see you then.”

  “Wonder what’s up with that?” Brinna asked no one but Hero, sitting quietly, eyes on the leash in his mistress’s hand. She bent down to click the leash on, giving the dog a hug. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough. Let’s go run.”

  * * *

  Brinna parked in the PD lot, then jogged the two blocks to Pine Avenue. It was impossible to miss the huge signs posted across the street from the station: Stop police brutality, No justice, no peace, and Justice for Lee Warren. Fire Caruso!

  She hoped the extra jog would ease her anger and frustration. Besides the signs, it had been difficult leaving Hero. He knew it was time to go to work, and it broke her heart to leave him behind. This would be a long two weeks.

  Pine Square throbbed with busy afternoon activity. Trendy restaurants and cute shops kept things hopping and parking places full. She nodded to a pair of bike officers she saw patrolling the square.

  Ben Carney stood outside Starbucks. Brinna saw him scanning the street. He held his suit jacket tossed over one shoulder and seemed out of place on the very warm afternoon wearing suit pants, a short-sleeved shirt, and a loosened tie.

  Ben brought to mind good memories. He’d been a solid partner when they’d worked together, if a little heavy into religion.

  “Hey, Ben, over here.”

  Ben turned her way and smiled. They shook hands and Ben patted her shoulders. “You look great, as usual. Doing a lot of paddling, I see.”

  “It’s been a great summer for it. You aren’t hard on the eyes either. I noticed that the other night. You haven’t put on the infamous detective spare tire.”

  Ben laughed and patted his stomach. “No, but it hasn’t been easy. Squeezing in workouts between call-outs and regular cases takes skill.” He jammed a thumb toward the coffee shop. “What can I get you?”

  “
You’re buying?” Eyebrows raised, Brinna grinned. “An iced mocha and a banana-walnut muffin.”

  “Grab a table. I’ll be right back.”

  Brinna found a table on the sidewalk and checked her watch. She had about twenty minutes with Ben and grew more curious by the minute. He came out shortly, carrying two drinks and Brinna’s muffin.

  “Here you go,” he said as he sat down. “So how are you doing with all the nonsense that’s swirling around you?”

  Brinna tore off a bit of her muffin and chewed on it before answering. “I’m angry. Hester Shockley’s three-ring circus is a huge distraction. But I remember being told in the academy that bad things would come from incidents that seemed the cleanest. Can’t get any cleaner than shooting someone who shot at me first.”

  Ben played with a napkin. “Yeah, I agree. Hester loves the spotlight and she’ll milk this. It’d help if we could find the slug Warren fired. We’re still checking nooks and crannies, by the way.” He shrugged. “I’m certain, in spite of all the press right now, it will come out okay.”

  “Thanks.” Brinna sipped her drink. “Thought this wasn’t about the shooting.”

  “It’s not—just making small talk. I know you like direct, so I’ll get to the point. Jack O’Reilly.” He raised his eyes from the napkin and held Brinna’s gaze.

  Brinna snapped her fingers. “Your ex-partner in homicide.”

  Ben sipped his coffee, nodding. “Partner and friend. I’m worried about him.”

  “That makes me feel good—” she shook her head—“since I have to work with him. Just what is his major malfunction?”

  “He can’t get past his wife’s death. It’s destroyed his faith. Without faith, he has no hope. I’m praying you’ll help him.”

  “Me?” Brinna pointed both thumbs back at her chest. “I’m not a Bible-thumper or a social worker. He a churchgoer like you?”

  “Used to be. He stopped going to church after Vicki died.” Ben rolled the coffee cup back and forth in his palms. “What about you, Brin? You still an avowed atheist?”