where I’ll be.”
The office of the assistant to the chief of personnel wasn’t as fancy as that of the chief of police, but it was private and it had a door that could be closed. Which Parker, glancing up as Wager made a noise on its frame, gestured for Wager to do. “Sit down.”
A shiny new manila folder lay among the other neat piles of paper arranged across the top of the lieutenant’s desk. It had two names, black and fresh, inked on its lip: Wager’s and Neeley’s. Wager tossed his notice onto the waxed wood. “What is this crap?”
Parker liked to smooth his droopy mustache with his forefinger when he was trying to figure out something to say. He was one of the eager detectives who had decided in the academy that he was going to be chief someday and had applied to every administrative course that opened up. It paid off for him: the only wound he ever got was a paper cut, and six months ago he had become the youngest lieutenant in DPD. When—following one of the periodic organizational shuffles that administrators called “progress”—this job had been created, he had gone for it like a hungry trout.
“It’s the Federal Civil Rights Act, Wager. Section 1983, liability under Title 92 of the Federal Code. It’s your government at work, and its says the police can be sued in civil court for damages if excessive force was used in an arrest, despite the plaintiff being convicted of the crime.”
“Excessive force? Neeley was coming at me with a goddamn sawed-off shotgun!”
Parker nodded and flipped open the manila folder. “Anybody can sue anybody over anything, Wager. You know that. Now, according to the shooting report, you were justified in using your weapon and the shooting team cleared you of any culpability.” The finger stroked the other wing of the mustache, and he stared hard, waiting for Wager to flinch. “But is there anything I ought to know that didn’t make it to the official file? Anything at all?”
“It’s all in the report, Lieutenant.” Wager didn’t blink. “Are you named in the suit, too?”
“I wasn’t here then. Chief Sullivan and Chief Doyle are named, along with the mayor: ‘Poor training and irresponsible supervision of the named officer.’”
That figured. Some lawyer convinced Neeley to try a lawsuit. What the hell, it wouldn’t cost him anything, and he didn’t have much else to do for the next ten years. So the lawyer named the whole chain of command, trying to uncover a deep pocket. Of course, even if he won, Neeley wouldn’t get much out of it. The real winner—if some judge decided in Neeley’s favor—would be the lawyer, who, under the statute, would claim his fees and expenses as part of the award. Two-hundred-plus an hour, including time spent in the toilet where he did most of his thinking. “City attorney involved?”
Parker said, “Bound to be. I don’t know who’s assigned yet, though. Somebody from the DA’s office. You a union member or a Police Protection Association member?”
“PPA.” Wager would have to arrange for an association lawyer to represent him. The plaintiff had his, the city had theirs, and Wager would need someone to look after his interests. That was what PPA insurance was all about, and he preferred that group to the union. “Let me know as soon as you find out who the city attorney is.”
“Right, Sergeant. You’ll be apprised at every stage of the procedure, exactly as the regulations call for.” The lieutenant leaned back in his chair and stared hard at Wager. “You’re absolutely certain the shooting team’s report is complete?”
“I already said it was. Why?”
“The answer to that is pretty damned obvious, Sergeant. If there’s something not in there, and if Neeley’s lawyer brings it into court, it could cost the city—and you—a hell of a lot of money.” The man started to say something else and then shrugged. “Good luck.”
Wager nodded thanks.
10
T HE PPA WASTED no time; Wager got
The office of the assistant to the chief of personnel wasn’t as fancy as that of the chief of police, but it was private and it had a door that could be closed. Which Parker, glancing up as Wager made a noise on its frame, gestured for Wager to do. “Sit down.”
A shiny new manila folder lay among the other neat piles of paper arranged across the top of the lieutenant’s desk. It had two names, black and fresh, inked on its lip: Wager’s and Neeley’s. Wager tossed his notice onto the waxed wood. “What is this crap?”
Parker liked to smooth his droopy mustache with his forefinger when he was trying to figure out something to say. He was one of the eager detectives who had decided in the academy that he was going to be chief someday and had applied to every administrative course that opened up. It paid off for him: the only wound he ever got was a paper cut, and six months ago he had become the youngest lieutenant in DPD. When—following one of the periodic organizational shuffles that administrators called “progress”—this job had been created, he had gone for it like a hungry trout.
“It’s the Federal Civil Rights Act, Wager. Section 1983, liability under Title 92 of the Federal Code. It’s your government at work, and its says the police can be sued in civil court for damages if excessive force was used in an arrest, despite the plaintiff being convicted of the crime.”
“Excessive force? Neeley was coming at me with a goddamn sawed-off shotgun!”
Parker nodded and flipped open the manila folder. “Anybody can sue anybody over anything, Wager. You know that. Now, according to the shooting report, you were justified in using your weapon and the shooting team cleared you of any culpability.” The finger stroked the other wing of the mustache, and he stared hard, waiting for Wager to flinch. “But is there anything I ought to know that didn’t make it to the official file? Anything at all?”
“It’s all in the report, Lieutenant.” Wager didn’t blink. “Are you named in the suit, too?”
“I wasn’t here then. Chief Sullivan and Chief Doyle are named, along with the mayor: ‘Poor training and irresponsible supervision of the named officer.’”
That figured. Some lawyer convinced Neeley to try a lawsuit. What the hell, it wouldn’t cost him anything, and he didn’t have much else to do for the next ten years. So the lawyer named the whole chain of command, trying to uncover a deep pocket. Of course, even if he won, Neeley wouldn’t get much out of it. The real winner—if some judge decided in Neeley’s favor—would be the lawyer, who, under the statute, would claim his fees and expenses as part of the award. Two-hundred-plus an hour, including time spent in the toilet where he did most of his thinking. “City attorney involved?”
Parker said, “Bound to be. I don’t know who’s assigned yet, though. Somebody from the DA’s office. You a union member or a Police Protection Association member?”
“PPA.” Wager would have to arrange for an association lawyer to represent him. The plaintiff had his, the city had theirs, and Wager would need someone to look after his interests. That was what PPA insurance was all about, and he preferred that group to the union. “Let me know as soon as you find out who the city attorney is.”
“Right, Sergeant. You’ll be apprised at every stage of the procedure, exactly as the regulations call for.” The lieutenant leaned back in his chair and stared hard at Wager. “You’re absolutely certain the shooting team’s report is complete?”
“I already said it was. Why?”
“The answer to that is pretty damned obvious, Sergeant. If there’s something not in there, and if Neeley’s lawyer brings it into court, it could cost the city—and you—a hell of a lot of money.” The man started to say something else and then shrugged. “Good luck.”
Wager nodded thanks.
10
T HE PPA WASTED no time; Wager got
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