Thread of Hope

TWENTY-EIGHT

Bazer was right.

I probably had come to fight, the anger that I’d had toward him only building over the years since I’d dropped my badge and gun in his office. Seeing him in person was like adding gasoline to the fire.

But if I wanted to truly help Chuck, I needed to smother the flames.

“Chuck was jumped on the beach?”

Bazer nodded. “Far as we can tell.”

“You’re connecting it to the Jordan case?”

“Not yet. Keeping them separate as for right now.”

“They’re connected.”

Bazer shrugged. “We’ll see. We’ll do the legwork and we’ll see.”

Do the legwork. It was an expression he used often. He was methodical and he expected his department to be. It was something I learned from him. It was part of the reason I was a good cop and why I had become a good investigator.

But now the words sounded hollow and fake.

“Can I see your case files?” I asked, choking down my anger.

Bazer studied me for a long moment, his eyes hard and still. “Where are you staying?”

I told him.

“I’ll have both files sent over this afternoon.”

There was no reason he couldn’t just photocopy and give them to me right then, but he was letting me know he would control what came my way. And he could deny that he was paying me back in some minimal way for hanging me out to dry, but I knew better. There was absolutely zero chance he would’ve let me near those case files unless some part of him still felt guilty for what he’d done.

“Fine,” I said and stood.

“Stay out of the way, Joe,” Bazer warned. “I mean it. You aren’t a cop here anymore. Don’t try acting like one.”

A smile that nearly hurt curled my lips. “So I shouldn’t tell bullshit lies to reporters? Isn’t that what cops around here do?”

He stiffened but didn’t say anything.

“That was out of line,” I said, holding up a hand. “That’s not what cops around here do.” I stared at him, the smile falling away from my face. “That’s just what you do.”