“What’s so funny?” the Chief asked.
“Nothing,” Reott said. “Just thinking about that goofy kid we went through the academy with. Parker or something like that?”
“Parks,” the Chief said.
“That’s it,” Reott said, snapping his fingers. “Remember how he used have to go throw up before every defensive tactics session?”
The Chief nodded. “I heard he didn’t make probation with Yakima.”
“He didn’t. I talked to Enrique Gomez, a lieutenant down there when I was at that Incident Command School you sent me to about a year ago. His kid is one of our K-9 officers. Anyway, he said that Parks became a school counselor and works at one of their high schools.”
“Sounds like a fit.”
“Apparently, he’s very well-liked.” Reott felt a little bad for the disparaging remarks that they’d both made over the years about Parks’ manliness, but he shrugged it off. “Anyway, it’s a round peg in a round hole kind of thing.”
“Let’s talk about that round peg/round hole idea,” the Chief said. “What the hell am I going to do with Lieutenant Hart? He damn near started a riot in the lobby with the Bishop. On top of that, all the troops hate him.”
“He’s a climber,” Reott said. Although the word was used by some in a derogatory fashion, neither man took it that way. As far as both were concerned, there was nothing wrong with wanting to advance upward in your career. It was all in how you went about it. You didn’t make rank on someone else’s back.
“It took me an hour of talking to the Bishop before he left here happy,” the Chief said, shaking his head. “Now at least he’ll go and tell his people that he got along famously with the Chief of Police, who understands the plight of the black man.”
Reott didn’t say a word.
The Chief sighed. “Politics is such bullshit,” he said, more to himself than Reott.
“And everything is politics,” Reott said. “Or so I’ve heard.”
The Chief looked up at him. “So then logic would dictate that everything is bullshit.”
“I’m sure there are lawyers who could successfully make that argument,” Reott said with a smile.
The Chief grunted with approval before asking, “What’s your take on Hart?”
Reott leaned back in his seat, crossed his ankle over his knee and looked at the ceiling, thinking. The Chief waited patiently. After a while, Reott uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “All right, now you might not like this idea at first, but hear me out, okay?”
The Chief nodded.
Reott said, “Send Hart to Internal Affairs.”
The Chief’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he kept his word and waited for Reott to continue.
The captain of patrol explained. “He’s a waste on patrol. The troops hate him. They don’t trust him. His decision-making is poor and always seems to go through the filter of self-promotion first. You don’t want a guy like that on the front line. It’s not good for the troops or the citizens.”
The Chief nodded his agreement.
Reott continued, “The problem is, you don’t want to transfer that cancer to another unit like the investigative division or some specialty unit. For one, the troops there will think you’re punishing them for something they did. And secondly, the problem will just start all over again there.”
“Why don’t I just demote the dimwit?”
Reott laughed. “Good luck. With Civil Service, it’s nearly impossible to demote someone without serious cause. Besides, I think he’d do more damage as a sergeant.”
“Do we have a supply lieutenant?”
Reott shook his head, still laughing. “No. But listen, Internal Affairs will work. Here’s how. For starters, how many investigators do we have there now?”
“Only two,” the Chief said. “We had four, but I transferred two back to the investigative division. There wasn’t enough work there for four anyway. I don’t know what Chief Cleveland was thinking when he put four over there to begin with.”
“He was thinking about community public relations,” Reott said. “But I think he sent the wrong message.”
“Sure he did. ‘Look how corrupt we are. We need four investigators in IA.’ It was a foolish move.”
“I heard Lieutenant Anderson is retiring?”
The Chief nodded.
“Turned in his papers and everything?”
The Chief nodded again.
“Well, then here’s a perfect opportunity,” Reott said. “When Anderson retires, transfer Hart to IA.”
“The IA investigators will love that,” The Chief said sarcastically.
“Move them out.”
“Huh?”
“Transfer them back to the investigative division. Make them real detectives again.”
The Chief leaned back and gave Reott a confused look. “Explain.”
“Look,” Reott said, “you gain two detectives in the investigation division, so more cases get worked. That makes the community happy. It makes those two investigators happy, too. None of them want to be over there.”
“Straub does.”
Reott shrugged. Rumor had it that Detective Brenda Straub had kept a little black book, full of dirt on anyone and everyone, while on patrol. She’d been a pariah by the time she was promoted to detective and sent straight to IA. He’d heard the troops call her “The Brass Bitch.” He was relatively certain Straub would consider the title a badge of honor.
“Still,” he told the Chief, “you get those extra cases worked in the detective’s office. You get Hart out of patrol and in charge of exactly nobody. And you get to tell the community that you take every complaint so seriously that you have a lieutenant investigate each and every one.”
The Chief rubbed his chin and considered. Reott waited patiently, having made his pitch.
After some consideration, the Chief asked, “What about the troops? They won’t like Hart in IA.”
Reott shrugged. “The way I see it, Chief, the troops wouldn’t like Hart anywhere. And when IA comes knocking, it really doesn’t matter who it is, because they won’t like that, either. At least this way you get two things they don’t like contained in one place.”
The Chief grunted.
“And,” Reott said, “you know Hart will investigate the hell out of everything. Which is a good thing, too, even if the troops don’t like it.”
The Chief nodded. “It sounds like a good plan, Mike. Let me think on it for a few days. Anderson’s last day isn’t for almost a month yet.”
“Okay.”
The Chief shook his head in wonder. “Lieutenant Alan Hart in charge of Internal Affairs,” he mused. “It might just work.
1108 hours
Katie strolled down the sidewalk near City Hall munching on a hot dog that she’d purchased from a street vendor. Normally she wouldn’t go near the little carts of rolling botulism, but she hadn’t eaten since about four-thirty that morning and was starving.
Her court experience had been typical. The defendant had been caught red-handed, so the defense attorney attacked the cops. In this case, that meant her. Katie knew it would happen that way. She knew a couple of lawyers and they’d told her the general strategy of criminal defense. If the facts are on your side, argue the facts. If the facts aren’t on your side, argue the investigation. If the investigation was a good one, impugn the cops. She was pretty sure the jury hadn’t bought any of it.
Her stomach had been growling even before she bought the hot dog from the street vendor outside the courthouse. Now, as she finished it off near City Hall, her stomach gurgled in protest. She ignored it and walked on.
The brief second wind that always came to her about midday after a graveyard shift was kicking in. She knew from experience that it would be brief, lasting no more than a couple of hours. If she didn’t get to bed and sleep for a few hours, she’d be wiped out by four or five that afternoon. That would put a serious crimp in her plans with Kopriva that night.
The spring air was cool, even though the sun was out. She enjoyed the slight breeze and the smell of the trees that blew in from Riverfront Park to the east. The large park was in the center of downtown River City and consisted of large grassy areas and several tree-lined asphalt paths. A tall clock tower rose upward in the center of the park. The Looking Glass River flowed through the middle of the park and continued its westerly journey toward the Columbia River.