Readjustment (Restitution #2)

8

Caleb Straus

Another morning, another meeting with Myers and Brass.

I carried my coffee and files into the conference room and sat down next to Adam at the table. Myers was in uniform and Brass in a black blazer with gold buttons and a green polo. He waved his hand over the spread of breakfast options they’d brought in. Bagels with an assortment of schmears, and a holder with large coffees. A bottle of water, a tube of Tylenol capsules, and a tumbler stood around the half-eaten breakfast sandwich on my partner’s plate. Adam’s eyes drooped, nearly asleep sitting up as I filled in the team on yesterday’s findings.

“According to the roommate, our victim recently met with Mayor Hawkins.” I ran my finger down my notes and stopped. “Hawkins closed the meeting down the second Keola tried to bribe him with info, but when we brought up the memoir, he seemed genuinely shocked. Keola hadn’t mentioned that, which means he may have learned his lesson and wanted to up the ante with Janson.”

Brass, who’d moved to the whiteboard, wrote down Hawkin’s name and drew a line between it and “Janson”.

“We’ve got deputies all over the county coordinating with local law enforcement to find Davonte.” Myers’s rested his hands on his stomach. “No word yet, but we’ll get him.”

“Great.” Adam tossed his napkin on the table, then glared at Myers. “Now where the fuck is the laptop?”

Myers leaned forward a little more, but Brass cut him off.

“I hope you’ll accept our sincerest apologies. We checked the logs. Deputy Kaiser said he turned it over to IT, and the department head is working to reestablish the chain of custody.” Brass reached up and plucked at an eyebrow with a sigh. “We checked the CCTV footage. Searched the headquarters. Viewed the security footage outside. It’s return is our main goal today.”

“Someone probably forgot to sign it out.” Myers tone was nonchalant. “I’m sure you’ve seen the same thing happen in Chicago, Dawson.”

“Actually, no,” Adam said, skewering Myers with a disgusted sneer. “That’s small-department behavior.”

Myers opened his mouth to snap back with something I wasn’t in the mood to hear, so I changed the subject. “Tell us more about Deputy Kaiser.” I opened my folder and took out the email we’d received from the county’s administration staff this morning. “He’s had multiple suspensions in the last year.”

“Just bullshit stuff,” Myers said sharply. “Failure to turn on body cam. Missing info on reports. Nothing to suggest he’d purposely mishandle evidence.”

A knot formed at the base of my neck. “No one is accusing him of that. Just making sure we cover all the bases.”

“But you have to admit,” Adam tented his fingers, “the laptop disappearing the same day we find out about Keola’s memoir is suspicious. If the sheriff, or anyone in the department had something to hide…”

“Again,” I interjected, “we’re just being upfront about all our angles. If Keola had information to sell, we can’t rule out that someone in the department might take issue and…”

“Go ahead, Detective,” Myer’s tone grew menacing. “Finish that sentence.”

“It’s just a theory.” I said.

“A bullshit one.” Myers tilted his chin downward at me. “If you’re gonna cast stones, you better hit the target, detective.”

Adam was half out of his seat, but I tapped his thigh, and he retreated.

“I’m not accusing anyone outright.” I clutched my pen and rolled it along my sticky palm. “But we can’t throw out the suspicion all together. Anyone is capable of anything.”

“My department is clean.” Myers slapped his palms on the table. “And I ain’t gonna let a drunken faggot still working in fucking Peyton accuse us of anything!”

“Hey now.” Brass put a hand on Myers’s shoulder. “Let’s all cool down—”

But Myers was cocked and loaded, and I knew what was coming next.

“Everyone knows you’re a fuckup, Straus.” Myer’s sneered; voice vindictive. “That ain’t ever gonna change.”

Adam shot up so fast his chair tipped behind him. “Say one more fucking thing about my partner.” He stabbed a finger at Myers. “Fuck around and—”

“Fuck around and what?” Myers puffed out his chest and threw his arms out. “If you’re feeling froggy asshole, jump.”

“Adam, please…” I tugged at the waist of his shirt.

But Adam was Adam.

“Tough talk from the assistant sheriff of fucking Gary County,” Adam jeered. “What’s wrong? Jealous that Straus outranks you? That on his worst day he’s twice the officer you are at your fucking best?”

“That’s enough!” I got to my feet, face burning with anger. “I don’t need anyone’s validation here.”

“Fellas.” Brass pushed himself between Myers and the table. “We’re on the same team. Let’s break and cool down.”

I stormed away from the table, files clenched so hard in my hands the folders bent. Adam was asking who the hell made Brass the boss when the door slammed behind me.

Who does Adam think he is? I thought as I stomped past Branson’s office. Had he heard the shouts? At that moment, I didn’t care. This was just another thing Adam did on impulse, not caring how it affects me. Like the way he made me feel like crap when I asked for space. Again. He refuses to see beyond his own needs and wants, and acts like he knows what’s in my best interest without stopping to ask me.

And you keep letting him—what about that, Caleb?

“Hey,” Adam's voice called from behind me, “hang on—”

I slammed my notes on my desk, kicked my chair against the wall, and spun around to face my partner.

“Jesus,” Adam stepped back, “what’s going on with—”

“Why couldn’t you let me deal with Myers myself?” My hands shook as I pushed them through my stiff, short curls. “Would it kill you to think before you act? Just once, Adam?”

Adam’s eyes widened. “What’d you expect me to do? Sit there and let him insult you?”

“I was handling it!” I pointed back towards the interview room.

“Were you?” He snapped, raising his brows. “Sure as fuck didn’t look like it. And if you expect me to apologize for defending my partner, you’re insane.”

“Oh no, I’d never expect that.” I shook my head ruefully. “I’m not sure how much your apologies are worth, anyway.”

I’d expected Adam to snap back at that, but instead, his shoulders slumped. “Go ahead. Tell me what you really think, Caleb.”

You don’t respect boundaries. You make me feel like I’m yours and yet do nothing to keep me. You’re making me fall in love with you just to watch you walk away.

“I’m…” Dunn’s phone started ringing and reminded me this wasn’t the place. “I’m going to go get some air.”

Adam looked dumbfounded as I grabbed my jacket and brushed past him.

I marched down the back hall and smacked the bar on the door that led to the staff parking lot. The grey sky gave off a similar sterile, flat light as the precincts fluorescents. I sat on the bench by the door and a fresh wave of frigid air rode along my skin where my pants came up. With most officers out patrolling, the lot was still and eerily quiet save for the breeze rustling a pile of dead leaves by the curb. Smoke filtered from the cigarette-butt corral, and the burned chemical scent hung in the atmosphere. I scrubbed my hands over my face and leaned my head against the bricks. My world was on fire, but for now, I was okay with sitting here and watching it burn at a safe distance.

I’d had big plans to give back to the city that’d supported my baseball career, from tee-ball to my commitment to play for the University of Iowa. My dream became theirs, and in one night, I’d ruined everything because I couldn’t get over Ethan killing himself, and it being my fault. So, I got drunk, aimed my truck at his father’s church, and caused a wreck that cost me everything short of my life. Becoming a cop, making detective, was the closest thing I had to make amends to the city of Peyton, for all they had given me. Even my dad was proud of me again. Well, proud as he could be after “sacrificing his whole life to get me to into the big leagues.”

The last few days made me realize I was playing a losing game. No matter how hard I tried, or how much good I did, there will always be something, or someone to remind me of what could have been, and that I had failed. Myers’ harsh words had hurt deeper than betrayal. How much longer could I convince myself that I made a difference? Or that I was special? Not just at work, but with Adam. He made me believe I finally did something right, but even that road would lead to heartbreak, and it was my own fault. I would lose Adam, eventually, I knew that. But this job, this life, was all I had, and if I lost it, what was left?

The door clicked open, and the sound of feet crunching rock salt drew close.

“Hey.” Adam stood before me in a heavy coat and scarf with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His face was stiff, almost like he wasn’t sure what to do with his lips or eyes.

“Just heard from Dean Khan from Quincy College,” he said. “We’ve got a name and address of the professor who reported Keola Antu. His name is Alan Stone, and he was fired shortly after the incident.”

“Guess we’re going out there,” I said.

“Nothing better to do.” Adam pulled the Charger keys from his pocket, tossed them to me, and walked away without another word.

Stone’s address was on the opposite side of town from our murder scene. I pulled onto the freeway and passed the new Tesco factory. Long black clouds rose from the stacks and the smell of burned cotton permeated the car. I breathed through my mouth until we’d cleared the area.

Adam stared out the window, his right knee resting against the door. “Told you I don’t trust Myers and Brass.”

“Yes, you did.”

“They show up and act like they’re the fucking leads.” He shifted in his seat to face me, but I kept my eyes forward. “Then the laptop just disappears.”

I gripped the steering wheel harder; the stitches digging into the soft flesh of my fingers.

“They know how it looks,” Adam continued, “and Myers is too stupid to play it cool.”

My scalp prickled, and the pressure building in my chest was running out of places to go.

“He made it personal with you, like it’d make him look good and—”

“I was there, Adam. You don’t need to break it down for me.” I said, blood pounding in my ears like a raging river. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t say you—”

“Enough!” I cut him off. “Just drop it. We can’t do anything about it right now and we’ve got an interview to conduct.”

“What the fuck is your problem today?” Adam turned further in his seat, eyes dangerous with fury.

I had no answer for that. Scratch that—I didn’t want to answer that. So, I focused on the road ahead. The thrum of the tires. How the potholes got deeper and more numerous the further we got from town.

After a tense minute or so, Adam sighed. “Listen,” he rubbed his eyes, “I’d love to be wrong about all this. And if you aren’t ready talk about it, fine. But eventually we’ll have to, and I’ll need you to remember I’m on your side.”

“I know,” I said sadly. “Let’s just get through this interview.”

“Fine by me.”

Alan Stone lived on a dirt road that, like most others in the city, desperately needed re-grading. Potholes overworked the Chargers suspension, and mud splashed on the windows. Stone’s neighborhood consisted of cookie-cutter bungalows, and his was no exception. Blue clapboard siding accented with large wintergreen boxwood bushes. We walked up the steps, knocked on the solid, espresso-stained door, and awaited an answer. Down the block, a gaggle of kids played in the corner lot. The boys made snowballs while the girls practiced the latest Tik-Tok dance.

After a few moments, we heard a commotion, and a voice called out, “Hang on, almost there.”

Stone opened the door and froze. He appeared to be around my height with thinning, dark hair in a loose quiff and grey-blue eyes. He was dressed poorly for the conditions in a black tank top, basketball shorts and Crocs. A five o’clock shadow softened the lines of his square jaw, and he eventually flashed a friendly smile.

“You don’t look like the movers.” Stone took a step backwards.

“No,” Adam held up his badge and performed the introductions.

“We have a few questions for you,” I said. “Can we come in?”

“What’s this about?” Stone rubbed his chin, and his grin flattened.

“Keola Antu.” Adam said.

“Oh,” Stone’s chin tucked inward, “that poor kid.” He took another half step back and waved us in.

Cardboard boxes labeled with whatever room they came from were stacked along the agreeable grey walls with no pictures or décor. A zero-gravity lawn chair sat in front of a portable TV on an office desk, and a lone floor lamp stood in a corner.

“Please excuse the mess.” Stone pushed a box aside with his foot. “I’m moving tomorrow.”

Adam surveyed the room. “Where are you moving to?”

“Got a new job at the University of Indiana. Winter semester starts after the new year.” Stone brushed some dirt off his shoulder. “You said this was about Keola?”

I pulled my notebook out and flipped to a clean page. “We understand you were his professor at Quincy University.”

“So were a lot of other professors,” Stone said.

“On September nineteenth, you filed a report with security about finding pot in his bag.” I drew a line under a note and continued. “Had you seen drugs on him before?”

“No, but Quincy won’t tolerate any kind of recreational drug, legal or not.”

“Did Keola come off as a habitual drug user?” Adam asked.

“No, no,” Stone held his hands out, “I was actually shocked to see it. He was a great student. Always present. Kept to himself.”

“So, no issues with him prior to that incident?” Adam tilted his head slightly. “Or after?”

“If this is about the stuff he sent to the university,” Stone said with defiance, “those were proven to be deep fakes.”

“What stuff?” I asked.

“Those pictures of me drinking with students,” Stone said. “He was angry that word had gotten back to his dad about the pot, and that was how he decided to pay me back.”

“Is that why you were fired?” Adam asked.

“ Mutually parted ,” Stone corrected. “Even the admins knew they were fake, but students and parents caused an uproar online and it was easier for everyone if I stepped down. I was given a generous severance package, and I’ll make more money in Indiana.”

“Then you had no hard feelings.” Adam said.

“I wasn’t thrilled, but no.” Stone rested his hand on a stack of boxes and leaned into it. “I wasn’t happy at Quincy, anyway. The admins agreed they’d vouch for me if anyone asked, and we left it at that.”

I held my pen above the pad. “One last question. Can you tell us where you were the night he was murdered?”

“I had my interview in Bloomington Indiana.” Stone took his phone from his pocket. “I can give you the name of the hotel I stayed in. Just a sec.” He rolled his finger up the screen, then stopped. “The Graduate by Hilton. Checked in Friday and left Monday afternoon.”

“Can you provide your room number?” Adam asked.

“Four-eighteen.”

“Thank you.” I stuffed the book back into my jacket and pulled out a card. “We appreciate the time. If you remember anything else, please give us a call.”

Adam turned to the door without a word, and I followed him back out into the bitter cold.

“Seemed legit.” Adam said. “We’ll need to check the alibi.”

“I’ll call.” My cell phone rang as I pulled it out. Chief Branson’s name was on the screen, so I paused on the sidewalk and answered it. “Straus.”

“I need you guys at Jordan Hawe’s house.” Branson’s brusque voice told me this wasn’t good. “It’s been broken into.”