Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

Neither of them moves and I look up to find them staring at me. I give them a what? look.

“We hate that the town clowns put you on restricted duty.” Mona looks at Glock, then back to me. “All of us.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Um … we were wondering…” She motions at the paperwork spread across my desk. “Need a hand?”

Glock shrugs. “It’s a quiet night. We’re here. May as well put us to work.”

I give both of them a long, assessing look, wondering if they have any idea how deeply they’ve touched me. “This is … sensitive,” I tell them. “Off the record. Way off the record.”

Mona grins. “Off-the-record is our specialty.”

I hesitate, considering the repercussions of involving them. But I trust them, I realize. I absolutely trust them. To keep the project confidential. That they will do a thorough job. And that nothing they see will go beyond the walls of the police station.

I pass my notes to Mona. “I need the names and contact info of every officer who currently works for the Middlefield Village Police Department. I need the same for anyone who has left the department or been terminated in the last two years. Check to see if any of them have pending misconduct cases or reprimands over the last two years. I need details of any misconduct issues, official or otherwise.”

The look Mona gives me is worth a thousand words, and I realize I’ve touched her just as deeply. “I’m so all over this.” She rips the paper from my hand and leaves my office.

I turn my attention to Glock. “Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?”

“It’s raining cats and dogs out there, Chief. Thieves and drunks aren’t even venturing out tonight.” He pats the radio strapped to his belt. “If the zombies swarm, I’m on the ready.”

I pass him two sheets of paper containing the names of the Geauga County sheriff’s deputies I’ve already collected. “Run them through LEADS, see if anything pops. When you’re finished, have Mona take a look at social media.”

“You got it.”

Half an hour later, I hear the outer door open and someone walk into the reception area. I’m assuming it’s Glock bringing the pizza when Pickles appears at my door, aforementioned pizza in hand.

“I’m going to have to pick off all his pepperoni,” he tells me. “Gives me heartburn something awful.”

I withhold a smile, trying not to look surprised—or moved—by his presence. “You work the crosswalk this morning, Pickles?”

He hikes up his uniform trousers. “Didn’t have to draw my sidearm once.”

“I’m glad our grade-schoolers are so well behaved.”

He frowns. “No one agrees with the restricted-duty crap, Chief.”

“I appreciate your saying that.”

“Pencil-necked sons of bitches. Excuse my language, but it’s just a bunch of political horseshit.” He lowers himself into the visitor chair across from me and takes in the paperwork spread out on my desk. “What do you have for me?”

“It’s confidential.”

“Figured as much.” His eyes narrow on one of the documents. “Since we’re dealing with a bunch of fuckin’ cops.”

Movement at the door to my office draws my attention. I look up to see T.J. standing there, his jacket dripping rain. He raises a six-pack of pop and a bag of ice. “Where do you want this?”

I frown at him. “T.J.”

“Chief.” He hands me a shit-eating grin.

“I thought you had a hot date tonight?” I ask.

“She had something come up with her folks.” He shrugs, but his eyes skitter away and I know he’s lying.

For a moment, I’m so overwhelmed I can’t speak. By their loyalty. Their commitment to their work. Their dedication to this department and law enforcement as a whole. I’m incredibly lucky to have such a remarkable group of police officers working for me. Most of all, I’m thankful to call them not just friends, but family.

Sitting back in my chair, I look from T.J. to Pickles, try to find my voice. “You guys don’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, we do,” Pickles says.

“We do.” T.J. strolls over to my desk and takes the other visitor chair. “I take it this is confidential?”

“Nothing we talk about tonight leaves this room,” I say.

Both men nod.

“What do you have?” T.J. asks.

“A mess.” I pick up a sheet of paper and hand it to him. “Here’s what I need.”

*

By two A.M., the words on my computer screen are beginning to blur, and I find myself having to read passages twice just to comprehend them. I’m running out of steam. Glock has been called out twice. Once for a fight down at the Brass Rail Saloon. The other for a domestic dispute out at the Willow Bend Mobile Home Park. Otherwise, the night has been inordinately quiet—and frustratingly unproductive.

I’m thinking about calling it a night when T.J. strolls into my office and takes one of the visitor chairs. “This is kind of interesting.”

I look up, glad for the interruption. “What do you have?”

He passes two sheets of paper to me. “Last summer, a Geauga County deputy filed a lawsuit against Sheriff Jeff Crowder and the Geauga County Sheriff’s Department claiming she was targeted for retaliation after reporting that drug evidence was tampered with.”

“That is interesting.” I look down at the newspaper story and read.

DISGRACED GEAUGA COUNTY DEPUTY FILES SUIT

Twenty-seven-year-old Vicki Cascioli, who was terminated last year for “insubordination, multiple unexcused absences, and sexual harassment,” has filed a civil lawsuit against Sheriff Jeff Crowder and the Geauga County Sheriff’s Department. Cascioli, who’d only been with the sheriff’s department for eight months, claims sheriff’s deputies regularly tampered with evidence and engaged in other unlawful activities. According to Cascioli, she was a “whistleblower” and was “targeted for retaliation” by her superiors and her counterparts. Sheriff Crowder could not be reached for comment. No court date has been set.

I look at T.J. “Get me everything you can find on Cascioli, will you?”

“You got it.”

“Run her through LEADS, too. Have Mona take a look at her social media posts. See if anything pops.”

A little over an hour later, Mona rushes into my office, looking bright-eyed and a little too excited. “I think I found something.”

“Since the rest of us are striking out, lay it on me.”

She looks down at the printout in her hand. “I found an interesting archived story from two and a half years ago in the Russell Township daily newspaper.” She begins to read. “‘Nineteen-Year-Old Ohio Woman Allegedly Raped by Geauga County Deputy.’” She glances up at me. “That’s just the headline.”

“You have my undivided attention.”