The Closer He Gets. Janice Kay Johnson
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what you’re getting into.”
She had started toward her car but a sudden chill raised goose bumps on her arms. She turned around. “Just what is that supposed to mean, Detective Delaney?”
“Delancy. And I think you have a good idea. Deputy Hayes is a sixteen-year veteran of this department. He’s well liked and respected. And now here you are, suggesting he killed a man because he was a little annoyed.”
“Try furious,” she said bitingly. “If you didn’t know your Deputy Hayes has an anger-management problem, you should have.”
He said something else to her back but she didn’t listen and she didn’t look at him again.
Tess drove several blocks before she let herself pull over, put the gearshift in Park and rest her forehead against the steering wheel. Her heart raced, her hands shook and she was gasping for breath.
Oh, great. Now I’m falling apart.
Because she’d just seen a man killed? Or because she’d just been threatened by a police officer?
A broken laugh escaped her.
Eenie, meenie, miney, moe. God help her, she’d definitely caught a tiger by the toe.
She wanted rather desperately to believe she was overreacting. The detective might have been testing her to find out how strong a witness she’d be. It wasn’t as if shutting her up would do any good, considering that other sheriff’s deputy had been there, too. She would swear he’d been as appalled as she was. Angry, too.
Tess closed her eyes so she could picture him. Tall, lean, with unruly dark hair, shoving Deputy Hayes and snarling, “Back off and shut up.” And he’d said it was now a crime scene.
Her heartbeat picked up again as it occurred to her that he might have been warning the deputy to shut up before he said something they wouldn’t want her to hear.
But she remembered the way he’d touched Antonio’s neck in search of a pulse and then held out a hand to help her to her feet. When she asked why Antonio had had to die, the deputy had said, “I have no idea.”
And then there was the way he had looked at her. The way they had looked at each other. He’d been completely in command, except when his very blue eyes had met hers. Then he had let her see that he, too, had been shaken.
Or—God—she was imagining some kind of intense connection and his face hadn’t given away anything at all. He hadn’t shared the same stunned bewilderment, the same horror and grief she’d felt. She’d seen him talk quietly with whatever superior officer had arrived after the fact, and then he’d driven away in his patrol car. She wasn’t sure he’d so much as glanced at her again. He sure hadn’t attempted to speak to her before leaving.
It didn’t matter. She’d told the truth and she would keep telling it. And even if the sheriff’s department didn’t want to admit they had a bad apple, they were on the side of law, order and justice, right? That meant the investigator might pressure her, try to sway her testimony, but certainly wouldn’t threaten her.
Tess lifted her head from the steering wheel and made a face. No, she wasn’t that naïve, but she’d try to have some faith in local law enforcement.
Starting with the sheriff’s deputy who had run faster than she’d believed possible in his futile effort to save Antonio Alvarez.
“YOU HAVEN’T BEEN with us very long,” Sheriff Brown said kindly, although his eyes were a lot less friendly. “I know you come from a large city police department. Different atmosphere. We don’t get much turnover here, and there’s a reason. We think of ourselves as one big family. Times of trouble, we stand behind one another.”
Zach’s primary emotion was disbelief.
His initial, brief interview yesterday with Paul Stokes had been direct, an appropriate opening to a serious investigation. His impression was that the undersheriff had been as disturbed as Zach had been by the situation.
The talk he’d had earlier today with Stokes had been different. The undersheriff had been a little more closed off, his questions sharper, as if he was trying to shake Zach. He had suggested they handle this “incident” internally.
Zach now had a pretty good idea who had been leaning on him.
Sheriff Brown had used the word “incident,” too, when he’d made it clear that he wanted it swept under the carpet. Zach was supposed to be the broom.
His disbelief progressed through pissed to full-on fury.
A few minutes ago, as Zach had arrived in answer to the sheriff’s summons, Hayes had swaggered out of the office. As they’d passed within a foot of each other, he’d given Zach a look dark enough to lift the hairs on the back of his neck.
“You’re right,” Zach said calmly now to the sheriff. “My experience is with a considerably larger police force. Professionalism was emphasized.” He paused, watching Sheriff Brown’s eyes narrow. “What I saw yesterday was a deliberate, brutal beating that led to a death. Maybe Deputy Hayes didn’t intend it to go that far. I can’t say. But the fact is, it did. What I heard gives me reason to believe the confrontation was over a personal issue, but Hayes was wearing the uniform when he instigated it, and he used his police baton as part of the beating. As far as I’m concerned, that takes him a step over the line from second-degree murder. He shamed law-enforcement officers everywhere.”
That hard stare never wavered from Zach’s face. Until now, he hadn’t made up his mind about the longtime sheriff. In his sixties, George T. Brown was mostly bald and carried forty or fifty pounds too much. His strength was a folksy, reassuring charm that appealed to voters.
Call him a cynic, but from his initial job interviews, Zach had suspected Brown was a figurehead, with the real decisions being made by Stokes, the undersheriff.
Looking into these shrewd, angry eyes now, Zach changed his mind. Brown was no figurehead. And he had to have been leaning heavily on Paul Stokes.
In his short time with the department, Zach had heard some sexist and racist jokes he didn’t like. There were only a couple of female deputies on this force. He couldn’t help noticing how few Hispanic deputies had been hired, too, considering the county population had to be a third Hispanic. One had risen to sergeant. Otherwise the command structure was Caucasian and male. Ditto for the detectives.
He’d heard the same kind of jokes on his last job, and the hiring of female and ethnic officers had lagged in most police departments. Here in Harris County, part of the problem lay in the fact that so many deputies were long-timers. Change would come, but only as those long-timers retired.
He wondered whether the prevailing attitude might have been a little different if the dead guy had been Caucasian. Say, the son of a local businessman instead of an uneducated farmworker who had turned out to be in this country illegally.
That meant the uncle and brother, presumably also illegals, had disappeared, unable to demand justice for Antonio.
The sheriff’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “Son, I’m going to give you a few days to think about this before you damage the reputation and career of a fellow officer. You go that route, I can’t swear anyone will buy in to what you have to say, anyway. Judges, prosecutors, defense attorneys...they all know and respect Andy Hayes. The man is a sixteen-year veteran of this department. You have any idea how many times he’s testified in court in those years?”
Zach didn’t say a word.
“Nobody knows you.” He gestured, as if holding a weight in each hand. One sank while the other rose. “One thing for sure, I can guarantee you won’t be real popular in this department if you hold on to what looks a lot like a vendetta. You might find yourself deciding to go back to your big-city department.” The last was a drawl barely