I ran a small, solid department that served a small, solid community. A few thousand people who had more history between them than most families. Sure, we were a rough-and-tumble community maybe a little more likely to solve an argument with fists and alcohol. But we were tight-knit. Loyal.
That didn’t mean that we didn’t see trouble. Being this close to Baltimore and DC meant it occasionally spilled into town limits. But having trouble come from a badge in my department? That wouldn’t stand.
We were good men and women dedicated to serving and protecting. And we were getting better with every response, every training.
There were a thousand ways beyond our control a call could go south. A thousand ways we could make a dangerous mistake. There was no room or reason to add attitude and prejudice to the list.
So we trained and drilled and debriefed and analyzed.
But a department was only as good as its weakest officer. And Dilton was ours.
“Here he comes,” Grave said, giving the heads-up.
Tate Dilton didn’t bother knocking. He strolled into my office like he owned the place. He was a reasonably good-looking guy despite the receding hairline and beer belly. His mustache pissed me off, probably because it reminded me of Marshal Graham, who had helped himself to an empty workstation and was doing a goddamn sudoku.
“What can I do ya for, Chief?” Dilton said as he took a seat, ignoring the rest of the room’s occupants.
I closed the case folder I’d been reading, added it to the stack on my desk.
“Shut the door.”
Dilton blinked before getting to his feet and closing the door.
“Have a seat,” I said, indicating the chair he’d just vacated.
He dropped down again, kicking back and lacing his fingers over his belly like he was on his buddy’s couch watching the game.
“Officer Dilton, this is Laurie Farver,” I said, introducing the woman he’d yet to acknowledge standing by the window.
“Ma’am,” he said, giving her a dismissive nod.
“You know, Tate, growing up, my neighbor had this dog that he kept on a leash. From a distance, that dog looked nice. Soft, yellow fur. Big, fluffy tail. As long as he was on that leash, he was fine. But the second that leash slipped, it was game over. You couldn’t trust him. He started gettin’ loose. Chasin’ kids. Bitin’ people. My neighbor didn’t shore up that hole in his fence. Didn’t tighten up the leash. Eventually, one day, that dog attacked two kids out ridin’ their bikes. Dog had to be put down. And his owner got sued.”
Dilton sneered around the gum he was chewing. “No offense, Chief, but I don’t really give a flying fuck about no neighbor and no neighbor’s dog.”
Beneath my desk, Piper let out a low growl from her dog bed.
“Here’s the thing, Officer Dilton. You’re that dog. I’m not always gonna be here to keep that leash on tight. Bottom line is, if I can’t trust you in the field on your own, I can’t trust you period. Your recent actions have made it clear that you aren’t prepared to serve, much less protect. And if I can’t depend on you to do your job to the best of your ability, then we’ve got a serious problem.”
Dilton’s eyes narrowed and I saw a glint of mean in them. “Maybe you don’t get it since you’re basically riding a desk these days, but I got shit to do out there. Someone’s gotta maintain order.”
I sat with that for a second. I had been slipping. And that had consequences. Dilton had taken advantage of the loose leash, which meant not only were his actions on me, it was also up to me to make it right.
“I’m glad you brought that up. Let’s talk about that shit you’ve been doin’。 Like tripping Jeremy Trent outside a football game, kneeing him in the back, and cuffing him in front of his kid and half the stadium when all he did was remind you that you owed him twenty bucks on the Ravens game. Or shit like letting your buddy Titus drive twenty miles an hour over the speed limit while you pull over a Black aerospace engineer and his civil rights attorney wife in a Mercedes for going five over. You then proceeded to remove the driver from his car under the probable cause of…let me check your report to make sure I get this right…” I glanced down at the paperwork in front of me and read. “The wanted poster of a prison escapee that’s been hangin’ on our bulletin board for three years.”
Dilton’s face twisted into an ugly mask. “I had the situation handled until your lap dogs showed up.”
“You had the driver handcuffed, bruised, and lying facedown on the road in a tuxedo while his wife recorded your actions on her cell phone when Sergeant Hopper and Officer Bannerjee arrived on scene. According to their report, they could smell alcohol on your breath.”
“That’s bullshit. Hop and that bitch are out to get me. I observed the suspect driving erratically above the posted speed limit and I—”
It felt as though someone had switched a light on inside me. Gone was the icy numbness, the dark void. In its place, a simmering anger bubbled to life, warming me from within.
“You fucked up. You put ego and prejudice ahead of your job, and in doing so you put your job at risk. You put this department at risk. Worse, you put lives at risk.”
“This is bullshit,” Dilton muttered. “Is that bitch wife waving her law degree around, makin’ threats?”
“Officer Dilton, you are hereby suspended with pay, but only because that’s procedure. Pending a full investigation of your conduct as an officer. I wouldn’t get used to that paycheck.”
“You can’t fuckin’ do that.”
“We’re opening an official investigation. We’ll be talking to witnesses, victims, suspects. And if I find anything that looks like a pattern of abuse, I’ll have your badge permanently.”
“This wouldn’t be happening if Wylie was still here. You stole this office from a good man and—”
“I earned this office and I’ve worked damn hard to make sure men like you don’t fucking abuse it.”
“You can’t do this. Ain’t no union rep here. You can’t throw some bullshit suspension at me without my rep.”
“Ms. Farver is your union rep. Though I’m guessing she’s not as enthusiastic about repping you after hearing your bullshit. Mr. Peters? Mayor Swanson, are you still with us?” I asked.
“Still here, Chief Morgan.”
“Yep. Heard it all,” came the replies from my speakerphone.
“Officer Dilton, Mr. Peters is Knockemout’s solicitor. That means lawyer who represents the town in case you need the definition. Mr. Peters, does Knockemout need me to cover anything else with suspended Officer Tate Dilton?” I asked.
“No, Chief. I believe you covered everything. We’ll be in touch, Officer Dilton,” the lawyer said ominously.
“Thank you, Eddie. How about you, Mayor Swanson? You want to say your piece?”
“I’ve got a lot of pieces I’d like to say of the four-letter variety,” she said. “Y’all are lucky I’ve got my grandkids in the car with me. Suffice it to say I am looking forward to a thorough investigation and if, like Chief Morgan says, we find a pattern of a-b-u-s-e, I will not hesitate to kick your a-s-s.”