He noticed the chief of police walking toward him, accompanied by a short, bald man in casual clothes. The bald guy was young, maybe thirty-three, and had a serious look about him.
The chief said, “Ben, this is David Whist. He’s the PBA attorney handling this.” The Police Benevolent Association always sent a lawyer to the scene of a shooting that involved one of its dues-paying members.
He shook the younger man’s small, smooth hand.
The attorney blew past all niceties. “You wanna hear our side? As a proffer, of course.”
“I’d rather talk to your man.”
“He’s composing himself.”
“And if there’s a problem with the shooting, you can’t testify.”
“That’s why we have attorneys and offer proffers of what happened, Detective.”
Stoltz listened to the quick summary of the cop’s encounter with an uncommunicative man who wouldn’t leave the premises as the owner had ordered. The cop popped out his ASP so the man could see the extended baton, then tapped him on the leg to get him moving. The attorney emphasized it was a tap, not a strike. The man grabbed the ASP, and the two wrestled for control of the weapon. When the cop couldn’t fight any longer, he released the ASP and climbed to his feet, exhausted. The officer drew his pistol and ordered the man to drop the weapon and not to come any closer. After several attempts to get the man to stop coming toward him, the cop fired twice, hitting the man in the chest. The officer applied immediate first aid and called for help.
“That’s it?” asked Stoltz.
“In a nutshell.”
“Can I speak to your client?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll be over to the PD in about half an hour.”
STOLTZ TOOK A few minutes to confer with his sergeant, who had just arrived, and with his partner, who had briefly spoken to each witness and was preparing to get formal taped statements from them.
The young sergeant looked up at his two seniormost detectives. “What do ya got, Ben?”
Ben relayed the attorney’s account.
The sergeant looked at Chuck without saying a word.
The heavier partner with the monogrammed shirt looked down at his pad. “The store owner called in that the dead guy wouldn’t leave the premises and appeared to be ignoring the outside world. The owner said he didn’t notice the cop until they started struggling outside. He said they sort of ‘lay on top of each other for a long time,’ until the cop stood up and shouted several times, then fired his pistol twice. The shop owner thinks it’s great, because he believes it’ll scare off the other homeless guys from across the Intracoastal.” He looked at Stoltz and added, “The others say pretty much the same thing, except…”
Ben said, “Except for who?”
“The surfer-looking guy.” They all turned at once and looked through the window. Stoltz immediately saw a smaller blond man, about twenty-five, in the corner, drinking a Pepsi.
“What about him?”
“He says the cop smacked the guy with the ASP in the head for no reason, then shoved him to the ground. He also said that after only about twenty seconds, the cop stood up and shot the man without warning.”
Stoltz rolled his eyes. There was always one witness who saw things differently. Now he had to find out why the guy saw events occur in a way no one else did. Often it was just the stress of the situation. Sometimes it was something else. He knew this would take some time.
“Bring him over to the PD, and we’ll talk to him last.”
If only he had been able to direct his family life as well as a scene, maybe he’d be anxious to wrap things up to get home now. He knew that wasn’t true. He had never been anxious to leave a scene. That was his issue.
HE ARRIVED AT the small but professional-looking building that served as city hall in the front. The tiny police department on the side and the one-engine fire department in the back. The sun was just setting, and he felt a breeze off the ocean combined with the autumn temperature and wished he had a Windbreaker. That was the heaviest coat he owned, except for his lone suit coat, which he needed for his rare appearances in court. He shrugged off the chill and headed inside with his partner.
As he entered the main hallway, he heard, “Stoltz, good. Come here-I need to tell you something.” He knew the harsh New York accent and hesitated to turn, hoping instead he was just having a stroke or his hearing had gone. He couldn’t hide as his partner murmured, “Oh shit, I forgot about her.”
Stoltz turned and nodded. “Carla, I need some time. I haven’t even taken a statement yet.”
The younger woman motioned him over, knowing that his partner would avoid joining the conversation at all costs. “Listen.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in as if someone might try to intercept the conversation. “You can take your statement, but this looks like shit.”
“What does?”
“This shooting.”
“Why, what did you see in it?”
“He shot someone who had only a stick.”
“You mean the ASP?”
“Don’t you start on that bullshit. A baton is not a threat to a big cop like Albury.”
“I disagree, but until I speak to everyone, I can’t say what exactly happened.”
The prosecutor ran a hand through her richly dyed hair. Her pretty face often fooled people until she started to speak. “Look, this department has had a dozen shootings, and no one ever has boo to say about it. This one is not gonna slide by while I’m assigned to it.” She turned and wiped her forehead with her bare hand, clearly exasperated. “There are already TV vans filming at the scene. This case means something. This case can make up for a lot of bad press.”
“I thought each case was independent and we looked at the facts.” He tried to suppress his smile.
“The fact is that if we don’t indict a white cop in this town for killing a black transient, people are gonna shout.”
Stoltz was ready. “Luckily the justice system isn’t influenced by bullshit like that.”
By the color of her face, Stoltz knew he had hit a nerve. It wasn’t right, but this was fun.
The young prosecutor came right to the point. “If you can’t make this case, let me know and I’ll get someone who can. I need this indictment.” She paused. “Besides, there is no dispute that the cop shot the homeless guy. He has to pay for that.”
“I agree, the cop has to pay.”
“That’s more like it.”
Stoltz went on, “If the cop had no reason to shoot. Right now, it looks like he had a reason to shoot – they wrestled until he was exhausted, and then he lost a deadly weapon to the assailant.” He looked up for support from his partner but saw he was alone. “Besides, it shouldn’t matter if people shout. It should matter what’s right.”
“Cut the ‘brotherhood of the badge’ shit. You write it so I can present it.”
“Look, Carla, I’m not looking at a brotherhood issue. I’m looking at an officer-involved shooting. Only one, not the last eleven. This one, single shooting. And if it looks clean, I’ll pass it on, and if it looks like a bad shoot, I’ll pass that on. But you’re out of line telling me how to write it up.”
She stepped back and turned her dark eyes up at him. “I’m out of line? I’m out of line? Let me tell you something, Detective. You fucking work for me, and I tell you anything I fucking want to.”
In a perfectly calm voice, Stoltz said, “I work for the sheriff of Broward County, who has assigned me to the Homicide Unit to look at death investigations objectively. Until he says otherwise, that’s what I’m gonna do.” He turned and headed into the rear section of the building to continue his investigation before the assistant state attorney could make another comment.