Suspect Passions (23 page)

Syd’s head hurt thinking about it. Now was not the time to ponder all these heavy issues. She had a job to do, one of the jobs nobody wanted—working traffic for accidents. Today it seemed the guys were on top of their calls, leaving the crap to her. They were trying to make a point. She got it.

An hour before shift change Syd was at her favorite 7-Eleven checking on the new cashier and getting a free drink when she heard her call sign over the walkie-talkie. Dispatch wanted her to respond to a domestic disturbance. Great. Syd hated domestic calls, especially without an assist. Rule number one: never go in alone. They were statistically the most dangerous calls an officer responded to. You never knew what you were going to get. Some of her most serious injuries had occurred in these situations.

The call location was in a mid-income housing development. Most of the residents had lived in their homes since they were built and worked in the furniture business. But the recent economic downturn had hit this neighborhood hard. Several manufacturing companies closed, and where there were layoffs, stress and crime escalated.

Syd parked within two doors of the residence and walked up. She could hear raised voices as soon as she got out of her cruiser. She cased the area then climbed the porch steps and planted her left shoulder against the side of the door, leaving her gun hand free. Her pulse kicked up as the voices inside grew louder and more abusive. Adrenaline surged and her senses sharpened. She knocked on the door.

The yelling never stopped but the door flew open and a shirtless, pimple-faced teenager stood in the doorway. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Somebody called about a disturbance.” Syd hated to state the obvious, but they were trained to tell folks why they’d been called.

“Ya think?”

“Jason, let the lady in so we can settle this,” a female voice ordered from inside. The tone was calmer.

Syd stepped into the residence, feeling a little more comfortable. The room’s furnishings were worn but clean, like the rest of the areas Syd could see. The female appeared to be in her seventies, too old to be the boy’s mother. She wore the uniform of a waitress at Henry James BBQ on Main Street and her name tag read Betty.

“I didn’t do this and I ain’t taking the blame.” The kid resumed quarreling. “Talk to your lying husband.”

“Don’t talk about your daddy like that.”

“He ain’t my daddy and I ain’t taking his shit no more.” He ran into a back bedroom.

This was the reason going on domestics alone was a bad idea. One officer couldn’t keep an eye on two upset subjects at once. “Are you okay here, ma’am,” Syd asked.

“Sure, honey. Go talk some sense into him. There’s three hundred dollars missing and I just want it back. He says he didn’t take it.”

“Why don’t you have a seat in here and let me talk to him alone. I’ll be right back.” Syd inched along the hallway to the bedroom door where the teenager had gone. “Jason, can I come in and talk to you?”

“Sure cop-lady, come on in. I need a witness.”

Syd didn’t like the sound of that. Ambiguous statements from distraught people weren’t usually a good sign. She turned the handle and pushed the door open with her foot while standing to the side. Jason stood at the foot of the bed holding a cocked .357 Magnum to his temple. His eyes were wide and he had the look of a caged animal, lost and hopeless.

“Oh, shit.” Syd instinctively drew her weapon, dropped to the floor outside the bedroom, and peeked around the corner. Her Glock was trained on the boy’s midsection. “Jesus. Jason, what are you doing?”

The boy’s grandmother came running down the hallway.

“Ma’am, stay back. He’s got a gun.”

She started screaming. “Don’t shoot my boy, please don’t shoot him.”

The woman tried to push her way past Syd, but another officer came through the front door just in time to intervene.

“Hal, keep her back. This kid’s got a gun to his head. Call EMS and have them stage in the area.”

“Got it, Syd.” He ushered the frail, hysterical woman back to the front of the house.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, lady,” Jason screamed from the bedroom. “Her worthless husband stole the money then said he’d beat me if I told. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Put the gun down and we’ll talk about it. We’ll get it straightened out.”

“She always takes his word for everything. She don’t care that he beats me.”

Syd could see the terror in the boy’s eyes and wanted desperately to help him. She ran through a list of possible things she could say but none seemed appropriate. She had to do something before the situation deteriorated. As if by the power of suggestion, Jason swiveled the gun from his head and turned it in Syd’s direction.

“Don’t do that, Jason, please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her weapon was still pointed center mass. In a flash of unwelcome memory she was back at the mall nine months ago when she shot Lee Nartey. This young man also had a gun pointed at her. Could she do it again? Could she kill another human being to save her own life, knowing what she’d have to go through afterward? Would it be justified? Was there any way she could alter the outcome without shooting him? All these questions bolted through her mind in a split second, a split second that could’ve gotten her killed if this boy was serious about harming someone.

“Jason, I know you don’t want to hurt me or yourself. And I don’t want to hurt you. Put the gun down.” Her request was almost a plea. Her insides quivered and she hoped her hands were steady. Perspiration beaded on her forehead and under her vest as worst-case scenarios played out in her head.

What if she froze and Jason killed her? Would anyone miss her? Who would attend her funeral? Maybe a bevy of her bed friends, all throwing stones on her casket? How would she be remembered, as a home wrecker? What if his shot went astray and paralyzed her instead? Would anyone come to visit? Would they care about her at all if she was suddenly incapable of sex?

She shook her head to dislodge the disturbing thoughts. Now was not the time to lapse into what-ifs and self-pity. This young person was in trouble and she needed to figure out a way to help him. If she didn’t, things could go south in a hurry. The boy’s arm shook as he brought the gun back to his own head. She breathed a sigh of relief and took a chance.

“Jason, I’m going to put my gun down so we can talk.”

From the front of the house, Syd heard Hal calling to her. “Are you fucking nuts, Cabot? Do
not
lower your weapon.”

“Jason, listen to me. I’m lowering my weapon. Tell me what I can do to make this better for you. I’m not going to hurt you and I don’t want to see you hurt yourself either. What can I do to fix this?”

He seemed to be considering her question. His gaze shifted from her around his room to the window and back. “Get me out of here.”

“I can do that.”

Her answer must not have been what he expected because his eyes widened in disbelief. Or maybe it was just that no one had ever tried to help him before. “You can?”

“Yes. How old are you, Jason?”

“Fifteen, I’ll be sixteen next month.”

“I can definitely help you. Put down the gun and we’ll work it out. I promise.” Jason would be of consensual age on his sixteenth birthday and able to make decisions about many things that affected his life. She was certain she could find him temporary housing for a month.

“Don’t lie to me, lady. I’ve had enough of that.”

“I’m not lying. We can make this happen, together.”

The young man’s hand shook as he slowly lowered the weapon away from his head. “Where should I put this? I just drop it, right?” He opened his hand and the cocked revolver seemed to float in slow motion to the hardwood floor.

“No, don’t.” Before the words left Syd’s lips the gun hit the floor with a deafening explosion that reverberated throughout the house. A stabbing pain pierced her side. She looked down and saw a ragged tear in her uniform shirt. The black material grew sticky and wet. Cringing in agony and shock, she gasped, “Oh, God. I’m shot.”

*

Regan knew something was terribly wrong the moment she stepped off the elevator on her way out of the building. Officers huddled in the canteen were speaking in low, urgent tones. Their somber faces chilled her.

“Officers, I’m Assistant City Attorney Regan Desanto. What’s happened?”

A young officer turned toward her. “One of our squad mates is involved in a standoff.”

“What kind of standoff?”

“Some guy with a gun. It’s been going on for a while now. Sounds pretty hairy.”

“Which officer?” The question scraped across her dry tongue like sandpaper.

“Cabot.”

She tried to control her voice so they wouldn’t notice the tremble she felt inside. “Why aren’t you out there?”

The officers looked at her like she’d committed blasphemy. An older officer spoke up. “We
would
be if the duty captain hadn’t relieved us with night-shift guys. She’s one of ours and we don’t leave our folks. Hal’s with her.” He delivered his last statement like it should give them all comfort.

Regan walked away, managing not to breathe again until she was inside the elevator. When she did, energy followed the air out of her lungs and she clung to the sides of the car for support. Syd was involved in
another
potentially fatal situation and Regan’s first thought was for her safety. She wanted to go to her, to make sure she was okay. She could drive to the scene and wait. A city attorney might be needed for legal advice on such a case. She would use any excuse just to make sure Syd wasn’t hurt.

Regan rushed from the elevator to her car in the parking garage. Her first instinct was to
do
something. She climbed in and started to turn the ignition but stopped. Instead she clutched the steering wheel, trying to make a rational decision. What should she do? What
could
she do? Going to the scene would probably not be helpful, and if Syd saw her, it might even be distracting. Paralyzed by the duel of her logical thoughts and her illogical feelings, she pounded the seat beside her, cursing her inability to do
anything.

In the midst of her helplessness, Regan wondered how she would feel if something happened to Syd. The short time they’d known each other had been rife with disagreement and challenge, hardly the foundation for a lasting friendship. Having represented Syd, she could find plenty of logical reasons for her apprehension. She was naturally worried for Syd’s mental health. The possibility that she could choke in a similar scenario and get others hurt was also cause for concern. But none of these rationalizations rang true. The truth was she feared for Syd’s safety because she cared about her. She cared enough that she was contemplating asking Syd to consider a relationship with her.

Regan stared at the car keys in her hand. If she drove away now and went home and waited to hear about the incident like any other member of the general public, she was making a choice. She would take the job with Nancy, and Syd would become history, a one-night stand that would eventually lose its potency in her imagination. The alternative was much riskier, the outcome uncertain. But playing it safe for the past fifteen years hadn’t brought her happiness, and Regan had no one to blame for her dissatisfaction but herself. She should have left Martha long ago. Instead she’d settled. And whatever destiny might have in store for her, she wasn’t going to do that again.

Regan got out of her car and went back into the police station, intent on waiting with the officers. But the canteen had emptied out. She approached one of the few men left in the room and asked, “Where are the officers who were here earlier?”

“At the hospital. We had an officer shot tonight.”

Regan felt the blood rush from her face. “Shot?”

Her heart ached as if someone held it clenched in their fist. She tried to draw a full breath but her lungs labored under the pressure.
I should’ve gone. I could’ve been there for her. What if she’s…
She couldn’t complete the horrifying thought. Her legs almost collapsed under her. This couldn’t be happening.

As she stumbled out of the room, she heard the officer call something after her, but all Regan could hear was her pulse rushing in her ears. She had to find Syd.

*

The residence burst into a cacophony of activity. Hal was yelling that an officer was down. The sound of footsteps pounded toward her. Jason was crying in the corner of his bedroom. The grandmother was screaming for her little boy. More officers filled the hallway where she sat and edged toward Jason’s bedroom.

“Don’t hurt him. He didn’t shoot me. It was an accident.”

They looked at her skeptically and she repeated, “I mean it. Don’t hurt him.”

“We’ll sort this out later, Cabot. Take her to the hospital,” her sergeant told the EMS personnel.

Syd started laughing in the ambulance and couldn’t stop. She knew it was partially all the adrenaline in her system but it was also the circumstances. The last time she’d fired her gun someone else went to the hospital but never came out. This time she chose not to shoot and felt pretty certain that she’d be okay. It might’ve been a stupid decision to some, but at least she was the only one who’d pay for it. Physical pain she could handle. The best part was that she hadn’t hurt anyone else. That was something to celebrate. As they rolled into the hospital, Syd thought about Regan and wished she could share the news with her.