“If you go willingly, Steve, I can write in my report that you were not only honest, but entirely cooperative. When your P.O. reads that and you explain the rest of the circumstances, he might not revoke you.”
“He will. He hates me.”
“He might not.”
“He will.” Steve’s voice sounded flat and dead now. “I’m not going back.”
“Steve, I will even call him and explain things on your behalf. That might sway him, right?”
Steve studied her, his eyes softening slightly.
Katie continued. “Look at the situation. You’re working hard, you work out, you don’t drink, right? She is the one who is treating you like hell. She cheated on you. Anyone would get mad. It’s understandable. It wasn’t right to hit her. You know that and so do I, but it isn’t something that you should go back to prison for. If you fight us, though, that is definitely where you will go. If you cooperate here, I can put all that in my report. I can call your P.O. We can work things out.”
She watched him carefully.
“It’s your only chance, Steve.”
Steve stared at her intently throughout her entire speech. A long, tense moment of silence followed.
It didn’t work. He’s going to fight and someone is going to die here tonight.
When he spoke, he spoke carefully, the edge out of his voice. “You’d really call him and explain?”
Katie let out an inward sigh. “Yes. Absolutely.”
Steve sighed, then nodded slowly. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”
Katie directed him to turn around and quickly handcuffed him. It required two pairs of handcuffs linked together because of his size and broad back. The small, silver cuffs looked frail on his large wrists. Katie imagined that he could snap them if he wished.
“Steve, you made the right decision,” she told him.
“I hope so.”
“Is that how it works?” Julie chirped at Katie. “You are all willing to go to bat for a woman-beater?”
“Did you ever hit her before tonight, Steve?” Katie asked him quietly.
“No. Never.”
Katie turned to Julie. “He said you hit him tonight, too, Julie.”
“I did not. He’s a lying ex-con.”
“Has he ever hit you before, Julie?”
“Yes. All the time. I’m a battered woman.”
“What you are is a cheater who got caught,” Katie told her stiffly.
“We’re not married!”
Katie stared at her, disbelieving.
Steve spoke up, his voice neutral again. “Officer, can we go? I’d like to leave and never come back here again.”
“Sure.” Katie led him toward the door.
“YOU FAGGOT!” Julie screamed.
Steve stopped, turned his head slightly and said in the same even voice, “My mother was right about you, Julie. You’re just a little bitch.”
Julie gave a shocked sound.
“I agree,” Katie said, and led Steve out the door.
“I heard that, you dyke!” Julie screamed after her. “I am going to file a complaint! What’s your badge number?” She tried to follow them, but Chisolm stopped her.
“Ma’am,” he said in the same flat voice he had used before. “You might want to shut that sewer of yours, or I will take his word for it and arrest you for assault. Then you can make that complaint from jail. You understand me?”
Katie grinned at Julie’s silence.
“Good,” Chisolm said. “Now go back inside and close your door.”
Katie heard a moment of silence, the scuffle of feet, then a loud slam.
“I’m glad someone can shut her up,” Steve muttered.
Katie struggled not to laugh. Not only was the situation perversely funny to her, but the relief of stress from a few moments ago made her giddy. She barely managed to hold her laughter inside.
She reached her patrol car, searched Steve and put him in the back seat. When she closed the door, Chisolm appeared beside her again.
“Jesus, Tom, will you stop sneaking up on me?” she joked.
Chisolm grinned for a moment, then turned serious. “Well done,” he said with a nod. “Very well done.” Then he turned and walked toward his car.
“Thanks,” Katie said. She watched him go and felt a flush of pride. Chisolm was one of the most respected street officers on the department, if not the most. He didn’t throw compliments around lightly.
Katie slid into the driver’s seat of her patrol car. She felt good.
“Officer?”
Katie glanced at Steve in the rear-view mirror. “Yes?”
“Thanks.”
Katie nodded. “Okay, Steve. We’ll work it out.”
Steve nodded, then stared out the window.
Katie started the car and headed toward the jail. She felt a pang of guilt, because she knew that even with her phone call to Steve’s probation officer, he was almost certainly going to be revoked. She hadn’t lied to him exactly, but she’d sold him a false bill of goods. Was that all right? Did her half-lie serve a greater good, protecting her and Chisolm, not to mention Steve himself, from a dangerous confrontation?
She knew the answer was yes, but she couldn’t shake that small sense of guilt. Despite her elation at the success of the call and Chisolm’s compliment, it ranked as quite possibly the longest trip to jail she’d ever made.
2210 hours
Kopriva waited restlessly for the data channel to return his driver’s check. The car in front of him wasn’t a maggot car, but the woman blew through the light at Division and Indiana right in front of him, so he stopped her. Usually, he would have let her go with a warning.
Usually.
But tonight he was grumpy.
Katie had not even looked his way all through roll call. He watched for her down in the sally-port as he waited for a car, hoping to make a plan to get coffee at two or three in the morning, once things slowed down, but she didn’t show up before he had to leave.
“Baker-123.”
Kopriva clicked the mike, an informal response that most dispatchers frowned upon. But, Janice manned the data channel tonight, and she didn’t mind.
“Wilson is not in locally. DOL is clear through 1998 with lenses.”
Kopriva clicked the mike again. He’d already written the ticket for failing to stop for a steady red light. He exited his vehicle and approached Wilson. The date on her driver’s license put her at forty-three, but she looked ten years younger, dressed in slacks and a business-like blouse. He hadn’t smelled any alcohol on her breath and figured she just worked really late.
Or maybe she was fooling around with some guy. Who knew?
“Mrs. Wilson,” he recited, “this is a notice of infraction for failing to stop at a steady red light at Division and Indiana. Please sign here.” He held out the ticket book and a pen, indicating the line for her signature. “Signing is not an admission of guilt, only a promise to respond within fifteen days.”
“But that light was yellow,” she protested, not reaching for the proffered ticket book.
“It was red, ma’am.”
“Well, I would like to tell you my side of the story.”
“Ma’am, I don’t care about your side of the story. You failed to stop for the light. I am citing you. Please sign.” Kopriva did not raise his voice.
“That isn’t fair,” she told him. Her eyes narrowed and her face tightened.
“Ma’am, one of your options is to go to court and tell the judge your side of the story.”
“No. I won’t sign it.”
Kopriva paused, staring at her.
“I won’t sign it,” she repeated.
Kopriva suppressed a sigh. “Ma’am, if you do not sign this, I will be forced to write you a criminal citation for failing to sign a notice of infraction. If you refuse to sign that, you will be booked into jail.”
She looked at him, obviously shocked at the word ‘jail.’ “Oh, that is just ridiculous.”
“It’s the law.”
She considered, and then reached for the ticket book. She angrily scrawled her name on the ticket. “I want your name and badge number,” she insisted.