He sighed. “Probably.”
“So how big of a shitstorm are we looking at over the Secret Service issue?”
“Trevor just texted that he had thirty inquiries about it today alone,” Nick said, referring to his communications director.
“Damn it.”
“Don’t worry about. We’ll handle it, and it’ll blow over like everything always does.”
“I thought the outpouring of sympathy for the loss of my dad would last a little longer than it did.”
“I’m sorry if something to do with my job is cutting short the mourning for him. You know I’d never want that.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry you’re sad tonight.”
“For people I don’t even know.”
“It’s a very sad thing.”
“Yeah, for sure.” As she wallowed in the loving embrace of her beloved husband, Sam thought of Roni and ached for her.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Joe Farnsworth arrived ten minutes early for his eight o’clock appointment with Tom Forrester. The admin offered him coffee, which Joe gratefully accepted. He’d had another sleepless night as his mind raced with the potential implications of what he’d come to discuss with Forrester.
If he allowed himself to delve too deeply into the why or how of Conklin’s actions, he would lose his mind. That his closest aid and longtime friend could’ve kept something like this out of the official reporting of Skip’s shooting and then continued to hide it for four years... The job of chief often overwhelmed him, but few things had ever hit him as hard as this had.
Forrester came rolling in with several aides in tow. “Hey, Joe,” he said in a thick New York accent. “Come on in.”
Joe followed Forrester and the others into the office.
“Have a seat.” Tall and confident, Forrester had silver hair and sharp blue eyes. He was among the more competent U.S. Attorneys Joe had worked with in his long career. “What can I do for you, Chief?”
Joe eyed the young, hungry aides who were probably recent law school graduates on their way up the ladder. “I need to speak to you in private.”
Forrester cast a glance at the others, and they got up to leave the room.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not entirely sure.” Joe told the USA about what they’d uncovered during a new look at Skip’s case.
Seeming shocked, Forrester sat back in his chair. “This guy Davis, he’s credible?”
“By all accounts, a stand-up sort of guy. He’s called Conklin every year on the anniversary of the shooting.” Joe laid the highlighted pages on the desk, showing the calls to Conklin’s line.
“What would Conklin stand to gain by keeping this quiet?”
“I have no idea. I’ve spent two sleepless nights wondering that myself.”
“Do you think he knows who shot Skip?”
“I don’t know that either. He claims he was nowhere near the scene of the shooting that day. Davis says otherwise.”
“Have you spoken to everyone who was on the scene of the shooting? Every first responder?”
“Not yet.”
“Let’s do that. Let’s find someone else who can put Conklin at the scene.”
“We’ll get on that today.” Joe paused before asking the question that filled him with dread. “What do you see happening here?”
“If he had this information for four years and didn’t share it with anyone, at the very least we’ll charge him with impeding an investigation.”
“Could I ask a favor?”
“You can ask.”
“May I request that you handle this personally for now?”
“I’ll handle it personally for as long as I can. If there’s another witness able to put him at the scene, I’m going to want the investigation turned over to the FBI to keep it clean for you and your department. Agreed?”
As much as it rankled to turn anything over to the FBI, Joe knew he had no choice in this case. “Agreed. I’ll put some people on it today and get back to you.”
“Keep Lieutenant Holland far away from this, Joe. If this turns out to be something, the last thing we’ll need is a massive conflict of interest.”
“Understood. Captain Jake Malone will handle it personally.”
“Great. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Joe stood and reached across the desk to shake Forrester’s hand. “Appreciate your time on this.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’re dealing with this on top of the loss of a close friend.”
“It’s been a hell of a week.”
“My condolences. Skip was one of the good guys.”
“Indeed he was. We’ll miss him, and we’re determined to finally get justice for him, no matter where it may lead.”
“Understood. Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
Joe left the USA’s office and decided to make another stop on his way back to HQ. He’d thought about this during the night and had concluded that this was a conversation he needed to have, even if it was a risk. Retired Captain Kenneth Wallack had come up through the ranks with him, Skip, Conklin and Malone. They’d attended the academy together and had known each other for decades.
Recently, Wallack, a decorated sharpshooter, had been kidnapped by his former stepson and forced at gunpoint to kill innocent people in the drive-by shootings. The stepson had threatened to rape and kill Wallack’s new wife, and Wallack had done what he had to in order to protect her.
Joe hadn’t spoken to Wallack personally since then, but others had seen him. By all accounts, Wallack was a broken man in the aftermath of killing six innocent people, including a young girl. Wallack was another close friend of Conklin’s and for two weeks after Wallack’s wife reported him missing to Conklin, the deputy chief had sat on the info while he investigated personally. His excuse then had been that he feared Wallack, a recovering alcoholic, had fallen off the wagon, and he’d held the info in an effort to protect a decorated officer.
Joe had called bullshit on that and had suspended Conklin for a week. In the nearly four years Conklin had been his top deputy, that had been the only time he’d ever questioned his judgment or his integrity. Had he been a fool to trust Conklin for all these years? He liked to think he was a good judge of character, and until the Wallack incident, Conklin had never put off any vibes that he couldn’t be trusted. Granted, Joe didn’t trust Conklin on the same level he’d trusted Skip and Jake, but he had put considerable faith in Conklin as the department’s second in command.
Joe had come up through the ranks with his eye always on the top job, and he loved being chief. Most of the time. The men and women of the Metro PD did a difficult, often dangerous job that most people weren’t equipped to do. Being part of the brother-and-sisterhood that made up the thin blue line had been the second greatest honor of Joe’s life, second only to being Marti’s husband. The possibility that his number two officer and longtime friend could be crooked or corrupt made Joe sick—physically and emotionally.
Wallack lived with his wife, Leslie, on Montana Avenue. Joe found a parking space a block away and walked the short distance to the clapboard townhouse. He went up the stairs and rang the bell.
Looking tired and frazzled, Leslie answered the door. Upon quick glance, he deduced she was in her late fifties or early sixties, with graying blond hair and dark circles under hazel eyes. Joe had met her a couple of times at retiree events but didn’t know her well. He only knew that after a difficult first marriage, Wallack was happy with her. Leslie’s expression conveyed surprise to find the chief on her doorstep.
She opened the storm door.
“Sorry to drop by unannounced. I wondered if Kenny might be up for a visit.”
“I’m sure he’d love to see you, but...” When she looked up at him, tears made her eyes shiny. “He’s so ashamed. I worry all the time that he’s not going to be able to live with it.”
Joe stepped into the house. “He’s been seeing Dr. Trulo?”
“Almost daily. He’s been so good to both of us. So many people have been. I just don’t know if it’ll be enough for Kenny. He’s tortured by nightmares, and he cries a lot.”
“I’m not here to make anything worse.”
“I understand, and he’ll be glad to see you. He always speaks so highly of you and Conky and the others.” She tipped her head toward the back of the townhouse. “Come on back.” Leslie led him to the back of the deep townhouse, where a sunny screen porch looked out over a small, well-kept yard. “Kenny, Joe Farnsworth is here to see you.”
Wallack, who was seated in a recliner with a blanket over his lap, stood and turned to them.
Joe bit back a gasp at the sight of Wallack’s ravaged face. He barely recognized the man he’d known for over thirty years. Forcing himself to rally and hide the shock, Joe extended his hand to Kenny. “Good to see you.”
Kenny shook his hand. “You too. Have a seat.” He gestured to the other recliner.
“Can I get you anything, Joe?” Leslie asked.
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll leave you two to catch up.”
Kenny eyed him warily. “This is a nice surprise.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been by before now.”
“I don’t blame you for staying away. I can’t imagine the trouble I’ve caused for you and the others.”
“You haven’t caused us trouble, Kenny. You were kidnapped and forced at gunpoint to do what you did. No one blames you.”
“Well, they fucking oughta.” Wallack blinked back tears.
“No one blames you. They blame Curtis.” Wallack’s former stepson had been the mastermind of the shooting spree. “This was his doing, not yours.”
Wallack shrugged. “So I try to tell myself.”