I snorted at that. “I appreciate your sacrifice thus far, Bart, and ask that you extend it long enough for us to find out what’s happening with Wukowski. I’m worried about him.” I took a step closer and looked up at him. “Please.”
“Dammit, woman.” He huffed and turned to lead us back into the still-quiet room. “Detective Wukowski, let us see what undoubtedly nefarious plans your superiors are hatching.” With a Vanna White gesture to the conference room we just vacated, he added, “Shall we?”
Wukowski nodded to Horton and the woman, and the five of us trooped into the room, Horton shutting the door with a loud bang. “Oops,” he said with an insincere smile.
Bart beat Horton to the punch, extending his hand to the unknown woman. “Attorney Bartholomew Matthews. And you are?”
“Captain Salina Cortés, Internal Affairs.”
“My client, Ms. Angelina Bonaparte,” Bart said.
We shook hands and sat, Horton and Cortés facing the door, and Bart and I across from them. Wukowski hesitated, then sat at the end of the table, in neutral territory.
“Ms. Bonaparte,” said Captain Cortés, “or may I call you Angie?”
“You may not,” Bart interposed. “This is not a friendly discussion, Captain Cortes. Let’s keep to the formalities, shall we?”
“Of course, Attorney Matthews.” She smiled. “And my last name is pronounced with the accent on the final syllable.”
Guess we share a surname pronunciation issue, I thought.
“I’ll be transparent with you, Ms. Bonaparte. Your intimate relationship with Detective Wukowski has caused more than raised eyebrows in the department.”
“How so?” I asked. “Surely he’s not the only member of the MPD to have a girlfriend.”
She laughed. “No, that’s not it.” Her face assumed a serious mom look. “There are those who believe that the detective has been compromised in his duties by an association with a woman whose father is, forgive my bluntness, reputed to be a leader in organized crime in the city. In addition to that, in the past seven months, he has been part of no fewer than three murder investigations involving yourself.”
Her use of the reflexive pronoun was deliberately demeaning. “You” would have sufficed.
Bart spoke. “Captain Cortés, by my reckoning, the coincidental pairing of Detective Wukowski and Ms. Bonaparte during investigations has contributed to the apprehension of three killers, one of whom was a war criminal subsequently remanded to the International Criminal Court at Le Hague. For this, Detective Wukowski and his partner, Detective Ignowski, both received commendations from the Chief of Police. Is that not so?”
Horton jumped in, ready, as always, to make an ass of himself (reflexive pronoun intended). “Yeah, he got a fancy letter from the Chief. Big deal. Doesn’t make up for the fact that he’s boning a Mafia princess.”
Wukowski jumped up and rounded the table. Captain Cortés rose and put a hand on his chest. “Back off, Detective. I’ll handle this.” Then she turned to Horton, her face bright red underneath her olive complexion. “Out,” she growled and pointed to the door. “Now.”
“Just a damned minute, lady—”
Before he could finish his sentence, she spoke in frosty fire. “Unless you want the full force of Internal Affairs on you for the next twenty years of your career, assuming you make it that long, you will leave now.” When he hesitated, she said, “Of course, I could call for assistance in escorting you from the room. I’m sure that any of the detectives and officers in the bullpen would be happy to follow my orders.”
I turned around and saw a sea of eyeballs watching us.
Horton stood and huffed out. There was no “oops” when he slammed the door this time.
Cortés turned back to me. “Ms. Bonaparte, you have my sincere apology and my assurance that Captain Horton will not escape unscathed for this.” To Bart, she said, “Attorney Matthews, I hope that you and your client will allow me to continue with the explanation that Horton interrupted.”
Bart nodded, his chins wiggling.
“Good,” said Captain Cortés. After a deep breath, she spoke. “This is a very difficult situation for the department and for Detective Wukowski. All I can do is speak the truth and hope that you will understand.” She shuffled a blank sheet of paper to the bottom of a small stack, and began to speak in a somewhat stilted voice as she read from the printed material that was now on the top. “The Milwaukee Police Department insists on the highest standards of conduct from all its employees. Even the appearance of wrongdoing can tarnish the department’s reputation and erode the public’s confidence in the department’s commitment to justice. While Pasquale Bonaparte has never been convicted of any criminal activity, he is widely regarded as the retired de facto boss of the Milwaukee mob. This makes Detective Wukowski’s association with you problematic, Ms. Bonaparte.”
After laying the paper down, she looked up at me. “Please understand that Detective Wukowski’s record remains unblemished. That said, Tommaso Severson’s assassination by what we suspect are the direct orders of the South Philly Mob, and your own involvement in that event, have crossed a line that my superiors will not tolerate.”
It didn’t escape me that she was subtly disassociating herself from what would follow. I straightened and waited, Bart silent beside me and Wukowski staring blankly out into the bullpen.
Picking the paper back up, she proceeded. “The Department must act to distance Detective Wukowski, and thereby itself, from any entanglement with the crime families who may be involved. To that end, I have informed Detective Wukowski that he will be reassigned to a less sensitive post if he does not agree to end his personal relationship with you. I regret any pain this might cause either of
