Page 9 of Shadows of Justice

I arrive at Captain Jennings’s office and take a calming breath. Maybe he wants to discuss my review? I guess we’ll see. I knock twice.

“Come in.”

I head in and smile at the captain. He’s a nice man, middle-aged, married and has a half a dozen kids. Their framed pictures line his desk and walls, alongside his commendations and awards from over his years on the force. I respect the man. He’s always been fair to me, and treated me as an equal.

“Captain,” I say, coming forward to stand in front of his desk. Movement from the chairs in the corner catches my eye, and I turn and feel my pale face get paler.

“Chief . . .” I begin, and clear my throat. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Officer Schaeffer,” the chief says, looking me up and down with a look of disgust.

Definitely a polished turd.

“Please, have a seat.” Jennings motions at the chairs.

I sink into the leather, and the chief perches on the corner of the desk with his arms crossed, staring at me with hair-raising precision. Captain Jennings steeples his fingers in front of his face and regards me for a minute, and then speaks.

“I was surprised to hear that you’re here today, Schaeffer, considering you’re not on shift until tomorrow evening.”

“Just catching up on some paperwork, Cap. On my time though—not clocked in, of course,” I add, suddenly feeling very aware of just how long I’ve been at my desk for no apparent reason. He nods.

“Not a problem. Just want to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself,” he says. “It’s my understanding you slept here last night?”

My mouth suddenly runs bone dry. “I’ve been having car issues. I figured being here already would be easier so that I can catch Diaz to take a look at it for me,” I lie, straight through my teeth.

I bought my car one year old, two years back. There’s nothing wrong with it, but Diaz often helps employees with their cars since he used to be an army mechanic, so it’s not a terrible lie.

“Well, that’s not why we called you in here, even though you do look like shit, officer,” the chief says, and my eyes dart to his. Jennings flinches, but whatever. I’m not going to let the old man ruffle my feathers today. If he had said that to a man, it wouldn’t have clenched everyone’s assholes quite so tight.

“Okay,” I say carefully, “what can I help you with then?”

“You can start with explaining why pertinent information was left out of your report on July third,” the chief says, his tone like ice.

“Pertinent information?” I croak. My stomach sinks to my knees.

“Officer Schaeffer,” Captain Jennings says, clearly irked the chief is taking over the conversation, “normally, your report skills are unmatched. Your attention to detail and thoroughness have become aspects I can count on. However, there are some questionable things about the third’s report.”

“If you could just explain, I’d be happy to clarify whatever I can.” I eye the chief warily as he stands up to pace.

“In your report,” Jennings begins, “you stated that a man flagged you down from your Interceptor, telling you that the victim was unresponsive and stuck in the car. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then, as you were administering CPR to the victim, the man didn’t stick around and instead darted off during the chaos. Do I have that right?”

“Yes, sir,” I nod. “And considering the state of the victim’s mother inside the residence, I surmised the man was probably a junkie, and that he got spooked and took off before we could fully grasp whatever his need to be in that house was, or question him further.”

The chief slams his hand onto the desk, startling me so deeply that I let out an audible gasp.

“A junkie?” he shouts, chilling me further. He grasps the side of the captain’s computer monitor and wrenches it toward me, showing me what looks like a front yard overlooking Seedling Street. “A junkie? Or Leo Barone?”

The air stalls in my lungs. A tense Captain Jennings pushes enter on his keyboard, and the video starts. It’s from a Ring doorbell camera, and it must belong to the house across the street from 783 Seedling. There I am, in Amazon-funded high definition, administering CPR and gazing into the dark eyes of Leo motherfucking Barone.

My thoughts spin as my mind desperately tries to coordinate a passable story for what I wrote in my report and how it appears on the screen in front of my eyes. I watch as a tiny dip of my head urges Leo to take off, thankfully not much more detail than that shown in the footage. For all they know, I could have been telling him to get on the ground and wait for me to be done. It’s not like I wasn’t busy.

The coffee and Funyons in my stomach combine into a lake of fuckery, and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. I roll my shoulder and try to regulate my breathing, feeling the fury wafting off of the chief in terrifying waves.

I’m so fucked.

---