Badge Of Honor. Carol Steward
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She didn’t need to get into an argument on her first night with a new training officer. She put the safety on her mouth before her attitude got her into trouble. “The FBI didn’t serve as first responders on many calls, period.”
“You miss it?”
“I was ready for a change. I always liked Fossil Creek, and with my sister in graduate school here, I decided it was a sign when I saw they were hiring.”
“How long did your family live in Colorado?” he asked, sounding more like a detective than a partner.
As if he couldn’t be less interested if he tried.
“Ten years,” she said, expecting him to ask the same question everyone else did—why had she left the FBI for a local police department? Nick didn’t say anything, and the silence was deafening. She had to talk about something job related before she started worrying and talking about Beth. Experience and instinct told her she could trust Nick Matthews, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to open up yet. She tried making conversation, to no avail. “I’m a little surprised to hear Fossil Creek is having such an explosion of gang and drug problems.”
“Yeah, Greeley PD had to start a gang task force. They cracked down and pushed the gangs out. Now they’re our problem. We need to give them a swift kick out of town, too, before they have a chance to get established here. Fortunately, they’re not as organized as the West Coast gangs. Ours are mostly family and territory battles.”
“What about the drugs?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and Sarah realized she’d just put her foot in her mouth.
“Oh, I didn’t mean…That came out wrong. Forget I said anything,” she begged. “Nick, I’m sorry.”
“Our drug task force does a great job. They work with the DEA and other Colorado agencies to get a leg up on the growing problems.”
She felt blood rush to her face. “I didn’t mean anything personal….”
Before she could continue, dispatch interrupted. “Three-eighteen, backup at Citizen’s Bank. Suspect seen in back of the bank on foot, wearing a dark green shirt and baseball cap, Caucasian, dark hair, nylon stocking over his face. Headed toward University Drive.”
“Three-eighteen copy,” Sarah responded, happy to have something put a little distance between her and Nick. She turned on the flashing lights and siren and headed toward University Drive.
“Take the alley, just past the bus stop sign on the right,” Nick instructed. “He’s not going to stay on a main road if he’s running.”
“He could have a car or driver waiting.”
“There’s no parking on University. Take the alley,” Nick ordered.
She made a last-minute turn into the laneway, annoyed to be given a command. Even more annoyed when he proved her wrong. She hurried toward the taillights of an orange car.
The suspect was stuffing a duffel bag into the passenger-side window and looked up, shocked to see them. He dived headfirst after the bag. The driver took off before his accomplice had pulled his legs inside.
Sarah called dispatch. “Suspect dived into a 1970 SS 454 Chevelle, Nebraska plates, William-Lincoln-Boy 783. That’s WLB 783,” she repeated. She followed with her lights flashing as the car sped away. If no one had been hurt at the bank, and no money taken, there was likely no need to risk the citizenry’s safety with a high-speed pursuit. Sarah was hesitant to force a chase through rush hour traffic. “He’s not going to wait for authorization from the shift commander. Do I pursue?”
Nick started to tell her about a shortcut.
“I know my way around Fossil Creek, Sergeant Matthews. I used to live here.” She pressed the accelerator a bit harder, hoping slow and steady could win this race. “Which officer went into the bank?”
Her partner spoke into his cell phone. “What do we have at the bank? Any injuries?” He paused. “Hostages?” He shook his head.
Sarah kept driving, lights and siren blaring, but she wasn’t going to be aggressive with a chase without orders. Not as a rookie. “The suspects aren’t waiting around. Do we pursue?” she demanded. The orange car was speeding away, the sight sending adrenaline pumping through her veins. It rankled her to let a criminal get away.
The Chevelle was forcing motorists off the roads, amazingly, not causing any accidents. Its brake lights flashed like blinkers. From the sound of horns honking, the driver was obviously annoying locals stuck in five o’clock traffic.
Nick pulled the phone from his ear. “The suspects turned right on—” Before he could finish the sentence, Sarah cut over and turned off on a side street.
“We can catch up without fighting this heavy traffic.”
He nodded and went back to his conversation with the shift supervisor.
Before she got any more response from Nick, dispatch came back with a report. The car had been stolen after a bank robbery in Omaha two days earlier.
“Stolen vehicle,” Nick confirmed. “Follow, but take it easy. They’re calling the commander.”
“Three-eighteen in pursuit on Ram Ridge Road, southbound toward Horseshoe,” Sarah told dispatch.
She waited for information from Nick, which didn’t come. “Was someone hurt?” Depending on the answer, everything may have just changed.
“Yeah, are you comfortable with a high speed pursuit if necessary?” he asked. “We can call in someone else to intercept or set up a roadblock.”
“This isn’t my first pursuit, if that’s what has you worried. And I have a perfect driving record.”
“It was just an offer,” he said, his deep voice tinged with sarcasm.
The car had turned back onto a main road, fighting traffic again, with Sarah on its tail. She watched drivers’ reactions with dismay. One apparently didn’t have good vision or hearing, for she didn’t make any attempt to get out of the way. She should have noticed the flashing lights by now. Sarah hit the brakes and honked her horn. Finally, the driver swerved to the right, nearly hitting the cars that were already on the shoulder.
“Three-eighteen, status?” the dispatcher asked.
Nick responded before she could, leaving her free to focus on the pursuit. “We have the suspect in sight. The Chevelle is turning west on Horseshoe Loop.” He leaned over and checked the speedometer. “Party is exceeding speed limits in heavy rush hour traffic.”
“All officers in the vicinity west of Horseshoe and Dillon Road set up roadblock.”
Oncoming traffic pulled to the shoulder, leaving Sarah an opening. She passed the remaining cars between her and the suspect, hitting a hundred miles an hour in seconds. The road turned from a four-lane to two, but traffic thinned considerably. “If I remember correctly, this road hooks left, then makes a quick right as it goes up the mountain toward the reservoir, correct?”
“Good memory.”
“Think the driver knows that?”
“Yes on the road, no on suspects knowing the layout. You’re doing great.” Nick pressed one hand against the dash and spun the car-mounted laptop with the other so he could access the records on the suspects and the previous bank robbery.
“I’m going to…” Sarah started to say. As if their quarry realized they had no way out, they screeched to a halt, spun around and headed back toward the cruiser, black smoke billowing from the exhaust pipes.
“Aw, nuts!” she spat.
She hit the brakes and backed across the road, leaving her the option of going either direction. “Hang on!”
THREE
Nick