Strength Under Fire. Dana NussioЧитать онлайн книгу.
the details of the investigation, or having any proof, her gut reaction was to eliminate him from the suspect list. How could she even call herself a cop? How did she know he wasn’t guilty? What did she even know about him really? Nothing.
The scene shifted on the screen, and Captain Polaski stood next to the reporter in a taped segment.
“Captain Polaski, what can you tell us about the investigation and the independent state investigator appointed to oversee it?”
The commander cleared his throat. “Sorry. I am unable to comment on an active investigation. I can only say that the Brighton Post will cooperate fully with the state investigator.”
“Can you confirm or deny the tip we received that Lieutenant Peterson is a person of interest in this case?”
“Again, I can have no further comment on an active investigation.”
The reporter only smiled. “Captain, then can you confirm if Lieutenant Peterson is the same Ben Peterson, son of Leonard J. Peterson, a—”
“That matter doesn’t pertain to this—”
But she continued as if he hadn’t tried to interrupt her. “—a career criminal, who died in prison after a vehicular homicide conviction involving the death of his own wife.”
Delia stiffened. Had she heard that correctly? Ben’s dad was responsible for the death of Ben’s mother? She was right. She didn’t know Ben at all. She hadn’t even been aware that she wasn’t the only one with ugly secrets. Unfortunately for Ben, his secrets had just been aired for the entertainment of the entire Detroit metro viewing area.
From some faraway place, Polaski repeated the standard response that he couldn’t comment, but silence in the room swallowed the sound. It didn’t matter that the captain cut off the interview right then. The titillating details were already out there, just as the newswoman had planned.
Sergeant Leonetti grabbed the remote and hit the power button, sending the screen back into darkness. The other officers seemed to hold a collective breath, waiting for Ben to respond. Seconds ticked by in the rhythm of Delia’s pulse that pounded in her ears. Finally, Ben turned to the commander.
Polaski held his hands wide. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”
Ben only shook his head. “I don’t know where all that’s coming from.”
Although some of the others looked as shell-shocked by the news as Delia was, Lieutenant Campbell stalked angrily toward Ben. When he reached him, he squeezed his shoulder.
“This is shit, Ben. You know we’ll get it cleared up.”
“We’re behind you,” Sergeant Leonetti added.
“Sorry, man.” Trooper Cole paused, clearing his throat, “And, uh, sorry to hear about...the other stuff.”
The others didn’t speak up, pretending not to be watching Ben. Gail swiped a sneaky tear from the corner of her eye.
“Thanks, guys,” Ben said after a long pause.
The hitch in his voice sliced through Delia. She had this irrational, unprofessional urge to gather him in her arms and tell him everything would be okay. What was wrong with her? She not only didn’t know if he was guilty, but she also had no idea whether anything would be okay for him again. She needed to take hold of her emotions before she did or said something stupid.
Polaski looked at Ben and gestured toward the hall. “Guess we’d better talk about this in my office.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lieutenant’s lack of emotion bothered Delia as much as the break in his voice had. Why wasn’t he more upset over what had just happened? Or furious at the reporter for sensationalizing his family’s dirty laundry?
Ben hadn’t looked at her once since the news report had aired, but as he followed his superior officer from the room, he glanced her way. Gone was the laughter that had always danced in his eyes. His gaze was raw now, his glasses only magnifying the bleakness. She’d seen that dazed look in the eyes of accident victims before. Was Ben a victim or just someone shocked that he’d been caught?
Her lips opened as she searched for words of comfort, but none came. His gaze narrowed, and then he lifted his chin, continuing into the commander’s office. The door closed with a final-sounding click.
The others slipped from the room as if driven to the protective havens of their offices or locker rooms. Delia couldn’t bring herself to go with them. Other officers who were just coming on duty emerged from the locker room, the questions on their faces left unanswered.
Delia took a seat at one of the desktops and opened a report she had to complete before she went home. She didn’t want to leave yet. Not without knowing what had happened to Ben. Muffled masculine voices came from the distant office, but she couldn’t make out the words. Though it was none of her business, she couldn’t help herself. She had to know.
Part of her sensed that no matter what Ben was accused of, he was innocent. That it was all a mistake. In the end, he would be cleared, if he was even ever charged. But an unsettling feeling that formed deep inside her brought a truth along with it: she’d been wrong about people before.
* * *
CAPTAIN POLASKI’S OFFICE was smaller than Ben remembered as he settled into the visitor’s seat, the closed door making it feel like a cell. Only this time he was on the inside. Ben brushed damp palms on his trousers, refusing to listen to the voice inside telling him he wouldn’t wear this uniform for much longer. He couldn’t think about that. But he couldn’t stop the pain in his chest, unwelcome hands squeezing it from inside.
How was this happening? One minute everything was good at work—better than it should have been since he’d been manufacturing daily excuses to talk to Delia—and the next minute...this. He focused on the wall, covered by certificates and framed photos of recruit classes, but the images only washed together in a swirl of muted blue. Then the images shifted into a pile of twisted metal and shards of glass. The screams. Pain everywhere at once. So much blood. The relief, then the guilt, of realizing it wasn’t his blood.
No. He blocked the backward journey of his thoughts. He forced himself to breathe. Even if none of what was happening tonight made sense to him, these were different news stories than those from his memories, about different crimes with a different suspect. Namely him.
He shifted at the sound of the door opening. Captain Polaski squeezed past him, shutting the door and settling into the seat behind the desk. Ben leaned forward, toward what he hoped would be answers, but his boss didn’t fill in the blanks quickly enough.
“Do you know what they were talking about out there?” Ben gestured toward the squad room. “Because I don’t.”
“No,” Polaski said, but his nod contradicted his words. “I would’ve guessed you didn’t.”
“Well...”
“I’d been hearing murmurs for a few weeks, but I didn’t know any of the specifics until today.”
Meaning either he hadn’t been told who was being investigated, or he hadn’t been given details of the allegations. Polaski knew all of those things now if that closed brown file he kept touching on his desk was any indication.
Ben stared at the file, willing it to open, until his boss’s words filtered in. He looked up. “Wait. Weeks?”
“As I said, we didn’t have the specifics.”
Those words Ben accepted with a nod, no matter how frustrating they were. Of course Polaski couldn’t share information about a possible investigation. He knew that. So why was Ben taking it so personally that he hadn’t? His boss couldn’t exactly tell him, Yo, dude, keep your head low.
“So what’s it about? The reporter said something about evidence tampering and theft.”
“That’s right. You know how we’ve