The Jake Helman Files Personal Demons (8 page)

Jake’s heart skipped a beat. “No.”

“Did you tell anyone you were leaving the scene?”

“Sure. A PO stationed outside the building.”

“Officer Delgatto?”

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t notice his name.”

“Officer Delgatto says you told him that you had an errand to run.”

Jake hesitated. Hammerman had done his homework in record time. He and Klein must have visited Shannon’s building right after leaving Kearny’s. No wonder they had kept him waiting. “No errand. I just didn’t feel like telling a uniform that I needed to take a leak, is all.”

Klein said, “Did you identify yourself as a police officer before you opened fire on the perps?”

This time, the sudden shift in questioning did cause Jake to blink. “There wasn’t time. The guy with the dreadlocks popped off a round from his .32 before I could say anything, and Baldy trained his shotgun on me. I had to take immediate action to defend myself.”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Klein said. The gloss in his eyes and the tone in his voice suggested he thought otherwise.

Hammerman opened a second folder. “Both perps were repeat offenders.” He showed Jake a mug shot of Baldy, clipped inside the folder’s cover. When the picture had been taken, fine brown hair had circled the lower half of Baldy’s head. The steely eyes glared at Jake, who could not help but shudder.

“Oscar Soot served time upstate for armed robbery, narcotics possession, and attempted rape. Before that, he was arrested for spousal abuse, petty theft, and intent to distribute narcotics.” Opening a third folder, Hammerman showed Jake a mug shot of Dread smirking at the prospect of prison time. “Kevin Creed was just released from Ryker’s yesterday, if you can believe it. Served one year on an aggravated assault charge, pleaded down from attempted rape. Couple of real sweethearts. They both had crack pipes on them, so you can imagine what they were up to. I don’t see the public crying over their deaths. Not only were these losers dumb enough to rob a bar that had just opened, but they chose a cop joint.”

Jake nodded but thought,
Not that you two would ever be welcome there
. “If they’d had a brain between them, they’d have become florists instead of stickup men.”

A shrill ringing filled the room, and all three men examined their cell phones.

“It’s my partner,” Jake said, checking his phone’s display screen. “This might be important. Do you mind?”

Hammerman switched off the recorder. “Go ahead.”

Jake pressed the phone against his ear. “Yeah, Edgar?”

Edgar’s voice crackled through the receiver. “How’s it going with those cheese eaters?”

Jake turned away from his inquisitors. “Peachy. What’s the word?”

“Jackpot. Bartender named Teddy Kanaley works at McGinney’s on West Forty-Ninth. He remembers seeing Shannon with a guy at closing last night and thinks they left together. I’m taking him to a sketch artist now.”

“So my hunch paid off. Even when I’m not working, I’m working.”

“And vice versa.”

“What’s our guy look like?”

“White boy, mid-twenties, professional looking.”

“Keep me in the loop.”

“You got it.”

Jake switched off his phone and returned it to his pocket. “We may have just gotten our first lead on the Cipher.”

Hammerman closed his folders. “Congratulations. I think we’re finished here. We’ll contact your CO tomorrow with our findings.”

Jake rose to his feet. “You want to tip your hand just a little?”

Hammerman smiled. “Don’t lose any sleep, Detective. This is a clear case of self-defense. According to Tom Kearny, you’re a hero.”

Jake pulled on his coat. “Tom used to be a hell of a cop.”

“I think he relished getting back into the game today. You’ll get a citation for this.

Jake snapped his coat up. “When do I get my weapon back?”

Hammerman stood. “Ten days after you submit your report to the Firearms Review Board. Bring a pillow to work, ‘cause you’re going to serve time at your desk.”

Damn
, Jake thought. He had hoped to help collar the Cipher if the bartender’s description paid off. The biggest case of his career and he had to warm the bench. “I guess I can’t complain.”

“We’re not quite finished here,” Klein said, and Jake and Hammerman looked down at him. He removed a paper evidence envelope from a blue folder in a small leather case.

Hammerman snapped his fingers. “That’s right, I almost forgot. We need a lock of your hair for a genetic follicle test.”

Jake felt his heart plummet in his chest. “What for?”

Hammerman shrugged. “The city requires the Department to cover its ass whenever a cop kills a citizen. Since you didn’t have anything to drink at Kearny’s, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Right?”

Jake stood frozen as Klein removed miniature scissors from the case and snipped at the air with them.

“These guys weren’t citizens,” Jake said. “They were perps who tried to take me out.”

Hammerman cocked his head to one side. “Sure. I already said it was a clean shoot. This is just a formality.”

Jake clenched his jaw. A genetic follicle test would reveal if he had used narcotics any time during the preceding six months, about the length of time that he had been getting high. He had to stall long enough to find a way out of this. “I put my life on the line for this city every day for ten years, and my number almost came up this morning. I don’t deserve to be treated like a suspect.”

Hammerman and Klein did not look at each other, but their faces assumed identical, stony expressions.

“Take it easy,” Hammerman said. “Why don’t you sit back down?”

Jake’s eyes darted to the door. He wanted to make a run for it. Instead, he returned to his seat, as did Hammerman. Both Inspectors stared at him and the room seemed smaller now.

“Look, fellas,” Jake said. “This has been the worst day of my life. I’m going to have to live with what happened for the rest of my life. Let me skip the test for now and I’ll bring you a hair sample tomorrow.”

Hammerman seemed unimpressed. “No dice. We have to extract the sample ourselves.”

Jake closed his hands into fists. When he had first joined the force, a cop who tested positive for drugs might be sent to an upstate rehab under the guise of alcoholism treatment. But the Department’s new “zero tolerance” policy precluded such maneuvering. He stood to lose his job and pension, and could face criminal prosecution if IAB sought to crucify him. He’d be humiliated before his colleagues. Worse, he’d lose Sheryl’s respect. She knew nothing of his habit or extracurricular activities. If his cocaine use became public knowledge, the families of Oscar Soot and Kevin Creed would file wrongful death suits against the city and the Department. He could even face prosecution and jail time. His temples throbbed and his heartbeat quickened.

“We need that sample,” Hammerman said, his voice taking on an authoritarian tone.

Jake stared back. “You can’t make me do this.”

“As long as you’re a member of this Department, we can.” Hammerman pushed the phone across the table. “Call the Detectives Endowment Association if you don’t believe me.”

Jake ignored the phone. “What if I refuse to cooperate?”

Hammerman leaned back in his chair. “Then we’ll have you suspended and commence a full investigation. One way or the other, we’ll get what we need.”

Jake felt his chest tightening. “As long as I’m a member of the Department?”

“That’s right.”

Swallowing, Jake rose on wobbling knees. The Inspectors looked at him with puzzled expressions. He removed his shield from his belt and gazed at it. How long had it been since he had last polished it? He rubbed the tarnished gold with one thumb. Taking a deep breath, he let out a tremulous sigh and laid the shield on the table.

“That’s it?” Hammerman said, his voice incredulous. “You’re resigning?”

Jake circled the table without answering and opened the door.

“Wait a minute, you have to schedule an exit interview with your—”

Stepping free of the interview room, Jake pulled the door shut behind him.

J
ake sat on a wooden bench bolted to the esplanade separating Carl Schurz Park from the East River. Around him, bicyclists and joggers passed couples strolling hand in hand and women pushing baby strollers. Ignoring them, Jake gazed at the factories and housing projects on the far side of the gray water. Smokestacks and unlit neon signs rose to the dark, billowy clouds that filled the sky, and a towboat struggled against choppy waves.

He had come here countless times with Sheryl, who preferred the secluded viaduct, gardens, and fenced-in dog runs to the grand expanse of Central Park. Pain seared two fingers on his right hand, and he flung away his cigarette, which had burned down to its filter. The sudden movement startled a pigeon bobbing along the bulkhead and the bird shot past his head with a frantic

flapping of wings. He replayed the events of the day in his mind, cursing at himself for leaving Shannon Reynolds’s apartment building to make his drug run. Why had he been so careless?

Because you needed a fix
.

He’d never considered himself an addict. Out of curiosity, he had lifted a bag of cocaine from the site of a particularly grisly homicide. After sampling the powder, he discovered that the vivid images of the scene no longer lingered in his thoughts. He soon found it easier to get through his workdays high, and once he had ingested the entire bag, he tracked down AK. But he had only gotten high on the job, never at home, and he had managed to keep his habit a secret from Sheryl. How could he explain to her the reason behind his resignation? Would she believe that he had quit out of remorse over killing Dread and Baldy, or fear of getting into another gun battle? He doubted it. All he’d ever wanted to be was a good cop and Sheryl knew it.

The ringing of his cell phone pierced his concentration and he fished the device from his pocket. Edgar’s number appeared on the display screen. Was his partner calling about the Cipher, or about Jake’s sudden resignation? Staring at the number, Jake allowed the phone to continue ringing. Curiosity about the Cipher’s identity gnawed at him, but he felt too humiliated to speak to Edgar. Switching off the ringer, he pocketed the phone and lit another cigarette. Exhaling smoke, he shivered as darkness laced the sky.

Jake’s stomach clenched when he saw the light outlining his apartment’s front door. He felt Sheryl’s presence as soon as he opened the door, and his eyes settled on the open closet. Something about it seemed different, triggering a mental alarm. Something was missing. Then he realized that his gun case had been removed from the shelf, and nausea spread through him. Shutting the door behind him, he followed the light into the living room, illuminated by a single lamp on one of the end tables.

Sheryl sat waiting for him on the sofa, dressed in black slacks and a matching T-shirt, her arms crossed over her breasts. She had tied her hair back, and the lamp cast soft shadows across her oval face. She glared at Jake through swollen eyelids streaked with mascara. Jake wanted to take her into his arms, but the anger radiating from her held him at bay. Jake’s gun case rested on the wicker chest that doubled as their coffee table. His body turned numb.

“Edgar called,” Sheryl said in a monotone. “He told me about the shooting, which also made the news.” Pausing, she sniffled. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He stood waiting for her to continue.

“Edgar told me you resigned.”

News travels fast
. He did not know what to say, even though he had spent the last hour rehearsing various scenarios in his head.

“Under normal circumstances, that would make me happier than you could possibly know.”

He didn’t need to ask what made these circumstances different.

“Is it true you refused to take a drug test?”

Thanks, partner
.

“Don’t be angry with Edgar. He was worried about you and I dragged it out of him. Is it true?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“What’s in the case, Jake?”

He swallowed. “My personal weapon. You know that.”

“What else?”

He bit his lower lip.

“Open it.”

He saw no point in delaying the inevitable. With a deep sigh, he sat down beside Sheryl and thumbed the combination dials on the case. Popping the tabs, he rotated the case toward her, then sat back. Sheryl raised the lid and stared at the Glock nestled within its compartment. She pressed the foam rubber with two fingers, feeling along the inside edges, and removed the false bottom. Setting the gun and padding beside her, she gazed at the bundled cash and the bag of cocaine. Tears formed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

“So—how dirty are you?”

Jake’s vision blurred. Why was this happening?

Sheryl leapt to her feet. “I believed in you!”

His vision cleared as tears escaped from his eyelids. “I’m sorry…”

“What are you? A drug dealer? An addict?
I don’t know you!”

He slumped his shoulders. “All I can say is that the Job was eating me alive.”

“So you took drugs? Did it ever occur to you to transfer to another unit? Or to get a different job?”