AT THE FUNERAL SERVICE for Deputy Ian Davis, Ian’s parents had approached Cassie to assure her they didn’t blame her for what happened in the industrial park. It was the first time she’d met them. Ian had been planning for them both to fly to his childhood home in Wisconsin at the end of September so he could introduce his fiancée.
“Really,” Ian’s mother had said after taking both of Cassie’s hands in her own, “it’s just such a tragedy. Such a useless tragedy. But we know he died doing what he loved.”
She could see Ian’s eyes and facial expressions in his mother. His father, though, was inscrutable.
Tragedy.
Cassie hated the word. And until that moment she hadn’t grasped the notion that there were people in the community and state who were whispering that she was responsible for the deaths of deputies Ian Davis, Fred Walker, and J. T. Eastwood. Not to mention what double amputee Tigg Erger had to endure, or the third-degree burns Tom Melvin had sustained trying to drag Walker’s body out of the fire. Shaun McKnight had survived without a scratch but was so traumatized he’d quit the sheriff’s department a week later.
Kirkbride had suffered a concussion when a piece of metal from the exploding truck hit him in the forehead, leaving an angry red scar. The injury was severe enough to keep him hospitalized for a week, with two weeks at home under observation. He’d only recently returned to his office in the Law Enforcement Center.
During the services for Walker and Eastwood the word “tragedy” had not been used. Instead, the eulogies were about sacrifice and duty. The speakers had focused their anger and rage at the man who had self-immolated and taken fifteen percent of the Bakken County Sheriff’s Department with him.
The explosion had resulted in the largest loss of life of law enforcement personnel in state history. Tibbs made the recommendation that the incident be turned over for review to the BCI and it made sense at the time to Sheriff Kirkbride, who was still in the hospital. Kirkbride said he was too close to his dead and injured deputies to do the job right. Plus, he wanted an outside investigation to clear the air since he wasn’t in good enough condition to oversee it. He told Cassie his experiences with the agency had been straightforward and professional when BCI was brought in to investigate officer-involved shootings.
Cassie was too devastated at the time to have an opinion. She could barely remember surrendering her badge and gun although she recalled feeling grateful to be rid of both of them.
The suspension had been hell on her. Although she tried to put on a good face with Ben and her mother, she agonized constantly about what had taken place at the industrial park and how it had happened. She second-guessed herself and had too many sleepless nights. Her hard-charging world had come to an abrupt stop and all she could do was wallow in it and relive that day over and over. She didn’t read the Grimstad Tribune, listen to the radio, or watch regional news. It was as if her life couldn’t resume until the suspension was lifted.
Ben told her that Kyle and Raheem had “escaped” Grimstad and were somewhere miles away on the Missouri River. Kyle, once again, was considered a legend by the boys in school who wished they were on the river.
*
IT WAS LATER—AFTER three weeks—that it dawned on her that Avery Tibbs was manipulating the narrative. She couldn’t prove that the whispering campaign against her had originated in the office of the County Attorney but she thought the odds were high that it had.
That there were people in Grimstad who considered her solely responsible for what had happened took her by surprise and gutted her. She felt it wherever she went—to school to drop off Ben, or at the grocery store. Eyes lingered on her just a little too long. No one had made an accusation to her face, though.
Instead, like Ian’s father at the funeral, they said absolutely nothing. It was the worst thing people accustomed to treating each other “North Dakota nice” could do.
She wondered if the BCI report would change their minds. She’d been so eager to read it she’d come to Bismarck at her own expense and in her own car the day it was scheduled to be released.
Bakken County Attorney Avery Tibbs entered the conference room holding it in his hand.
*
“WHAT A SURPRISE that it’s you,” Kirkbride said, not bothering to disguise his sarcasm.
Tibbs sat down at the head of the table nearest the door with the report in front of him. Although he tried to appear solemn, Cassie thought she could see tiny muscles dancing on his temples.
“Anyone else coming?” Kirkbride asked.
“No, just me. I volunteered to deliver the news.”
“Good of you.”
“I’m here for the press conference,” Tibbs said defensively. “It’s scheduled for one this afternoon.”
“Press conference?” Kirkbride said.
“The head of the BCI wants to present the findings in the most transparent way possible,” Tibbs said. “He believes in transparency.”
“And you just happen to be here to help him,” Kirkbride said.
“It’s my county, too, Sheriff,” Tibbs sniffed. “In fact, I’d like you to be there as well. So it looks like we’re presenting a united front, so to speak.”
“It depends on what the report says.”
Cassie noted that Tibbs had yet to meet her eyes since he’d entered the room. That, and the fact that he’d not asked her to be at the press conference as well told her what she needed to know.
She suddenly felt cold and numb.
“We can’t bring back those fine officers,” Tibbs said, as if addressing a jury, “but we can make sure nothing like this happens again. We can make sure procedures are in place so that one rogue operator can no longer run a lone-wolf operation that results in the unnecessary deaths of law enforcement personnel and suspects alike.”
He continued to look at Kirkbride when he said, “What I need you to do publicly is agree that mistakes were made that will never happen again. From now on there will be no major initiatives taken within your department that have not been signed off on by my office. You need to assure the public that you and your department have entered the twenty-first century and that it’s no longer the Wild West in Bakken County run by good ole boy Jon Kirkbride in complete control. If you do that you can ride off into the sunset with your reputation intact.”
Kirkbride narrowed his eyes but said nothing. His full mustache hid the set of his mouth. Cassie looked from Kirkbride to Tibbs. They were glaring at each other.