The Mourning Missed Read online

  Clint couldn’t see the rear window go down, nor could he see who was in the vehicle. All he could see was Bart’s head over the Landau roof. He was talking but looking around as his lips moved. After a minute he walked back to the patrol car. “Take us to impound.”

  “I’M LOOKING FOR A VAN I impounded last month for no plates,” Bart told the older officer guarding the gate. The officer was getting agitated with his inability to identify the vehicle in question on his inventory sheet. “Never mind, I’ll just have to go in and look for it,” Bart groused. Feigning indifference, the guard waved them through. “Go down the center aisle until you see a black Suburban with oversized tires and turn left,” Bart instructed.

  Moving down the narrower side aisle, Clint realized he would have to back all the way out to the main passage again. “Stop here,” McMichaels ordered. Stepping from the car, he walked over to a non-descript grey economy car with all the glass shattered out.

  Taking a clip-knife from his rear pocket, he leaned into the rear window opening and cut the material of the cloth seat across the width from as far in as he could reach. Pulling back the material, he grunted in surprise; there was nothing there. Cutting the material in great slashing swathes, he removed most of it from the seat frame to ensure there was nothing inside except the original ticking used on the seat base.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” he bellowed, slamming the butt of his fist against the top of the car. As he turned back toward the cruiser a hole appeared in his shirt just above the second button from the top. Bart staggered and grabbed his chest just as the rolling crack of a high-powered rifle shot boomed through the valleys of the city’s downtown business district.

  Stunned for only a second, Clint snatched the microphone from its clip and frantically called it in. “Officer down, shots fired. I repeat, officer needs assistance at the impound lot. Officer down, shots fired.” Jumping out of the car, Clint crouched behind the front fender and looked around the compact car to where Bart lay on his back in broken glass and filth.

  A rapidly-spreading pool of blood grew around his torso as Clint watched and he knew he was going to try and help. Dashing to Bart’s feet, he grabbed them and tried to drag him out of the line of fire. Another bullet hole appeared just above Clint’s belt as he was bent over and he collapsed onto the inert form of his trainer as a second shot boomed through the canyon of high-rise buildings.

  “AND WHAT ORDERS WERE you given at the time when the other drivers became aggressive?” The Internal Affairs officer asked as soon as he had started the tape recorder.

  “Sergeant Arana told me to have my sidearm at the ready and to lock the car doors,” Lilly replied.

  “And did you comply with that order?” the IA investigator asked.

  “I did not, as it was an unlawful order,” Lilly responded.

  “Oh, really?” The middle-aged, balding man in glasses chuckled jovially. “Since when is it unlawful for a Police Sergeant to order a patrol officer to defend themselves?”

  “Per MCPD code of conduct,” Lilly replied immediately.

  “How’s that?” The startled IA man blurted.

  “At no time will any officer display cowardice, either to give ground or withdraw from a dangerous situation,” Lilly quoted. “MCPD officers are to conduct themselves at all times in a manner intended to present the MCPD in the clearest images of bravery, selflessness, and fortitude.”

  “Were you clearly outnumbered and at a disadvantage?” IA selected a different tact.

  “I don’t think so, but why don’t you ask the three men I subdued in the performance of my duties?” She replied. “Because I wasn’t ordered to defend myself, I was ordered to cringe like a coward in my squad car until backup arrived; male backup. Because us poor little women-folk aren’t much good for anything except being Meter Maids.”

  “Your attitude isn’t doing your case much good,” the man sternly reminded her.

  “I’ll explain this to you the way I see it,” Lilly shot back. “I was transferred out of my initial division after two days, because according to my sergeant, I sucked at being a Meter Maid. That was because I refused to cow-tow to the mayor’s mother when she demanded I retract a parking citation on the spot. And apparently, having a car towed for illegal parking is still an option for parking enforcement officers unless it belongs to the mayor’s mommy.”

  “So, my first day in my new division, I’m ordered by my coward of a trainer to lock myself in my car and wait for someone else to come and do my job for me,” she raged. “Well, that’s not how the Academy trained me, it is absolutely not how I work, and it’s sure as hell not how I live. Now do you understand my attitude?”

  “I can see where you could possibly feel there was some leeway in the interpretation of the directives you learned in the Academy,” he hedged. “I believe you’ve had insufficient time out of that sterile environment to assimilate the true intention of the MCPD Code of Conduct into the reality of daily police work. I also believe there’s a good chance we can convince the Commissioner to keep you on the force. It would probably require a written apology to your immediate supervisor. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to avoid the insubordination charge on your record. That eliminates you from promotion or special assignment for your first two years.”

  Fuming, Lilly forced herself to remain calm. “How long will I have to decide on what my reply will be?”

  “We can give you until the end of the week, but you’ll be on suspension without pay until the determination is rendered,” he replied kindly.

  “That’s tomorrow,” she observed hotly. When he nodded, she knew she had to get busy. “Will there be anything else?” Lilly asked.

  “THAT’S ONE HELL OF a story,” the Academy Commandant said with a smile.

  “And according to my sources, exactly how it happened,” Sergeant Bacchus added. They were sitting in the Commandant’s inner office at the Academy, where Sarge had asked Lilly to meet him. She was hesitant to see Colonel Hollister, but only until her mentor told her the Commandant was on their side.

  “First of, how is Officer Parsons? I was saddened to hear he had been gunned down by an assassin,” the Academy Director asked.

  “He’s still comatose,” Lilly replied. She had answered the question often enough she no longer choked up when she said it. “He was lucky they say, although how being shot is lucky I still haven’t figured out. The sniper used 30-caliber military ball ammunition. If a hunting round had been used he’d be dead.”

  “Ballistics hasn’t been confirmed, but rumor says it was a professional mercenary sniper. The bullet missed his spine by half an inch and tore through his liver, stomach, and left lung. He lost a lot of blood and coded twice on the table,” she said, choking on the last part. “But the doctors say he’s strong and will likely recover physically. Their concern is for how much blood he lost and how long his brain was without sufficient oxygen.”

  “Our prayers are with him, and you,” the silver-haired Colonel offered. “For you, it looks very much like you’re being railroaded, young lady. We’ve all seen it before, but in the past it’s been because the individual was a general screw-off, a coward, or incompetent. You’re none of those things.” He leaned back in his swivel chair and placed his fingertips on his chin in a pensive pose. “Marty, do you suppose any of your contacts at Central might shed some light on who’s behind this campaign to ruin our favored graduate?”

  “Yes, sir, that had been my intention,” Bacchus replied. “I just wanted you to be fully apprised of the situation in case you had other ideas.”

  “I believe you’re right on target, so keep me posted,” the Commandant said thoughtfully. Turning his focus to Lilly, he asked. “In the meantime, young lady, how would you like to perform your duties here at the Academy? Out of sight is out of mind, you know.”

  Lilly broke out in a wild grin. “Sir? That would be incredible, sir,” she exclaimed. Almost as quickly, her grin faded to dismay. “But, the IA investigator to
ld me I wouldn’t be able to have any special assignments for two years, and that’s if the PC decides to keep me on the force.”

  “You just let me worry about that part,” he smiled.

  Eight

  LILLY WAS AT THE HOSPITAL, talking to Clint in the ICU. He wasn’t responding, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hear her. The neurologist who had been assigned to his case had told her to expose him to everything he was accustomed to; her voice, her touch, familiar literature and music.

  They had never listened to music when they were together; they’d preferred the sound of their own voices. They hadn’t been to but maybe two movies since they’d become a couple and those two were miles and genres apart. So the only familiarity she had to offer was her voice and her touch.

  “I see you brought the paper again today,” the nurse observed from the desk. “Good for you. Keep his brain active, even if he doesn’t respond. Try to provoke thoughts, like you would if you were having an opinionated discussion. It all works to stimulate the brain into coming back.”

  “That’s what I’m told,” Lilly replied. “Thanks, Jenny.”

  Lilly had just sat in the bedside chair and unfolded the paper to the front page when the glass door whooshed open and banged against the frame stop. She was on her feet and ready to defend her love, adrenalin coursing through her veins even as she recognize who was so rudely entering the room. The Commander of Central Division strode in with his back ramrod straight and a sneer plastered on his lips. Handing her a manila envelope, he glowered as she opened it. Making sure her expression remained neutral; she extracted the single sheet of paper within. It was orders directing her to begin a special duty assignment with the MCPD Academy on the following Monday. When she looked up from reading the orders, the commander unloaded on her.

  “I don’t know who you’re blowing, but you must be really good. I’ve never seen anyone who is as big a screw-up as you keep falling into shit and coming out smelling like roses. Just know this; you’re no longer welcome in Central Division. When the Academy gets finished with you, and they will shortly, just turn in your badge. No other Division Commander will have anything to do with you.” He turned on his heel and strode from the room, closing the sliding glass door with a resounding thump.

  Aghast, Lilly simultaneously fought back tears of rage and the urge to chase him down and give him what for. Twice she moved toward the door, only to stop. The second time she even opened the door, but restrained herself again. Discretion finally won out in the hard-fought battle and, as she sat again, Jenny came in.

  “Whoever that pompous asshole was, I want to know how to report him. He wasn’t authorized to be in the ICU and he certainly had no business upsetting my critically-injured patient.”

  “I appreciate that and may just take you up on a written statement, if you’d care to jot it down,” Lilly replied. “But can you really say he upset your comatose patient?”

  “All vitals are recorded on a tape master in the mechanical room,” Jenny explained. “I watched Officer Parsons’ pulse and BP spike within a minute of General Jerk-off walking in. Plus, I heard what he said; that’s defamation of character.”

  “Excellent,” Lilly said thankfully. “Could you put all that in writing for me, Jenny?”

  “I can and if you’d like a recording of the conversation, I’m sure there’s a blank CD around here somewhere,” the nurse added.

  “Say again?” Lilly asked, puzzled.

  “All of the ICU rooms are audio-video monitored 24/7,” Jenny explained. “They’re on a 72 hour reel-to-reel loop and I can play it back from the desk for up to 24 hours. It helps the doctors review patient conduct over the long term.” As Jenny turned to leave, realization dawned on Lilly.

  “Wait,” she called. “I was so upset by his message and then so pleased with yours, I almost allowed the real news to slip by. Did Clint respond to the situation, or at least the emotions, present in the room?”

  “I would say so,” Jenny nodded.

  “Shouldn’t the neurologist know about that right away?” Lilly wondered excitedly.

  “It’ll be in his chart. The doctor will review them tomorrow,” the nurse explained.

  Mollified, Lilly returned to her chair and began sharing the news of the day with her soul mate.

  “HERE’S THE CD OF THE conversation the nurse burned for me,” Lilly said, offering the disc to Sarge. “He must be really pissed to show his ass like that in front of witnesses.”

  “There’s something more going on here,” Bacchus replied. “I worked for Commander Burnside six years ago when he was a watch commander. He always struck me as firm but fair. This merits some more digging. But in the meanwhile, your new duty station will be right here,” he said, placing his hand on the chair at the reception desk.

  The look on her face said it all. “Sarge?” Lilly stammered. “You want me to be a...secretary?”

  “Pssh,” Sarge replied. “The Commandant wants you to be the new face of the Academy. You’ll be the first person visitors meet and the first impression potential recruits have when they start asking about a cop’s life. We both expect you’ll make an outstanding impact.”

  “I’m...pretty sure Colonel Hollister doesn’t want me as the spokesperson for the Academy,” Lilly mumbled. “Unless he wants to cut way back on recruiting.”

  “So, answer me this,” Bacchus asked, grinning. “Whom do we all know that can quote the manual like a bible and use it to ensure MCPD is best represented with dignity, courage, and determination?”

  “I see what you’re doing,” Lilly interjected, pointing a finger at him.

  “The Colonel, the staff, and I all agree it’s time new recruits got an earful of what life is really like on the streets,” Sarge rejoined. “We all agree there is no one better prepared to share that reality with them than you. Or, you could resign your commission and go back to being a street-fighting Cajun.”

  “Will I still be in uniform or will there be a dress code?”

  “There will be days you’ll be expected to dress up nice and rub elbows with civilians,” her mentor replied. “But for everyday business, street uniform is appropriate.”

  “Will I have time to go visit Clint, or will this be a live-in assignment?”

  “You have the option of living in one of the instructor billets, but you’ll find the accommodations pretty spartan,” he answered. “You’ll be a lot closer to Clint if you stay in his apartment.”

  “I don’t have a car. I’ve been using Clint’s to get around. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind but I obviously can’t ask him,” Lilly observed.

  “There are four cruisers assigned to the Academy, plus the Commandant has his own Suburban,” he shared. “You can sign one out as needed.”

  “Right, but I can’t use them for personal business.”

  “Visiting a recovering officer in the hospital is official business, as is getting back and forth to work,” Sarge assured her. “You can take one home or drive Clint’s, that’s your choice.”

  “You’re not going to let me say no, are you?” She asked finally.

  “If you want to say no, so be it,” he said. “I think it would be a big mistake on your part and a detriment to the city. I’m just addressing whatever issues you feel you may have.”

  Grinning, Lilly offered Sarge her hand. He shook it formally and said, “Welcome to the team.”

  LILLY WAS ISSUED A radio on the Academy frequency, with the ability to change to tactical channels if the need arose. She was issued a sidearm and long gun from their armory and placed on the Academy payroll.

  She went to the hospital the next evening straight from duty. Still in uniform and driving the squad car, she caught sight of a flashy pickup truck in her rear-view mirror. It moved around the car between them and roared ahead, apparently not recognizing the light bar on top of her vehicle for what it signified. The truck was travelling at least ten miles an hour over the speed limit as it blew through an intersection whi
ch had just gone red.

  She thought briefly of giving chase. “Nah, buddy, it’s your lucky day. I have better things to do,” she said aloud. As she pulled into the hospital lot, she saw it again parked in a handicap spot. Noting it had no hanger and no handicap plates, she again deciding to leave it alone. Dismissing it from her mind, she went inside.

  Clint’s condition wasn’t changing and she had brought a steamy romance novel to read in hopes of getting a reaction on his vitals. The idea had come to her as a flash of insight the night before. One of the things they had in common was great sex. She was ready to test a theory that reading some of the intimate passages might spike his pulse. She stopped in the ladies room once inside when pressure from her bladder made her realize she had been too busy to pee.

  As she approached the ICU she could see people coming and going from his room at a frantic pace. Quickening her step while trying to remain calm, she finally ran the last ten steps before pausing outside the door to take inventory of what was happening. A crash cart was in the corner and doctors were examining Clint with penlights, stethoscopes, and their hands.

  Spotting Jenny at the desk, she hurried over with anxiety etched deeply on her face.

  “The heart monitor alarm went off...six minutes ago,” Jenny said, glancing at a chronometer on the counter support wall. “When the crash team arrived, he was in convulsions. He’d apparently pulled several of the monitor leads loose and that’s what triggered the alarm. Reviewing the tape, however, we saw this.”

  Punching one of a dozen buttons on the bottom of the video monitor, they watched a stealthy male figure in a lab coat and blue scrubs creep into the room and adjust the IV drip rate. Then he pulled a syringe from his pocket and injected it into the almost-full bag near the top. A shadow drifted across the clear fluid in the bag before the contents returned to clear.