Blue Rubicon
Authors: Harrison Drake
Copyright 2012 by Harrison Drake. All rights reserved.
First Kindle Edition: June 2012
Cover Design:
Streetlight
Graphics
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DISCLAIMER
The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work
of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or
dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
To the memory of every fallen police
officer, those who gave their lives in service to their communities. May their
sacrifices never be forgotten.
FOR A MOMENT I THOUGHT of joining him, it was a thought I
hadn’t had in some time.
“Hard to believe it’s been four months,” I said, the wind
blowing soft against my back. “A lot’s changed, things are so different now.”
I shuffled my feet as I stood in the autumn morning cold, a
thin jacket not enough to protect me from the chill in the air. The ground wore
a coat of many colours—fallen leaves covering the wet grass. The sun was barely
up, its first light gave the area an ethereal glow and created a thin mist that
shrouded the world.
The flowers were beginning to wilt.
“Kat and the kids have been back for a while now, I guess
you know that, though. Things have been going well, it’s still hard. Every day
it’s a new battle, but it’s one worth fighting.”
I had been much happier, the upside-down world I’d created
was starting to right itself. Despite my overall change in mood, tears began to
form in my eyes as I looked upon the cold, stern marble.
“I miss you dad,” I said. I dried my eyes and wiped my
cheeks clean then sniffled. “I’ll be back soon, you need new flowers.”
I picked up the flower arrangement that sat in front of my
father’s grave and walked back to my car, careful not to step over the dead. A
voice in my head criticized me for talking to a dead man, for believing that
maybe he could hear me. I pushed it away and got into the car.
A stack of freshly washed uniforms lay neatly on the seat
beside me—yet another change in these last few months. I started the car,
listened to the engine turn over then put shifted to drive and left my father
behind once more.
* * *
It was an hour’s drive to the detachment, my uniforms
staring at me from the passenger seat. This was my fifth day back, a block of
night shifts already under my belt. Coming back had been harder than I’d
expected—four months off was a long time, and the stay-at-home Dad life was
tough to abandon. But I’d needed the time, and with everything going on in my
life it wasn’t hard to get.
Marital troubles, shooting and killing a suspect,
discovering you’d killed a man as a child and winding up with a broken ankle
was enough to be granted (or forced to take) some stress leave.
I parked my car and walked into the building, the uniforms
hanging at my side. It was a short walk to the locker room and I was able to
avoid any human contact. I’d done well on night shifts. There weren’t a lot of
people to run into until the morning but I’d made my exits quiet and
uneventful.
I hadn’t even seen Kara.
My fingers spun the dial for the padlock without any
thought, the lock clicked and the door opened. The things we never forget. I
put my uniforms in place and pulled down my epaulettes, slipped them onto the
shoulders of one shirt. The three chevrons marking my rank made it sink in
again.
Patrol Sergeant.
All my years in homicide and even solving a serial killer
case wasn’t enough to keep me away from the bureaucracy of the OPP. Someone
found out my secret and here I was, busted from the detective’s desk to the
squad car while my former partner found herself working with someone new.
I hadn’t thought of Kara much lately—I’d managed to keep her
out of my mind. There were other things to focus on—a future, for one.
“Hurry up, Munroe.”
I turned in the direction of the voice to see my new
superior standing before me—my old, new superior.
“Yes sir, Staff Sergeant Ramirez, sir,” I said with a mock
salute.
“Don’t pull that shit with me.” He slapped me on the
shoulder, hard, as he walked past and out of the room.
I snapped my duty belt around my waist and made sure
everything was there—not that it wouldn’t be, of course. Pistol, expandable
baton, pepper spray, handcuffs. The only new part was the Taser. A couple of
training days prior to coming back was all it had taken to learn the ins and
outs of the Thomas A. Swift Electric Rifle. That and feeling the full force of
it. Five seconds of the worst pain I’ve ever felt followed by mild euphoria. It
was a hell of an effective tool—there was no fighting it.
I closed the locker door and clicked the padlock into place
then walked into the parade room to face my platoon. I was still trying to
learn all the names. There was a decent mix of seasoned and rookie officers
sitting and waiting for me to come in. George was already at the front of the
room.
I entered without fanfare. Thank god. The first day I’d been
met with thunderous applause—the effect of catching a serial killer. I’d tried
to ignore it, pretended it was business as usual, as I walked to the front of
the room and took a seat. But George had other plans and wouldn’t let up until
I’d made a speech. It was short, sweet and asked if Kara—Detective Jameson—had
been receiving the same praise.
They’d all nodded. It hadn’t taken long for word of the
attack on Kara to get around. And considering she’d been back to work the next
day with a ligature bruise around her neck it was hard to hide. If it wasn’t
for Saunders targeting Kara, we may never have caught him. There’d been a few
in the room who had broken eye contact when I mentioned Kara’s name.
But now, things were almost normal. No one expected anything
of me, no one praised me as a ‘hero’. I picked up the clipboard and went
through the motions. I read out the beats (where each officer would be working
their shift) and gave out all the new information—stolen cars, information on
known or wanted persons, an anonymous tip about a drug dealer possibly having a
sawed-off shotgun and finally, a list of the previous day’s break and enters.
It was information officers could follow up on during downtime—look for a
stolen car, sit in the area of the previous night’s break-ins, arrest a wanted
person.
I recognized all of the faces in front of me, some more than
others. Veronica “Vern” Davis and Marc Deville were the two I knew best, simply
because they’d been involved in the Saunders case quite a bit. The others I
knew names for faces but little else. Nicknames for cops were common, and if
there wasn’t a nickname it was your last name everyone called you by.
I turned over the last page on the clipboard. We were done
and not a moment too soon—I hated being at the front of the room. I dismissed
the group, picked up my duty bag from the locker room and made my way to a
waiting black-and-white, ‘Supervisor’ written across the rear windshield. There
were many reasons not to linger in the building too long and one of them was
looking right at me.
“I knew you’d try to skip out without seeing me,” she said.
“Sorry, there’s just been a lot to deal with.”
Kara nodded, she’d probably been thinking about what coming
back after four months would be like, especially given why I’d been off.
“Understandable. But you can’t avoid me forever, Link.”
There it was again. Even when it seems that everything
around you is changing, there are always a few things that stay the same. We
still had a connection, one that would be impossible to make disappear.
I paused, a lump in my throat keeping my words at bay. “Can
I ask you something?”
“It wasn’t me, Link.” Her eyes were fixed on mine. “I wish I
knew. Red was the only one who knew, although I think Tsang, the SIU
investigator, figured it out.”
She didn’t need to remind me of who Tsang was. I’d been
allowed to watch the video of my interview. I relived in great detail my mental
breakdown after shooting Saunders, relived it more times than I wish to admit.
The tape would probably be around longer than I would.
“I have a hunch,” I said, but didn’t say anything further.
The look in my eyes was a familiar one, one that said I was done talking—we’d
discuss it later.
“Be safe out there,” Kara said. Her hand reached for my
shoulder then she pulled it away quickly. She turned and walked back the way
she came, but didn’t turn fast enough to hide the redness in her cheeks.
I got into the car, and sat behind the wheel of a Ford Crown
Victoria that made my Mini Cooper seem like a dinky car. Larger turn radius,
rear wheel drive, terrible in the winter and rain but powerful as hell when it
needed to be. The light bar had changed from actual bulbs to LED lights but at
least the buttons to work them hadn’t changed. I started the car and was
pulling out when the night shift sergeant made his way in. He slowed down as he
pulled up beside me, his window already down.
“Hey, Munroe. Good to have you back.”
A sentiment echoed by everyone it seemed. If only I was so
sure.
“Thanks, Red.” Marcus O’Connell—Big Red. His jaw was moving
as it usually did, a high-speed up and down that gave flashes of bright red gum
between pearly whites.
“It wasn’t me, Lincoln.” I wasn’t expecting to get so many
denials in one day. Not Kara, not Red, possibly Tsang, and then… no.
“I know,” I said. Better to feign trust.
“I didn’t even know about the rest unt—”
“The rest?”
“Yeah. The rumour’s out there, Munroe. Some believe it, some
don’t. I’ve been trying to quash it, telling people it’s bullshit.” He paused,
chewed some more. “It’s not though, is it?”
I wanted to tell him it was none of his business but, if he
was being honest, he was championing Kara and I. I just nodded.
“Everything okay at home?”
“It will be,” I said.
“I’ve got to head in, paperwork and all.”
The excuse was solid, but it was clear he was feeling
uncomfortable.
“See you around, Red.”
A wave of an arm out the driver’s side window was my
response, but he’d already started driving. Maybe he knew I didn’t fully trust
him.
I drove out of the garage hoping for silence. A Code 1
robbery on my first day, right out of the gates, was a little much. Trial by
fire. We’d caught the culprit though—a long track by K9 through farmer’s fields
and industrial complexes ended with a bite from the dog and a trip to the
hospital for the suspect. Seventeen stitches to the left calf.
That should teach him not to run.
The other shifts hadn’t been bad—domestics, a break-in, two
impaired drivers weaving down the highway, three collisions, and one attempted
suicide. Quiet, by police standards.
I drove down Westminster Drive hoping for more of the same.
This wasn’t where I wanted to be. This wasn’t what I wanted to be doing. I
should have been back behind my desk, looking over crime scene photos and
catching murderers.
A few minutes later my phone rang, startling me.
“Det… Sergeant Munroe.”
“Nice slip. It’s Red.”
I laughed. “What’s up?” I was expecting more denial, maybe
he hadn’t gotten it all out yet.
“Jake Carter hasn’t come in. Dispatch doesn’t show him on a
call.”
I knew all too well the rigors of night shift. “Probably
asleep.”
“Yeah. GPS shows him parked at the dead end of Shain Road.”
I had to think for a minute. I used to know all the county
roads, and all the hiding places to write up reports or meet with another
officer.
“Near Belmont, right? I’m not far.”
“Thanks, Munroe.”
“No prob.”
“And he’s a good kid. If he’s asleep, just ream him out.
Doesn’t need to be put on paper.”
“Roger.”
I hung up the phone and turned right onto Westchester
Bourne. I was only a couple of minutes away. Had I been further, I probably
would have looked for a cell phone number for Carter—tried to call him before I
got there.
I knew the name. Stand up officer, hard-working, honest and,
as far as I knew, never a complaint against him. One who used his head before
his hands.
I turned onto Shain Road and it wasn’t long before I saw the
cruiser parked in the circle at the end of the road. There was nothing around
here, just farmland. It was a long street with only two homes on it, one where
it met the main road and one halfway down.
Nothing down this far.
The cruiser was parked facing out, toward the main road.
This was normal—a quick getaway if dispatch needed you for an emergency call.
Turning around wasted precious seconds. I pulled up alongside the cruiser and
sure enough, Carter was sound asleep, his head resting on his right shoulder. I
rolled down my window and rapped on his but got no response. I never got a
second knock in. What I saw in the car stopped that.
I threw open my door smashing it into the side of Carter’s
cruiser.
Shit. I’d forgotten I was parked so close.
I reversed quickly then jumped out and ran to the car. The
door was locked. Nothing was going right. I couldn’t decide—smash the window or
get my keys. It only took a second to decide: keys. Smashing the window would
compromise the scene.
I ran back to my cruiser and grabbed the keys then made it
back to Carter’s door within seconds. Cruisers are all keyed the same and his
door unlocked for me. I opened the door and put my hand on Carter’s neck.
No pulse.
Fuck. His gun was in his lap, his right hand wrapped around
the grip. I put my hand on his chin and turned his face toward me.
He looked so young, so peaceful until I saw the bullet wound
in his right temple, red rimmed with blood that had dripped down his cheek.
The blood was dry. Its metallic scent filled the cruiser but
there was hardly any smell of gunpowder. The hairs on the back of my neck stood
on end.
I used my radio to call into dispatch, requesting George and
a few other officers. The scene needed to be guarded. Even as a suicide,
protocol needed to be followed. Every death is considered suspicious until
proven otherwise.
And this one was suspicious.
Gloves. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten. I reached into the
right pocket of my cargo pants and took out a pair of black latex gloves.
Everything I touched was evidence, it all needed to be preserved.
