Deadly Aim (12 page)

“So you’re accusing the officer of being racist?” the reporter asked.

“What other explanation can there be? Officer Delaney claims she was doing her job. She might think killing a black boy isn’t a big deal, but she is dead wrong. I’ve already talked to a lawyer. Officer Delaney is going to pay for what she’s done, make no mistake about that. If the state of Oregon won’t bring her down for killing that boy, the black community will.”

The anchor closed the segment by showing footage of Angel and Brandon. “The officer responsible for Billy’s death refused to give us a statement other than to say she was sorry it happened. Is this another case of police brutality? Of excessive force? A racial incident? It’s still too soon to tell.”

A picture of Billy flashed on the screen. An adorable boy with a smile as big as Texas.

The reporter continued. “What happened to Billy Dean Hartwell? Was he an innocent bystander as his family says, or was he a gang member? Sources on the street tell us that Billy was not in any way affiliated with the gang that has been operating in the area. We’ll bring you the latest news on this case as it’s made available.”

Angel turned off the set and sat there in stunned disbelief. Billy had gone to the pharmacy for medication. Had she been mistaken all along in counting him as one of the gang members? He’d come out from hiding and looked scared and acted like he was giving up. She had assumed that he’d lured
her out in the open so his pals could get a clean shot at her. Maybe he was coming to her for help, and the shooters took advantage of the situation. Angel stared into the fireplace, trying to assemble this new information.

Billy had made a purchase, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d run from her in that building, or that he’d raised his gun as if to shoot at her. Or had he? Maybe he’d started to raise his hands in surrender. Had she been so frightened, so fearful for her life, that she’d misread his intent?

“Don’t pay any attention to them, Angel.”

She jumped at the sound of her partner’s voice. “Eric, I forgot you were there. What did you say?”

“The guy’s a nutcase. Don’t listen to him.”

She slumped back against the seat and folded her arms. “What if he’s right? What if Billy wasn’t involved with the break-in? What if the kid was innocent?”

“Come on, you know better.”

“They’re taking me to court. You heard him. I could be tied up in court for months. I don’t have that kind of money.”

“What about your lawyer friend? Maybe he’ll defend you. He probably doesn’t do charity cases, but maybe he’ll make an exception.”

Angel didn’t respond. Of course, Brandon would represent her—and for nothing. Wouldn’t he? She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Her lower lip trembled and a sob escaped her throat. “What am I going to do, Eric?”

He reached over and rubbed her shoulder, “Quit punishing yourself. You know what went down, so don’t let this guy or those reporters get to you. The media is into sensationalism. They blow everything out of proportion. Seems like every time a cop has to use deadly force, the media is on it like maggots on a rotting corpse.”

Angel grimaced as his analogy. “You’re right about that.” Rising from the sofa, she adjusted the tie on her robe, wrapping it more securely around her.

“I should go.” Eric stood too, as if anxious to leave. She didn’t blame him. He wasn’t used to seeing her this way—so close to the edge.

She walked him to the door. “Thanks for coming by—and for the pep talk.”

“No problem.” He turned back, filling the doorway with his large frame. “There’s no way the grand jury’s going to indict you. Trust me on that.”

“I hope you’re right.”

After saying good-bye and closing and bolting the door, she leaned against it, wishing she could be as sure about all of this as Eric seemed to be.

As she headed to her bedroom, the phone began ringing.
Who’d be calling this late
? She walked down the hall, planning to answer it, but in the end she went back to the sofa and let the machine do what she’d bought it to do.

“Hi, Angel,” Brandon said after the beep. “Must be sleeping, huh? Listen, I’m sorry about tonight. It wasn’t fair of me to buy the house without talking to you first. It’s just that the place was available and there were already several people interested in it. I felt I had to move fast. The proposal still stands, but no pressure, okay? I didn’t realize how serious your situation was until I saw it on the news tonight. My timing wasn’t the greatest, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Angel muttered, her annoyance with him reappearing.

“I just wanted to apologize and tell you I love you.”

Angel didn’t want his apology or his declaration of love, she just wanted to be left alone. She wanted peace of mind. She wanted to believe like Eric that everything would be okay. She turned off the lights, curled up under the afghan, and sat there for a long time, staring into the darkness, listening to the steady pounding of the waves. Sometime around midnight, she made her way to her bedroom and crawled into bed. Sleep came in snatches as images of Billy Dean Hartwell invaded her mind. Images of him raising his toy gun and laughing like a child at play. Images of her, pulling the trigger.

T
he phone woke Angel at 7:00 the next morning. Her head still hurt. She refused to open her eyes. After three rings the answering machine picked up and said, “Hi, this is Angel, please leave a message at the beep.”

“Angel?”

She groaned into her pillow. “Dad, it’s too early.”

“You still in bed? Come on, now. I know you can hear me.” He sighed. “You know how I hate to talk into these things, but I got something to say.”

“Well, say it.” Angel mumbled but made no move to get out of bed.

“Don’t let those yahoos get to you, Angel. I saw that idiot bad-mouthing you on television last night. He’s trying to make a racial case out of this. Ain’t gonna happen if I have anything to say about it. Already talked to the guys in the department, and they are all on your side. Mike says he can’t believe the guy would go that far. Says he’s going to try to talk to him. Just wanted you to know that.” He hesitated again. “I wish you’d answer your cussed phone. I don’t like talking to a machine.” After another long pause he hung up.

Angel opened her eyes then closed them again.
Coward. You should’ve talked to him
.

She crawled out of bed and shuffled barefoot to the kitchen. Still half asleep, she poured water into the coffeemaker, scooped coffee into the filter, and hit the on button.

The phone rang again, and again she relied on the machine to intervene. This time it was Joe. Angel picked up as soon as she recognized his voice. “Hi, Joe. I’m here.” She pressed the stop button on the machine to end the recording. “Sorry.”

“How are you doing, Delaney?”

Terrible
. “Okay, I guess.”

“You watch the news last night?”

“Yeah.”
And I’m still reeling. I feel like I’ve fallen into a black hole and someone put the top on
.

“Look, I hate to ask, but I need you to come in. Normally I’d give you a few days before we do a formal questioning, but this Broadman guy is stirring things up royally. I got a call from the mayor this morning, and he got a call from the governor before he contacted me. They want this mess cleared up yesterday.”

“I don’t know what I can do about it.”

“You can cooperate. Give us your statement. We should have a report from the crime lab in Portland by Tuesday or Wednesday. This thing is taking top priority. Have you made an appointment with the shrink yet?”

“No. The office wouldn’t even be open yet.” Her tone sounded defiant, and she quickly added, “I’ll do it today.”
But I don’t want to. I know it’s protocol, but I’m afraid to go and to talk. I’m afraid I’ll fall apart
.

“Good.”

“Joe?” Angel bit her lip, not sure she really wanted to know any more, yet feeling that she needed to.

“Yeah?”

“On television last night, I heard that another body had been found.”

“That’s right.” Joe paused for a moment, and she wondered if he’d tell her about it. He cleared his throat and went on. “We’re not disclosing much to the media yet, so keep the info under your hat. Detective Riley spotted a body out on the pier behind the old cannery where you cornered the kid. No connection to the burglary or your situation that we can see. They found drugs on him. The victim was a known dealer out of L.A.—probably involved with the gang.”

“Have you identified him yet?”

“Name’s John James Monroe. Goes by the name of J.J. Ever hear of him?”

“No, doesn’t ring a bell. Um—one more thing. The family says Billy wasn’t a gang member. Is that true? He was at the pharmacy, and I assumed...”

“Don’t second-guess yourself on this, Delaney. Besides, it’s not me you have to convince. When can you get here?”

She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “In an hour.”

“Good. Your union lawyer will be here too—he called this morning to get your home number. Detective Riley with OSP will be here as well. Hopefully, we’ll have everything cleared up in a few days.”

“I hope so.”

Just before hanging up, he made an attempt to reassure her, saying he was on her side.

Angel wished she could believe him, but his job was on the line as well as hers. Joe might be loyal to his officers, but she had no doubt he’d sacrifice her to the wolves if things got too hot. He’d never said as much, but she suspected that if he hadn’t had to fill his quota of female officers, he’d never have hired her.

Why am I even thinking about whether or not he’ll support me? It isn’t going to come to that. I fired at the kid because I had to. He was a threat
.

No, he wasn’t
. The voice was almost audible in its intensity.

Yes, he was. I had no choice
.

Angel pushed aside the internal arguments and finished her coffee as she dressed and got ready to go to the police station. She was about to walk out the door when she remembered the psychologist. Better at least make the appointment before Joe got on her case again.

“Oh yes, Miss Delaney,” the receptionist said after Angel had introduced herself. “We’ve been expecting your call.”

“Why’s that?” She knew why. Apparently Joe was checking up on her. The knowledge didn’t improve her mood.

“Um, Mr. Brady said you’d be calling. He just explained the circumstances.”

“I see.” How much had Joe said?

“Dr. Campbell has an opening this afternoon at 2:00. Could you come in then?”

“Sure,” Angel told the receptionist. “The sooner the better.”
Might as well get it over with
. She was obligated to make one visit to the counselor, then she was off the hook. With the appointment made, she hung up.

You may need to go longer
. The thought was invasive and sounded too much like her mother.

“I don’t need counseling,” she argued aloud. “It would make me look weak to the other officers—especially to Dad.”

This has hit you hard. Besides that, you’re still struggling with Dani’s death
.

“Dani’s death has nothing to do with this. I’ll be fine.” She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “As long as I quit talking to myself.”

She took a deep breath to brace herself for an attack by the multitudes of media. But they weren’t there. Too early, she guessed, or maybe her news was already getting old. One could only hope.

Angel got to the station at 8:30 sharp. Joe greeted her as though this were an ordinary briefing on an ordinary day as he ushered her into the interrogation room—the same room she herself had used to question witnesses. The room was filled by the rectangular wooden table and six chairs. A pitcher of water and several glasses sat in the center of the scarred table.

The two men Joe had told her about were already seated, and both stood as she and Joe came in. Angel recognized the OSP officer immediately. Yesterday he’d arrived on the scene unshaven and wearing scrubby looking, paint-splattered jeans and a sweatshirt. He’d even had streaks of blue paint in his hair. Today he wore a tie, and under his tweed jacket she could see the familiar outline of his holster.

He cleans up well
. She turned from his assessing gaze and focused her attention on the lawyer.

“Officer Delaney.” The other man introduced himself as Randy Grover and reached across the table to shake her hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it down here yesterday. I live in Portland, and there
was no way I could get here before 6:00.” The lawyer, an average looking man with a stocky build, wore glasses and had a bald spot on top of his head, similar to Joe’s, though not as pronounced. He smiled and shook her hand, but his eyes told Angel that she wasn’t high on his priority list.

“It’s okay. I don’t think your being here sooner would have made a difference.”