Final Act Dianne Yetman (popular ebook readers txt) 📖

to get where she is, who has two children she plans on sending to university in a few more years.”

“I’m not proud of what I did, Gordon. I take full responsibility for my actions and accept any disciplinary action you think appropriate.  But does Shirley have to be brought down as well.  Can you leave her out of it?”

“Noble of you, Kate.  I’d like to leave you to squirm for a few weeks, you deserve it.  But compassion for Shirley has staid my hand.  Here’s what’s going to happen.”

She braced herself.

“The photographer’s wrote it off as some nutcase, has no idea he was attacked by a police officer.  He may spout off but no one will connect.”

Her shoulders dropped a full notch.

“But dropping the matter comes with a cost. As far as I’m concerned, Shirley is not implicated in the matter and never will be.  You, however, are not getting off scot free.  You behaved in a manner unbecoming to an officer of the law; acted out of impulse, assaulted a civilian and almost ruined the career of an innocent colleague.”

“I’ve been having a problem with my anger.  I’m not sure why but I know it has nothing to do with my job.  It’s personal.”

“I’m you’re superior officer, not your priest.  I don’t give a damn about what’s causing it.  I want it fixed.  I’ll give you six months to do what you have to do to get it under control.  One more screw up, however, and you’re gone.  Understood?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll review your status in six months, now get back to work.”

She stood and left the office.

Chapter 16

Still suffering from the side effects of the beating, Roger ran to the bathroom and heaved into the bowl.  He jumped into the shower and let the hot water do its magic with his muscles.  Brisk towelling brought the blood towards the surface of his skin; vigorous strokes of the toothbrush chased with mouthwash got rid of his vomit sour breath.

He dressed in his chino’s, blue shirt, loafers and brown tweed jacket and called a cab.  He dreaded walking into the precinct for the first time since he was hospitalized.  All those well wishers, slapping him on the back and all the other crap.  People treating you like you’re someone back from the dead.  His freezer and fridge were packed to the brim of good will food.  He was getting tired of being treated like his mother’s little boy.

His head was messed up; people’s kindness had never set him on edge before.  Post traumatic stress, his therapist said, it’s normal, treatable and won’t last forever. He said the litany to himself every day but it didn’t stop the symptoms.

On the cab ride to the station, he thought about seeing the bastards face-to-face.  Was he going to be able to identify them?   He took a deep breath and walked into the precinct. Withers waved.  There was no one else in the foyer. He began to climb the stairs. Big mistake, by the second floor he was gasping for breath.  Pride stopped him from getting out and taking the elevator up, he pushed hard.

After what seemed forever, he was standing on the third floor landing.  Seven minutes passed before he opened the door into the incident room.   He waved to the lifted heads and walked briskly towards the viewing room. He didn’t make it to the hallway before he was surrounded by well wishers.

“You’re disappearing Roger.  Have you gotten on the scales lately?”

“It’s all the liquid medicine followed by liquid food.  I’m down 15”, he said.

Lots of more inane silly remarks were exchanged on all sides before he could break away.

Roger walked into the room.  Gordon was by himself, the Assistant D.A. and defence lawyer hadn’t arrived.  He stood, shook his hand, offered coffee and got down to business.

“These five degenerates are definitely in the lower level of the criminal gang food chain.  Barely weaned from their tattoos, they chose typical emblems for their new status - the five-pointed cross, red bandanas, studded collars.  They started out by calling themselves The Maniacs.”

“The name makes them sound like a comedy group”, Roger said.

“Yeah. Well, word has it they started with the typical street gang activity – small time drug trafficking, muscling and intimidation.  Stupid asses tried to break into the protection money racquet.  They were humbled pretty quickly by the big boys.  Funny thing though, it was shortly after that encounter they changed their names.  Dubbed themselves The Assassins .  By then, they had met the red-headed, dark clad son of a bitch, no doubt in my mind.”

Roger nodded. “Do you think they’ll give a name?”

“Who knows?  I don’t think they would be able to even if they wanted.  Can’t see this killer giving them name, phone number and vital statistics.  According to one of the local prostitutes who was on the scene when we made the arrest, they’re not too bright, said they cut into her business by driving by and pointing gun fingers at potential clients.  Being arrested probably saved them from the pimps.”

The door opened and Abir, ADA, and a young Legal Aid Attorney for the defence entered the room.  Introductions made, the assembled group peered through the two way mirror at the long line-up.

“Ready, Roger”, Abir asked.

Roger nodded and looked at the group as the process of stepping forward, facing front, turning left, facing back, turning right; facing front, stepping back, began.  He had no problem identifying every last miserable one of them.

He wanted to go through the two way mirror, kick, punch, bite, tear out their eyes.  His hand itched for a piece of pipe.  Just five minutes alone with them.  Rage had swallowed his fear.  He stood motionless, no sign of his inner turmoil on his face.  He turned to Abir and said:  “numbers 4, 6, 7, 9 and 12.”

Alone again, Roger asked Gordon if he could observe the interviews.

“You ready for