Heroes Often Fail

ELEVEN

2310 hours

Traffic was light as Katie MacLeod cruised down Mission Street. She pulled into the parking lot of a dry cleaner’s that was closed and fished her cell phone out of her bag. It was an extravagance she couldn’t have afforded if she worked day shift. The company charged over two dollars a minute during those prime hours. But at night, she had thirty free minutes a month and only paid a quarter a minute after that. So it was an affordable luxury.

She dialed Kopriva’s number. He answered on the third ring.

“Hey, girl,” he said.

“Hey, boy,” she said back. “What are you doing?”

“Watching TV,” Kopriva said. “Doing sit-ups during the commercials.”

“How many?”

“Just twenty-five.”

“Per commercial?”

He laughed. “Per break. And I’m starting to hate advertisers,” he said.

Katie laughed back. “Well, keep it up. I like those tummy muscles.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What are you watching?”

“Clint Eastwood.”

“Which?”

“The Outlaw Josey Wales,” Kopriva answered.

“Is that the one where he’s in Mexico?”

“No. It’s the one where he’s the outlaw after the Civil War.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen it.”

“Yeah, you have. We rented it back before Christmas. It’s the one where he shoots the rope on the ferry.”

“Oh, yeah. With the carpetbagger guy.”

“Exactly. What are you doing?”

“I am on routine patrol,” she said, quoting an inside joke they shared.

“How is it?”

She thought she could hear a tinge of envy in his voice.

“It’s slow,” she told him, even though it hadn’t been. “But it’s my Friday.”

“That’s great. You want to do something after I get off work tomorrow?”

Katie smiled coyly. “Yes.”

He seemed to sense her smile in the tone of her voice. “You’re a naughty girl, MacLeod.”

“Shhhhh. This is a cell phone. People will hear. The secret will get out.”

“It’s safe with me,” Kopriva said. “You want me to come over after I finish with another one hundred boring and pointless phone calls?”

“That bad, huh?”

“Either it’s a crap lead or it’s someone trying to cash in on a reward.”

“Is there a reward?”

“Not that I know of. But that doesn’t stop them from trying to cash in.”

Katie shook her head in disgust. “Nothing like a little personal tragedy to bring out the vultures.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Anyway, I can come by around five-thirty, if you want,” Kopriva said.

“I’ve got a subpoena to court for tomorrow,” Katie told him. “I’m supposed to testify around nine. So I’ll probably go home and sleep after that. Why don’t I just meet you at your place?”

“I’ll have to clean,” he joked.

“You have all night,” she teased back.

There was an eruption of gunfire in the background on Kopriva’s end.

“What was that?”

“A couple of trappers just tried to kill Josey Wales.”

“Oh. I assume they failed.”

“To hell with them fellers,” Kopriva quoted in a barely passable Clint Eastwood imitation. “Buzzards gotta eat, same as worms.”

“Baker-126, Baker-124, for an alarm,” Katie’s radio chirped.

She reached for the mike and answered up.

“I gotta go, Stef,” she said into the cell phone. “They’re sending me on a call.”

“Be safe.”

“See you, babe.” She hung up as the dispatcher chattered out the details of the call.

2311 hours

When she heard the door creak open, Amy Dugger tried to pretend she was asleep. She hoped that it was the woman who called herself “Grammy” coming into the attic. But when she smelt the stale beer and harsh cologne, she knew it was Grandpa Fred, the man with the scary eyes. She squeezed her eyes tightly.

His weight settled onto the small futon.

“Amy-Girl?” he whispered, stroking her hair.

Amy shuddered. There was an unpleasant tickle high in her chest. She knew that it was like a button or a light switch and that if she gave in to that tickle, she would start crying again. She kept her eyes squeezed shut.

The stroking of her hair continued. He adjusted his position next to her. She felt something hard poking at the small of her back. She imagined it as his finger or maybe a knee, but after a few moments he began to rub against her and she knew what it was.

He was touching her with his privates again.

Something hitched her chest and a sob slipped out. Once the first sob had escaped, the dam burst and tears flowed from behind her closed eyes.

The rubbing stopped.

“Ah, not as sleepy as I thought,” he said. “Good, good.”

He took her by the shoulder and rolled her over to face him.

“Open your eyes,” he said.

Amy opened them wide.

“Are you glad to see me, Amy?” he asked in a whisper.

Amy’s mind raced. She wasn’t glad to see him. She never wanted to see him again. But what should she say? Would he hurt her mommy if she gave the wrong answer? For a moment, she let herself continue to cry, avoiding the question. She was afraid of saying no, but she was also afraid of what would happen if she said yes.

He wasn’t going to let the question slide. “Stop crying,” he said, his voice turning gruff. “You’ve got nothing to cry about. Didn’t I bring you McDonald’s for dinner tonight? Didn’t I make you special pancakes before?”

“Ye-ess,” Amy sobbed.

“Who rented that Disney video for you?”

Her mind flashed back to that afternoon. She’d been allowed down into the living room to sit on the floor and watch the movie. Even though it was midday, the entire house had been as dark as night. The woman who called herself Grammy sat directly behind her and brushed her hair and talked about how wonderful their life was going to be now that they were all together. Amy had tried to focus on the movie, but the woman’s constant rambling made it impossible.

Her tears slowed. “Grammy?”

Grandpa Fred snorted. “It was me. And who made the popcorn?”

Amy pointed her finger toward his chest.

He smiled and wrapped his fingers around her finger. “Yes. Me. I’m the one who takes care of you. Your Grammy loves you, but not like I do. She doesn’t know how.”

Amy realized she was shivering again. She knew he liked that, so she struggled to stop. Once the shivers had begun, however, it was nearly impossible to stop them.

A slow, leering smile spread across his face. Just a couple of day ago, she had no frame of reference to know what a smile like that meant. Now, unfortunately, she was wiser.

“Did you like our game, Amy-Girl?”

The tears spilled out again, tumbling down her cheeks. She shook her head without thinking about it. When she caught the scowl on his face, she turned her side-to-side shakes into up-and-down nods.

“Well, which is it?” he asked sharply.

She redoubled her nodding and hoped he believed her, despite her tears. She had to keep her mommy safe. Grammy had told her repeatedly that her mommy didn’t want her anymore, but she didn’t believe that. Grammy was lying and she knew it. But when Grandpa Fred told her that he would hurt her mommy, Amy knew he wasn’t lying. He would do it and she had to stop him, no matter what.

“Say it,” he said, his voice a husky whisper again.

Say what? Her mind raced back to the last time they played the game. Then she remembered.

“I’m…excited,” she said through her sobs.

His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. Somehow, that was worse than the leering smile from just a few moments before.

When he opened them again, the leer was back.

“You’ll like this new game, Amy-Girl,” he told her. She saw that he was shivering now, too. “It’s even better than before.”

Amy swallowed hard and thought about her mommy.

Wednesday, March 15, 1995

Graveyard Shift

0101 hours

Despite the immense size of the building, the tire warehouse reeked of rubber. Katie MacLeod made a face at O’Sullivan. “The stink of this place is going to stick to my uniform forever.”

Sully shrugged. “It’s your Friday, whiner. It’s not like you were going to wear the same uniform next week.”

“True. I’m not Battaglia.”

Sully chuckled.

“I heard that,” Anthony Battaglia said, approaching them from the west. “Put a couple of bog-trotters together and all they can do is think of ways to rip on the Italians. Big surprise.”

Katie thought about telling him that MacLeod was a Scottish surname, but didn’t want to re-visit that particular argument again. “Secure?”

Battaglia nodded. “Except for the large roll-up delivery doors, this is the only entrance. There’s no open or broken windows all the way around.”

“Then we’ll wait for the K-9.”

The officers stood easily to the left and right of the main-door entrance. Katie had discovered it slightly ajar almost as soon as she arrived on scene. In all likelihood, she figured, the last employee just hadn’t latched it firmly and it sprang open, setting off the alarm. But they had to check.

“What we need is a false alarm ordinance,” Battaglia said, “like the County has. You get more than one false alarm in six months and you get a ticket.”

Katie ignored his comment. Instead, she sniffed the air again and made a disgusted face. “Ugh. It’s going to reek in there.”

“Imagine what the poor dog smells when he’s searching the place,” Sully said.

“When the police dog has to worry about making a rent payment, I’ll start feeling sorry for him,” Katie said.

“Hey, dogs have problems, too,” Battaglia said. “I had a black lab once that was depressed for almost a year.”

“He was depressed because he was living with you,” Sully said. “I remember that dog. Trader, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So,” Sully said, “you never spent any time with the dog. Rebecca was working then, too and there weren’t any kids around. Obviously, the dog was neglected and that’s why he turned out to be depressed all the time.”

“Like I said, even dogs have problems. But what you said about Trader is a load of crap.”

“It’s true.”

Battaglia turned to Katie. “What do you think? You think Trader was depressed because he was neglected?”

“I didn’t know your dog,” Katie said, not quite believing she was actually hearing this argument from two grown men wearing police uniforms.

“Well, do you think it’s possible?”

Katie shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible.”

“Aha!” Sully said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Battaglia.

“Of course,” Katie continued, “he could have just been depressed over the fact that you gave him such a stupid name.”

Sully snickered. Battaglia gave her a dark look. “Micks always stick together, eh, MacLeod?”

“You asked.”

Battaglia grunted and flashed his light in her face.

A darked out police car rolled up on the call. The sound of a barking German shepherd drifted from the back seat, followed by a loud “Phooey!” from the driver.

“It’s Cert,” Sully said, pronouncing it “Chairt.”

“Now, there’s a name to be depressed about,” Battaglia said.

“It means ‘devil’ in Czech,” Katie told him.

“Gomez is Czech?” Battaglia asked.

Katie’s gave him a dark look. “No. The dog is.”

Battaglia raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Oh…I get it.”

Katie rolled her eyes in exasperation. “There’s nothing to get,” she said. “It’s just a name.”

A slow smile spread over Battaglia’s face. He gave her a knowing look.

Katie sighed. She wondered why she let herself get drawn into their little games.

The K-9 handler, Shane Gomez, exited his vehicle and popped the back door. A jet-black shadow leapt out of the seat and he put it on a leash. “Here!” he said to the dog, jerking the leash. The dog sidled up to the officer’s leg and fell into step beside him.

“The devil dog cometh,” Sully whispered in mock terror, though with a touch of respect.

As Gomez approached out of the darkness, Katie was struck by how similar the two creatures were. Cert was jet black, except for his white eyes and huge, pink tongue that lolled out of his mouth, hanging off his white teeth that he bared when he was running down a suspect. Gomez had the same dark hair and his skin was a deep brown. He wore the black jumpsuit of the K-9 unit, blending into the darkness. Only the rattle of the leash and the creak of his belt leather betrayed their location.

“Open door?” Gomez asked Katie. His muscular frame dwarfed all three of the other officers.

“Yeah.”

“Any other points of entry?”

“All secure,” Battaglia said.

“Why didn’t you hold at the corners of the building?” Gomez asked, the irritation plain in his voice. He was referring to a common tactic for securing the perimeter of a building. Two officers set up on opposing corners, allowing both of them to maintain a line of sight along two sides of the building.

“It’s all windows that are ten feet up in the air or big bay doors for vehicles, Gomer,” Sully said. “This is the only way in or out for mere mortals.”

Gomez didn’t answer, but he seemed to sigh at the three of them. The message was clear. There was a procedure in place for a reason. They should have adhered to it.

“Who’s going in with me?” he finally asked.

“I will,” Katie said.

“A building this size, I’ll need two officers.”

“I’ll go, too,” Sully offered.

“Might as well keep the Irish together,” Battaglia said. “I’ll hold the door.”

Gomez nodded his approval and moved up to the open door. He swung it completely open and propped it with his foot.

“Attention in the building!” he shouted in a deep, booming voice. “River City Police Department.”

Cert barked raucously, lunging toward the open doorway.

“Sadni!” Gomez told him.

Cert reluctantly sat back on his haunches, but continued to bark.

Gomez turned back to the open door. “This building is going to be searched by a police dog! If he finds you, he will bite you!”

As if to reinforce the last point, Cert’s bark dissolved into a vicious growl.

“We shouldn’t warn ‘em,” Battaglia said. “Just send the dog in and let it be a big surprise. Giving them a chance to give up after doing a burglary is a bunch of crap.”

“It’s the law,” Gomez said, but he was smiling. “Besides, they never give up.”

“I wonder why,” Battaglia said.

“Same reason they consent to a search of their person when they’re holding a gun or dope. Because they don’t think we’ll find it.”

Battaglia had to agree. “Thank God criminals aren’t smart.”

“The smart ones are the ones you’ve never heard of,” Sully said.

Gomez repeated his warning, his deep voice carrying in the still of the warehouse. Cert punctuated the warning with his eager yelps and barks.

There was no answer from inside.

Gomez glanced over at Katie. “What’s the word?”

She shook her head. “It’s a false alarm.”

A smile spread over Gomez’s face. He turned to his dog and released the leash. “Fuss ‘em up, boy! Go get him! Get the bad guy!”

Cert needed no encouragement. The Shepherd bolted into the dark of the warehouse, whining with anticipation. Gomez listened carefully for him. The sounds of his whines and the clacking of his toenails on the concrete floor echoed back to the open doorway.

“Come on, Diablo,” Gomez whispered. “Find him.”

A rash of excited barking broke out and Gomez’s eyes lit up. “He’s found something.” He strained his ears, listening. The barking remained at the same intensity for about thirty seconds.

“I don’t hear any screams,” Battaglia said.

“He must be at a door,” Gomez said and yelled into the open doorway. “Revere!”

The barking broke off immediately and the officers could hear the huffing of the police dog as he returned to the door. He bowled into Gomez, clearly agitated.

“What’s his problem?” Sully asked.

“He’s mad because I called him off.” Gomez slipped the leash back on Cert’s collar and drew his pistol. “There’s somebody in there.”

All three officers drew their weapons.

“Check interior doors as we go,” Gomez told Katie and Sully. Then without waiting for a response, he plunged into the warehouse.

Katie followed, even managing to beat Sully through the doorway. She used her flashlight, careful not to backlight Gomez. The K-9 officer was moving swiftly down a hallway and into an open bay. She heard Sully check a door on her left and kept moving.

Once they reached the open bay at the end of the hallway, they shined their lights all around. A small office was built into the corner and the door was closed. Another door led into the next bay.

“Check the bay door,” Gomez said.

Katie walked quickly over and tried the knob. It was locked. She shook her head at Gomez.

“Where is he, boy?” Gomez asked.

Cert pulled against his leash and tried to physically drag the muscular handler toward the small office built in the corner of the room. Once they reached the door, the dog barked excitedly and scratched at the door.

Gomez directed Katie and Sully into position, then ordered Cert to sit. The black Sheperd reluctantly obeyed, letting a whining growl escape his throat.

“Light up the door,” Gomez said and both Katie and Sully shined their flashlights on the flimsy interior door to the office. Gomez checked the knob and it was also locked. He gave it a firm rap. “Attention in the office. This is the River City Police Department. Make yourself known, or I will send in the police dog!”

Cert yipped in agreement.

“If he finds you, he will bite you!” Gomez yelled.

Cert yipped and growled in delight.

“Last chance!” Gomez said.

There was no reply.

Gomez waited a full fifteen seconds, then punted the door right below the doorknob. The door flew inward and Gomez released Cert from his leash. The dog sailed through the open door like a missile.

Almost immediately, the sounds of human shrieks and deep, canine growls filled the air.

“Ah! Jesus! Get him off me!”

Cert’s guttural growl signified his opposition to that idea.

Gomez charged into the room, his flashlight and his gun ahead of him. Katie followed. As soon as she entered, she used her light to illuminate the black dog, who was astride a thin male. The male on the ground tried to pull his right forearm from the dog’s jaws.

“Make him stop! Oh, please! Oh, God!”

Cert gave a low growl and shook his head from side to side. The man screeched.

“Revere!” Gomez commanded.

Cert gave the man another half-shake for good measure and let go, returning to Gomez’s side. The man rolled away, holding his forearm and crying loudly.

“Cuff him!” Gomez ordered.

Katie and Sully sprung forward and took control of the man. Blood streamed from his forearms.

“Glove up,” Sully told Katie. He put his knee on the man’s back and his palm pressed the man’s head into the pavement. The man kept crying out and flopping his arms, but he remained pinned. “I’ll hold him ‘till you can cuff him.”

Katie removed a pair of surgeon’s gloves from her back pocket and pulled them on, snapping each one over her wrists. Then she removed her secondary pair of handcuffs. If she was going to get blood on her equipment, she didn’t want it to be her primary set of cuffs.

The man cried out in pain when she drew his wrists together and cuffed them. His crying faded to a whimper when they stood him up and walked him out of the warehouse and to her car. While Katie searched his pockets, Gomez and Sully returned to the warehouse to double search, just in case the man had accomplices.

She found an intricate set of lock picks in one of his back pockets and a thin canvas bag in the other. He was definitely not a low rent burglar.

“What’s your name?” she asked as she checked his waistband.

“Fucking Alpo,” he said, his voice full of whiny indignation, “and I’m suing all of your asses.”

She ran her hand down his leg and checked his pant cuffs. “Why didn’t you just give up?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d let the fucking dog bite me.”

Katie just shook her head.

Sully and Gomez returned from the secondary search. Gomez threw a tennis ball for Cert and told him what a good boy he was. Katie popped her trunk and found some gauze pads and tape in the first aid kit. She made a quick bandage on the suspect’s arm for the trip to the hospital emergency room.

Gomez put Cert back in the K-9 car and walked up to Katie just as she was putting her prisoner in the back of the car.

“You going to Sacred Heart?”

Katie nodded.

“I’ll just follow you up then and get his info. Can you call for a corporal to meet us up there? I need some photos of the bite marks.”

“Sure.”

“That fucking dog is crazy!” the man yelled from the backseat of Katie’s patrol car.

“No, he’s not,” Gomez told him. He winked at Katie. “But he is a devil.”

Katie smiled at the inside joke.

“He’s out of control and that shit is illegal!” the man shouted. “I’m calling the ACLU and I’m suing, you fucking beaner cop!”

“Have a nice trip to the Heart,” Gomez said to Katie and returned to his car.

Katie turned to Sully and Battaglia. “Would you guys be willing to wait for a responsible party to respond to lock up the warehouse?”

“Like we have any choice,” Battaglia said.

Katie shrugged and got into her patrol car.

0102 hours

Amy Dugger sobbed quietly into her pillow. A cup of cocoa rested on the table next to her futon, cold and untouched. Grandpa Fred put it there after their “game,” telling her it was a reward for how well she played.

She tried to push the thoughts and memories from her head, but the sharp stinging and the burning sensations brought the images of Grandpa Fred back every time.

“Mommy’s safe,” she whispered into the pillow in between sobs. “She’s safe.”

The stairs creaked. A shot of fear blasted through her. She stopped crying and strained her ears.

No more creaks.

He wasn’t coming back.

Not yet.

Amy let out another long, warbling cry into her pillow and fought back the horror show in her mind.

0213 hours

“Man, you got to be kidding me!”

Connor O’Sullivan looked askance at the van’s driver. “No,” he said. “I really do need your license, registration and proof of insurance, sir.”

The man was black and in his late twenties. O’Sullivan noticed specks of white on his face and in his hair. After a moment, he realized that it was paint. A quick glance at the man’s shirt with streaks and spots of paint confirmed it.

“You’re a painter?” he asked.

The driver gave him a hard look. “What, you’re surprised a black man has a job?”

“No,” Sully said. He looked through the vehicle and caught Battaglia’s eye at the passenger door. “Just asking.”

The driver reached into his wallet and withdrew his license, then pulled the registration and insurance card from the visor. He handed them to Sully.

“You guys oughta have those memorized by now,” he said in irritation.

Sully took the documents. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The driver snorted. “This is only the fifth time you cops have stopped me in the last two days.”

Sully looked at the man’s driver’s license. “Ben?”

“Yeah,” the driver said. “Benjamin Franklin DuBois. It ain’t like there’s fifteen of us here in River City. Just me, the one you guys keep stopping for no reason.”

Sully felt a tickle of anger in the pit of his stomach at the insinuation. He tried to ignore it.

“Can you step out of the vehicle, Mr. DuBois?” he asked. “We’ll talk back at my car.”

DuBois rolled his eyes. “The last cop yelled at me for getting out of the car.”

“I won’t yell. I promise.”

DuBois shot him an angry look, then grasped the handled and exited the van. Sully walked with him back to the nose of the patrol car. He handed the paperwork to Battaglia, who returned to the passenger seat to check the man’s name. Sully turned off his portable radio so that DuBois wouldn’t overhear the check. The patrol car’s overhead flashers clicked loudly as they flashed red. The color splashed across DuBois’s paint-flecked clothing. The engine hummed and spilled out heat as the two men stood in silence for a few moments.

DuBois thrust his hands in his pockets and scowled.

“Sir?” Sully said.

“What?”

“I have to ask you to keep your hands out of your pockets.”

“Why?”

“Officer safety, sir.”

DuBois rolled his eyes. “You all are some paranoid people. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“I believe you,” Sully said. “But if I don’t stay safe with everyone, then I’ll get lax and the one time someone does try to hurt me, I won’t be prepared. You can understand that, right?”

DuBois pursed his lips, thinking. After a moment, he sighed and removed his hands from his pockets. “Whatever,” he said. “Just finish your business so I can get on my way.”

“Have you really been stopped four times in the last two days?” Sully asked.

DuBois shook his head and held up his hand. “Five.”

“Counting this time?”

He looked at Sully and his eyes narrowed. “You some kind of smart ass?”

“No. Do you know the reason for the other stops?”

DuBois snorted. “You want the reason they said they stopped me or the real reason?”

“Whichever. Both.”

DuBois pointed to his van and the broken tail light. The red lens was cracked and most of it was missing. White light shone to the rear. “Defective equipment,” he pronounced.

Sully shrugged. It was a valid stop, and a frequent one made by patrol officers.

“’Course the real reason is Dee Double-U Bee,” DuBois said.

“Huh?”

“DWB,” DuBois repeated. “Driving While Black.”

The tickle in the pit of Sully’s stomach returned, but he held his tongue. “Anyone tell you something about a little girl that’s missing?”

DuBois looked at him with suspicious interest. “What little girl?”

Battaglia stepped out of the passenger side of the car and walked around to the front of the car. “Status zero,” he told Sully, meaning that DuBois had no warrants. “And Dispatch says this is the third time he’s been stopped.”

“It’s the fifth time,” DuBois corrected Battaglia.

Battaglia shrugged. “Dispatch only went back to midnight yesterday.”

DuBois turned his attention back to Sully. “What are you talking about with this little girl?”

“You watch the news, Mr. DuBois?”

“Man, I hardly have time to eat and sleep. I don’t even own a TV right now. All I do is work.”

“A little girl was kidnapped a couple of days ago,” Sully said.

“No kidding? She okay?”

“She’s still missing.”

“What’s that have to do with me getting stopped?”

“The men who took her were driving a blue or brown van,” Sully told him matter-of-factly. “The driver of the van was black.”

DuBois was nodding his head as they spoke. He stopped at the word “black” and looked from Sully to Battaglia.

“You guys think I-“

“No,” Sully said. “But we have to check out everyone.”

“Everyone’s who’s black,” DuBois countered.

“What good would it do for us to stop people who didn’t match the suspect description, Mr. DuBois?” Sully asked.

DuBois didn’t answer right away. Then he lowered his eyes and muttered, “I see your point. But I don’t know…it just feels wrong.”

“I know how you feel,” Battaglia said, nodding his head ruefully.

DuBois looked up at him. “How the hell do you know how I feel?”

Battaglia gave him a surprised look and spread his arm, palms up. “C’mon. I’m Italian.”

DuBois burst out in laughter and Sully chuckled along. Battaglia stood looking at both of them with a contrived expression of confusion.

“You guys making fun of the plights of Italians in America?”

DuBois laughed even louder. “I’m with you, brother.” He held out hand and Battaglia took it. Sully tried and failed to follow the quick, shifting handshake as it flowed through different grips and ended with a fist-to-fist tap.

“You can put some red tape over that taillight,” Battaglia told him. “It’ll work until you get the chance to go to the parts shop to fix it.”

“All right.”

“One more thing, Mr. DuBois,” Sully said.

“What’s that?”

“You mind if I take a look in your van real quick?”

0647 hours

Katie MacLeod rubbed her sleepy eyes. It had been a long shift. Almost as long as the previous shift she’d spent at the Dugger home.

She’d spent most of her shift tonight in the Emergency Room at Sacred Heart Hospital, babysitting the burglar that the K-9 Cert bit inside the tire warehouse. He turned out to be a real gem, ragging on her non-stop all the way up to the ER. He continued his tirade from his hospital bed while she sat working on her report outside the door.

“I’m poor,” he said to her repeatedly. “You fucking cops are prejudiced against poor people, so you set that dog on me.”

Katie did her best to ignore him. She was grateful when K-9 Officer Gomez showed up to make sure the corporal got some good photographs of the bite marks on the burglar’s arm.

“What if that dog had got me by the throat?” he yelled at Gomez.

“Then I wouldn’t have to listen to your mouth right now,” Gomez said to him in a low voice and both Katie and the corporal smiled at that.

“Fucking wetback,” the burglar shot back.

Gomez’s lips pressed together slightly, but he showed no other reaction. Once the pictures were taken, he and the corporal left. Katie returned to ignoring the burglar, going through his property to find some identification. There was none and he refused to give the admitting nurse his name, either.

The nurse had looked at Katie, who shrugged. “Call him John Doe. We’re paying for it, whatever his name is.”

The nurse didn’t like that answer, but proceeded to treat the burglar. An hour later, the doctor came and spent fifteen minutes stitching his arm. Then, for reasons Katie couldn’t exactly discern, it was another two hours before the nurse discharged him.

At jail, she finally got the burglar’s name when one of the jailers in the booking area recognized him.

“Petey! Thought you weren’t coming back,” the jailer said.

The burglar gave him a withering look.

After that, booking went smoothly. Now, a cup of coffee and a light breakfast later, Katie stared into her open locker. She wanted nothing more than to sleep away the morning and then maybe get in a light workout in the afternoon before meeting Kopriva when he got off work.

She smiled mischievously to herself when she thought of what would happen next.

But instead, she had to appear in court at nine. That meant she had to find a way to stay awake for another hour and a half. It also meant she had to go home and change for court, resisting the urge to just flop onto her bed and sleep.

She pulled off her boots and put them in the bottom of her locker. At least she got paid overtime for court. Chisolm told her once that the first year or two he was on the job, they didn’t get OT. She couldn’t imagine that, especially given the snail’s pace that most court proceedings went.

As Katie shed the rest of her uniform, she glanced at her watch. She could afford the time to swing by and say hello to Kopriva on her way out.

Her mischievous smile returned.