The Good Cop (24 page)

He then introduced Captain Karl Offermann as head of the department's homicide division, who limited his remarks to the fact that his presence was intended to show the department's determination to relentlessly pursue Officer Brady's killer or killers until he or they were found and convicted.

“The hope of your police department, and the hope of the community of which you are all members lies in the ability of our new chief to do the job to which he was appointed. There can be no progress without his leadership, and there can be no progress without your cooperation. With that said, it is my privilege to introduce you to your, my, and our Chief of Police, Kensington Black.”

There was some polite applause. Most of the members of the audience appreciated and recognized the significance of the chief's coming to speak to them, but there was too much skepticism, too much anger and sadness and confusion to give him the kind of reception he deserved.

He seemed oblivious to the lack of response.

“I knew Tom Brady long before he was Officer Tom Brady,” the chief began, and it was immediately apparent that he was a seasoned and persuasive speaker. “His wife, as most of you know, is my god-daughter. I myself have three daughters, but no sons. But if I had a son, I could not have hoped for a finer one than Tom.”

A couple members of the crowd applauded softly, and I could sense that his words had had an impact on the rest.

“As chief of police, I am acutely aware of the tensions which have existed between the police department and the gay community, and I apologize on behalf of the department for its past wrongs against you. I am aware, too, in light of this long-standing distrust of the department, of rumors within the community as to who might be responsible for Officer Brady's death. Rumors unfortunately tend to totally override logic: In this case the more logical probability is that the killing was a gang-related retaliation for the deaths of two of their members during the shooting incident which brought Tom Brady to the gay community's attention and, as a member of the Gang Control Unit, Officer Brady had ample opportunity to make other enemies among the members of numerous gangs.

“Still, I can assure you that we will not dismiss any possibilities out of hand. Our homicide division, led by Captain Offermann, is working around the clock on every aspect of the investigation, and with our Internal Affairs department and Gang Control Unit, to which a number of additional officers have been assigned for this case.

“In short, I am here today to tell you that I do not know who killed Tom Brady, and to ask you to give me the time to find out. I have not been chief of police long enough to expect your trust automatically, but I most sincerely hope you will give me the chance to earn it. And I swear to each and every one of you that the person or persons who caused the death of this outstanding police officer and outstanding young man, no matter who they may be,
will
be found and
will
be punished to the full extent of the law. And when that has been done, I promise I will work diligently to bridge the tremendous gap that has too long existed between the police department and the community you represent. But for right now, our priority—yours and mine—is to not let rumor stand in the way of finding out who killed Tom Brady. I ask you for the time to do my job. Thank you.”

The applause as he stepped back to join Richman and Offermann was much warmer, though far from overwhelming. Chief Black was right: He could not expect the community's trust: He was going to have to earn it. I think he knew that very well. As for his request for time….

Despite Lee's clearly stating that the chief wouldn't be answering any questions, as the three men were leaving the stage, several people in the crowd, including a few I recognized as the community's most militant activists, and one or two I did not recognize but assume were probably reporters, started yelling questions, but the chief's group made no response and went down the side steps and out the door.

Tony Mason stepped quickly to the pulpit and raised his hand to silence the protesters and, as soon as his voice could be heard over the din, asked for a moment of silence in Tom's memory, which effectively silenced the entire room. When the moment was over, the chief was long gone, and the meeting ended with Tony calling once more for the entire community to act responsibly. “And as to the community's long and difficult history with the police department,” he concluded, “we should all keep in mind that Tom Brady wore the uniform of that department, and it was to it he had hoped to devote his life.”

As the crowd dissolved, Bob, Mario, Tim, Phil, Jared, Jonathan, and I stood by the stage with a group of community leaders, who agreed the chief's appearance had done a lot to show the department's sincerity in dealing with the issue of Tom's death, and in recognizing the power of the gay community. It was definitely a milestone in police-community relations. But none of us knew if it would be enough.

*

Jonathan wanted to come home with me.

“You shouldn't be alone right now,” he said as the others were talking among themselves. “I won't get in your way, I promise. But maybe I can help you somehow, if you need anything. I won't ask you to…ah….”

I understood what he was saying, and I put my hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate that, Jonathan, I really do. But I'll be fine, and Bob and Mario really need you.”

He looked disappointed, but I knew full well I was a little too vulnerable right then to be tempted by a cute and willing young guy. It wouldn't be fair to either of us, and especially to him.

*

Saturday's papers and morning news all made note of the meeting without making it a big deal, and carried separate short articles on Tom's death, the plans for the funeral to be held Tuesday at noon, and the fact that the police were investigating the gang-retaliation theory of the shooting. Except for the
Journal-Sentinel
, which had obviously hitched its star to the rumors and sensationalism. “Chief Caves In to Gays!” the cover headline…well, I was going to say ‘screamed', but the
Journal-Sentinel
's headlines never did anything else. And “a reliable source” in the department reported that a large percentage of the force was planning to boycott Tom's funeral.

I'd picked up all the papers on my way back from Lisa's. She wasn't home, and it occurred to me that she must be staying with Carol, just to get away from the phones. I called Carol as soon as I got back home, and Lisa was indeed there. Tom's dad had offered her a suite at the Montero, but she'd naturally preferred to be with Carol. I wanted to call Tom's dad myself, but didn't really know what to say. If he'd not been aware of the rumors of Tom's being gay before Tom died, he certainly had to be now. I determined that I would definitely call him before the funeral, but right now….

Shortly after I arrived home, the phone rang. I thought it might be Jared asking if I'd like to go to brunch, but I remembered him saying at the meeting that he was off to Carrington to see about renting a small house and probably wouldn't be back until Sunday afternoon.

So I was somewhat surprised, when I picked up the phone, to hear Mark Richman's voice.

“I suppose you saw the
Journal-Sentinel
this morning?”

“Yeah, though I resented having to buy that rag. Is there any truth to the part about the boycott?”

I heard him sigh. “I don't know, but I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Cochran wasn't orchestrating something like that. His brother-in-law works for the
Journal-Sentinel
, I understand. But I spoke to Captain Offermann this morning and he had a call from Chief Black saying that the chief is issuing a departmental memo tomorrow. He is making it clear that the circumstances of Officer Brady's death qualify it to be considered a death in the line of duty, and that any uniformed officer not on patrol duty at the time of the funeral would be expected to attend. He also leaves little doubt that anyone who does not attend will be required to have a damned good excuse as to why they weren't there.”

He was quiet a moment, then sighed again. “I probably shouldn't be saying this, but Jesus, to think it would come to this! A policeman's funeral is almost a sacred thing in the department. For anyone to boycott or instigate the boycott of a fellow officer's funeral would be…inconceivable. There is already enough tension in the ranks and there are more than enough truly good cops not to take a boycott quietly. This would be close to declaring civil war within the department, and it would be an insult the gay community could hardly overlook—and who could blame them?”

“I'll spread the word about the memo,” I said. “I really do think the majority of the community believes Chief Black is trying to do the right thing, and are on his side. But
somebody
is obviously on a kamikaze mission to take him out at all costs.”

“Thanks, Dick. I…we…appreciate it. I'll keep you posted if anything else develops, and you have my home phone number. Don't be afraid to use it.”

When we hung up, I went to get the list Mark Graser, Lee Taylor, Glen O'Banyon and I had made up after the meeting, of key leaders to call for constant updating on the situation. None of us, when we called the meeting with Chief Black, had any idea it would mushroom to the size it did. We did not want to make that mistake again.

I was glad I'd volunteered to take the list to my office and make copies for all of us, or I wouldn't have had it available after Richman's call.

I went to the kitchen, made another pot of coffee, and sat down with the list and the telephone….

*

Don't ask where the rest of weekend or Monday went: I couldn't tell you. I somehow found myself in the totally unwanted position of liaison between not only Lieutenant Richman and community leaders, but between the leaders themselves. Endless phone calls; endless visits to and visits from people on our contacts list; endless rumors needing attempts at damage control; several visits with Lisa and Carol, and a long phone call with Tom's dad, who would be returning home to Florida on Wednesday with Tom's body, for burial beside his mother and brother. Tom's sister had flown out for the funeral. Under any other circumstance, I would have really looked forward to meeting her. But….

Though the issue of Tom's sexuality was never mentioned during our conversation, it didn't have to be. His dad knew; he'd probably always known. And while I'd fairly much steeled myself against my own emotions, I found I was totally unable to
not
respond to the emotions of others. Talking with Tom's dad practically pulled my heart out. To have lost two sons he worshiped…I could not comprehend how he could hold up as bravely as he did.

Like father, like son; like son, like father,
I thought.

Bob and Mario called late Sunday afternoon, I remember, and asked if I'd like to go out to dinner. When I told them I was practically nailed to the phone, they asked if it would be okay for them to bring dinner over to my place, and I readily agreed. I needed some sort of break, for sure. I suppose I could have gone out, but the steady flow of phone calls, to and from, allowed us all to keep close track of what was going on. The
Journal-Sentinel
's story on the boycott would probably have been a lot more damaging had I not been able to relay Lieutenant Richman's report of the chief's memo. Still, it was clear that if a boycott should take place, all hell might very well break lose.

Was it just Tom's death that brought everything to the point it was? No, not really…not totally. The current situation was a distillation of the conflict between the police and the community throughout the years. The community needed a hero, and the shooting incident outside Ruthie's had provided it. Tom represented something to the community—a sense of progress, an odd sense of being a part of the mainstream; the Cochran element of the department represented the status quo which had existed for longer than anyone could remember—a status quo which was no longer acceptable to a community which realized it didn't
have
to be pushed around anymore.

The situation was a Grimm's Fairy Tale; an Aesop's Fable; a morality play. And I was in the middle of it all.

*

And as I thought that, I was forced to address the one thing I'd tried so hard to repress since the night of Tom's death and my meeting with Richman, Offermann, and Chief Black: What in the hell was I
doing
about all this? I mean, really
doing
? I'm a P.I., for chrissakes! I'm supposed to be out there
solving
cases, not just sitting around with my finger up my nose! And if I can find out who killed people I don't even know, why the hell wasn't I out there looking for whoever killed Tom?

I recognized, of course, when I let myself look at the situation more logically, that this case was very different from any other I'd ever dealt with. For one thing, it wasn't really a “case” at all—it was a murder, yes; it was a mystery, yes, but it was also a part of my life like no “case” could possibly be. I was involved on a totally different level.

And I was in fact lucky that the circumstances were totally different here; there was just too much going on to allow myself to give in to my own feelings. Trying to help keep the lid on a potentially explosive situation had turned into almost a twenty-four-hour-a-day effort. The “usual suspects” pool wasn't really there: Tom was a cop, and chances are that despite what Richman and the others might want to believe, he was killed by another cop. But I had to let Richman and Offermann have first shot: there's no way I could start sniffing around without getting my nose flattened by slamming doors.

Gang members? A possibility, but also a world in which I hadn't a clue as to how to work my way around. There was always a way, of course.

I decided, with a hell of a lot more reluctance than I can possibly convey, that I simply had to concentrate on first things first: preventing an open war between the police and the gay community, giving the police a chance to do their job, and taking the time and effort to put myself in a mental state where I could, if the time came, set out on my own without the emotional baggage I was carrying at the moment. I'd give the police the time Richman asked for, but it wasn't an open-ended agreement.