valuable time on me. 'Well look, good luck catching your robbers. Sorry we couldn't help. Gotta go.'
As soon as he was gone, I hurried out of the room and back down the hall into the lobby. It was empty. Miss Pascoe had left. Only a faint wisp of her perfume remained behind to tease me. I started looking in the glass windows of the alcoves containing the Cartco products.
I was halfway around the room, when I stopped. Looking very frosty and inviting, sitting under its own pin light, there it was: A million-dollar, prize-winning, six-pack of Bud Light beer.
Chapter 20
Alexa was waiting in the entry when I got home. it was nine o'clock that night and she was holding a charge sheet and transmittal letter from the Professional Standards Bureau.
'We've gotta talk.' Her voice was hard, even threatening. The one she uses when she questions suspects. 'Calm down,' I cautioned.
She didn't answer, but thrust the charge sheet at me. I saw the PSB seal and the three typed yellow sheets that every cop dreaded receiving. In my distinguished career I've already received three.
'Yeah, I've been expecting this,' I said.
'The IO served it here, an hour ago. Since you're the charged officer, the detective didn't want to leave it with me, but I insisted. Pulled rank.'
'It's good being king.' I pushed past her, feeling busted, and went into the kitchen where I snatched a beer from the fridge. Alexa followed close on my heels. 'Shane, we've got to discuss this.'
'Not with your voice like that, we don't.' I pushed past her again and walked out to the backyard.
'Stop doing that. Stop just walking away from me,' she called, then followed me outside.
I plopped in one of the lawn chairs, put my feet on an ottoman, and popped open the beer. It chirped loudly in the still night and I could tell it pissed her off that, under these circumstances, I would be sitting out here with my feet up, drinking beer. She came around and stood in front of me, blocking my view of the canal.
'You don't have any idea what I'm going through right now, do you?' she asked angrily. 'You have this bullshit idea that your career and my career are separate, but they're not. I'm your fucking boss, guy.'
'Is that a job description or a marital condition?' The minute I said it, I regretted the comment. I was tired and upset, but I knew I needed to handle this carefully. It was a critical moment for us, both personally and professionally. I looked up at Alexa. There was an awful look on her face. I don't know exactly what it was-anger and disappointment, of course, but it seemed there were other, even more destructive things in the mix. Contempt or even disdain. I'd never seen that look before. Or at least, it had never been directed at me. I forced myself to take a step back emotionally, to not fully engage.
I reminded myself that I was the one out of line. I'd been breaking more crockery than a karate master, ignoring supervisors, working without portfolio. I also knew this angry person in front of me wasn't Alexa. This was TBI. This was a brain anomaly. This was caused by changing neurological functions. She must have read all that on my face because she shook her head sadly.
'I'm not crazy. You can't blame this one on Stacey Maluga. I'm not the one ignoring the specific orders of a division commander and a deputy chief. You are.'
'Whatta you want, Alexa? I'm sorry. I admit that I've been reckless here. But no matter what I do, I can't make that charge sheet go away.'
'I want… I want you to…' She turned and faced the Grand Canal. Her mood was dark, a stark contrast to the canal water that sparkled brilliantly in the orange twilight. She turned back to me and finished her sentence. 'I want you to help me, but you won't.'
'I'm trying to, honey. I know this is a stressful time for you, but now I really do need your help.'
'With this Hickman thing? Jesus! Can you please put that away for a minute?'
'Alexa, you're stressed. You're frightened, okay? I get that. I also know you feel horrible about this review Tony is putting you through tomorrow, horrible about what's been happening to you. I sympathize, because I know how unfair it is. It's just… I stumbled into this thing and now I don't know what to do about it.'
'What does that mean?'
'This kid-this boy is only a few years older than Chooch. He's stuck up in Corcoran doing Level Four time. His prison car is full of net-heads who beat him up and rape him. They're putting him through hell. If I don't get him out of there, he's gonna commit suicide. I saw it in his eyes. And the worst part is we did it to him. We did. We put him there on a manufactured case. The more I look into it the surer I am.'
'You don't have anything, Shane. Not one solid fact.' Her voice had softened.
'I'm getting closer. I've turned up some important pieces.' I took a breath and, because we'd always worked through tough cases together and because I wanted the old Alexa back, I tried my theory on her. 'I think Wade Wyatt and Mike Church ripped off a beer contest to win a million dollars.' Working it in my mind as I went. 'That's why Church made Tru go to that exact market in a strip mall halfway across the Valley. The motive for the murder wasn't an argument over a six-pack of beer. It was over a rare worth a million dollars in prize money.'
'I have not the faintest idea what you're talking about,' she said.
'Alexa, I want you to listen to me. You and I could always work stuff out together better than any partner I ever had. Let me just run it down for you. We'll get a theory. Select a course of action.'
'No. I'm ordering you to drop this, Shane. Your behavior is bound to come up in my review tomorrow. This Hickman case, Deputy Chief Townsend, Jane Sasso. It's all gonna come out. They're going to wonder what kind of division chief I am if I let my own husband break all the rules. I already look impotent and out of it. Nothing I do lately seems to come out right.' She snatched up the charge sheet from the table beside me and shook it under my nose. 'And now this. Now I've got to try and explain this insanity.'
'I've got to get him out.'
'Why? You didn't put him there.'
'Hey, Alexa, we all put him there. You did when your Valley Bureau commander missed the sloppy case work on review. I did when I didn't testify against Brian Devine when I was in Patrol. Internal Affairs did when they let a hitter like Devine slide for twenty years. We're all guilty. We made the corruption that spawned this mess. How do we just say it's inconvenient to deal with now, because we both have more important career considerations? This kid is being beaten and raped.'
We stood in silence for a moment. Then she laid the charge sheet down on the table and started ticking off the charges from memory.
'Refusal of a direct order from A-Chief Townsend. Malfeasance of duty. Making false or misleading statements during an inquiry. Failure to cooperate with an ongoing investigation inside proper department channels, and ignoring the direct order of the Head of the Internal Affairs Division.'
'Because she was wrong.'
'So now I'm giving you a direct order.'
We looked at each other over a chasm growing wider and deeper by the minute.
'You get your supervisor's review and your Skelly hearing. Both are being scheduled by Cal and Jane Sasso. In the meantime, you're suspended. Relieved of all your cases and responsibilities. See Callaway about transferring your workload in the morning. And this order is coming straight from the Head of the Detective Division. Ignore it, and you're out on your ass, Shane. Understand?'
'Seems pretty clear.'
'Good.'
She turned and went back into the house.
I stood, went inside, grabbed my jacket, then went to the garage, got into my busted MDX, and headed out, not sure where I was going, just needing some space. Needing to be away.
I got on the freeway and drove toward town. Of course, one way to fix my problem was to just drop the Hickman case and start kissing rings on the sixth floor, begging for forgiveness. I had Alexa to worry about. She needed my help and understanding. This Hickman case had become a huge career mistake for me. What if I just cut and ran? I considered that option carefully as I drove. How much would that act of self-preservation cost me in self-esteem? Could I swallow more career cowardice like my refusal to testify against Brian Devine fifteen years
