Carter was cornered. He was also a terrible liar.
“Your laptop, your apartment,” Stevens countered. “Your fingerprints.”
Carter raked his hands over his face and shook his head. Tears brimmed in his eyes and he clenched his jaw. For the first time since he found himself in the Seventh Precinct, Officer Carter was scared. He had been so sure of himself when he was first brought in, questioned in one of the conference rooms out of courtesy, and even once he officially became a suspect after roughing up Colonel Downs, he acted like nothing was wrong and that everything would fall into place soon enough.
But now...
“We're in the process of getting warrants to search everyone else's apartments,” Stevens explained. “What do you think we'll find? Hm?”
“I don't know,” Carter choked out.
“You sure?” Stevens arched a brow. “You sure they’re not takin’ money too?”
“No!” Carter yelled, two tears streaming down his face. “I am a lot of things, Detective, but I am not a drug pusher!”
“Evidence says otherwise.” Stevens tucked the photographs into the folder again before rising from his chair. “Enjoy your last few hours in Holding, asswipe. Tomorrow morning, the DA's filing charges and we're shipping your ass outta here.”
CHAPTER 23
“I understand that.” Daniel Richards cradled his office phone against his shoulder, arms folded over his chest as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He could feel one of his stress headaches beginning to form, as it almost always did whenever Deputy Commissioner Baldwin called. A small television sitting atop a rusted file cabinet played with the sound off, the local sports anchor running through that night's baseball highlights. The Orioles had defeated the Chicago Cubs 5-3 in an interleague match-up, which seemed to be the only good news in the city at the moment.
So far, his detectives hadn’t provided any more detail on David Gregor’s alleged ties to Officer Carter. So either Gregor had been bluffing when he had called earlier that day, or he was giving Carter some time. Richards had no idea what to think when it came to Gregor; that man was as enigmatic as any the captain had ever met.
“You can't possibly be asking me to tell my detectives not to do their jobs,” Richards added, grabbing the remote control and flipping through the channels. At this hour, there was no telling what was on, but once he reached one of the twenty-four hour cable news stations, and saw a white-haired man in a blood-red suit on his screen, Richards sat up a little straighter and took the television off mute.
Sure enough, the man on the screen was David Gregor. The chyron under his name read Police Under Seige .
Oh, this will end well...
“You keep telling yourself that,” Richards said with a shake of his head. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Hanging up before the deputy commissioner could say anything else, Richards turned the volume up on the television.
“ David, you can't be serious ,” the anchor with impossibly perfect hair argued with a dismissive wave of his hand. “ Are police just... not supposed to do their jobs? ”
“ That's not what I'm saying at all ,” Gregor cautioned. “ In fact, the police not doing their jobs is the problem here. Instead of focusing their attention on actual matters of substance, instead of chasing after actual criminals, these thugs with badges decided to intimidate a young boy. Nothing more than bullies with badges, if you ask me. ”
“ So this... boy's drug history doesn't concern you. ”
“ Not to the point that it justifies the police killing him, no. ” Off the anchor’s exaggerated eye roll, Gregor sat up straighter and pressed on. “ We’re talking about a 17-year-old, Sean. What teenager hasn’t done something dumb at that age? ”
“ I really don't know what's going on in your city ,” the anchor practically growled. “ Drug arrests have doubled over the
“Your laptop, your apartment,” Stevens countered. “Your fingerprints.”
Carter raked his hands over his face and shook his head. Tears brimmed in his eyes and he clenched his jaw. For the first time since he found himself in the Seventh Precinct, Officer Carter was scared. He had been so sure of himself when he was first brought in, questioned in one of the conference rooms out of courtesy, and even once he officially became a suspect after roughing up Colonel Downs, he acted like nothing was wrong and that everything would fall into place soon enough.
But now...
“We're in the process of getting warrants to search everyone else's apartments,” Stevens explained. “What do you think we'll find? Hm?”
“I don't know,” Carter choked out.
“You sure?” Stevens arched a brow. “You sure they’re not takin’ money too?”
“No!” Carter yelled, two tears streaming down his face. “I am a lot of things, Detective, but I am not a drug pusher!”
“Evidence says otherwise.” Stevens tucked the photographs into the folder again before rising from his chair. “Enjoy your last few hours in Holding, asswipe. Tomorrow morning, the DA's filing charges and we're shipping your ass outta here.”
CHAPTER 23
“I understand that.” Daniel Richards cradled his office phone against his shoulder, arms folded over his chest as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He could feel one of his stress headaches beginning to form, as it almost always did whenever Deputy Commissioner Baldwin called. A small television sitting atop a rusted file cabinet played with the sound off, the local sports anchor running through that night's baseball highlights. The Orioles had defeated the Chicago Cubs 5-3 in an interleague match-up, which seemed to be the only good news in the city at the moment.
So far, his detectives hadn’t provided any more detail on David Gregor’s alleged ties to Officer Carter. So either Gregor had been bluffing when he had called earlier that day, or he was giving Carter some time. Richards had no idea what to think when it came to Gregor; that man was as enigmatic as any the captain had ever met.
“You can't possibly be asking me to tell my detectives not to do their jobs,” Richards added, grabbing the remote control and flipping through the channels. At this hour, there was no telling what was on, but once he reached one of the twenty-four hour cable news stations, and saw a white-haired man in a blood-red suit on his screen, Richards sat up a little straighter and took the television off mute.
Sure enough, the man on the screen was David Gregor. The chyron under his name read Police Under Seige .
Oh, this will end well...
“You keep telling yourself that,” Richards said with a shake of his head. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Hanging up before the deputy commissioner could say anything else, Richards turned the volume up on the television.
“ David, you can't be serious ,” the anchor with impossibly perfect hair argued with a dismissive wave of his hand. “ Are police just... not supposed to do their jobs? ”
“ That's not what I'm saying at all ,” Gregor cautioned. “ In fact, the police not doing their jobs is the problem here. Instead of focusing their attention on actual matters of substance, instead of chasing after actual criminals, these thugs with badges decided to intimidate a young boy. Nothing more than bullies with badges, if you ask me. ”
“ So this... boy's drug history doesn't concern you. ”
“ Not to the point that it justifies the police killing him, no. ” Off the anchor’s exaggerated eye roll, Gregor sat up straighter and pressed on. “ We’re talking about a 17-year-old, Sean. What teenager hasn’t done something dumb at that age? ”
“ I really don't know what's going on in your city ,” the anchor practically growled. “ Drug arrests have doubled over the
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