Chapter 22
Ben
Rawlings looked like he’d aged five years overnight.
He was behind his desk with his tie loosened and a paper cup of coffee he hadn’t touched, and the lines around his mouth had deepened into something permanent.
Donovan and I sat across from him in the same chairs we’d sat in a dozen times over the past few weeks, but the room felt different this morning.
Heavier. The blinds were drawn. The door was closed.
Martinez’s interrogation had ended an hour ago. We hadn’t been in the room for it. Rawlings had handled it himself, and from the look on his face, it had cost him.
“He confirmed the gambling,” Rawlings said. “Months of it. Multiple games, multiple locations. Not just the one from last night.”
I nodded. We’d suspected as much.
“When I confronted him with the CI disclosure, he went white.” Rawlings picked up the coffee cup, looked at it, set it back down. “Said he didn’t remember saying it. And I believe him. That’s the worst part. He genuinely doesn’t track what comes out of his mouth when he’s been drinking.”
“Did you push him on other games?” Donovan asked. “Whether he’d discussed department operations before?”
“He hedged at first. Then admitted it was possible. Likely.” Rawlings pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose.
“He couldn’t say for certain what he had or hadn’t shared because the drinking blurred the specifics.
Could have been giving away operational details for months and wouldn’t even know it. ”
The room was quiet. Outside the office, the station was running its Tuesday morning like nothing had changed. Phones ringing. Footsteps in the hallway. A world that didn’t know yet.
“He’s not on anyone’s payroll,” I said. “That’s our read.
The syndicate didn’t need to buy a cop. They just needed to identify one who talked too freely and position someone to listen.
Maybe someone at those games was connected.
Maybe the information made its way through intermediaries.
Either way, the leak was passive, not active. ”
Rawlings absorbed that. His fingers pressed flat against the desk.
“Almost impossible to trace,” Donovan added. “And almost impossible to prosecute as corruption.”
“I know what it is.” Rawlings’s voice was quiet and hard.
“It’s better and worse than what I feared.
Better because there’s no deliberate traitor wearing a badge.
Worse because I can’t assess how much was compromised.
Months of operational information dealt out over poker tables, and I’ve got no way to measure the damage. ”
He pushed back from the desk. Stood. Crossed to the window and adjusted the blinds without opening them, a man who needed to move but had nowhere to go.
“I’m putting him on administrative leave.
Effective immediately. Badge and gun surrendered before he leaves the building.
” He turned back to face us. “The gambling alone violates department policy. The security breach, even if unintentional, can’t be overlooked.
There may be criminal charges, depending on what the county sheriff’s office decides about the CI disclosure. ”
Neither Donovan nor I said anything. There was nothing to say.
Rawlings sat back down. He was quiet for a moment, staring at the coffee cup he still hadn’t touched. “He broke down before he left. Said he’d never meant to hurt anyone. I had to have someone escort him to his car.”
I looked at the floor. A man’s career ending not because he was evil but because he was weak in a way nobody had caught in time. Donovan sat beside me without moving, and I could feel the stillness in him—the kind that meant he was working to keep something off his face.
“So where does this leave us?” Rawlings asked. “Is there more to find?”
Donovan and I looked at each other. One of those looks that covered a conversation in half a second.
“Honestly, we don’t think so,” I said. “Martinez explains the pattern. The timing of the leaks, the type of information that got out, the way it tracked with his schedule and his access. It fits.”
Rawlings exhaled slowly. Not relief exactly. More like a man setting down something heavy.
“Your department can actually pursue the syndicate now without information bleeding out the back door,” Donovan said. “That’s the thing to focus on. The investigation wasn’t failing because of bad police work. It was failing because someone was leaving the tap running and didn’t know it.”
“And our job was never to dismantle the syndicate or to take down Jonathan Porter, if he’s the one behind it all,” I added. “We found your internal vulnerability, and now you can deal with the bad guys.”
Rawlings nodded slowly. “I want to handle it internally. This is my town. My department. My fight. I’m not handing it to the feds if I don’t have to.”
“Totally understand and respect that.” I leaned forward.
“I’d suggest Donovan head back to Denver.
Citadel’s got other work waiting. But I’d like to stay on another couple of weeks.
The K9 program still needs the foundation work, and my being here gives you a reason to keep Citadel connected without raising eyebrows. ”
Not to mention, I was in no hurry to leave. For the first time, in no rush to get to the next mission.
“Ethan’s been on me about a couple of contracts anyway,” Donovan said. “And Ben’s the better trainer. If one of us stays, it should be him.”
Rawlings turned to me. “I’d appreciate it. Having you around buys me time to restructure.”
“Then that’s the plan.”
Something shifted in Rawlings’s posture. He sat up straighter, and the exhaustion didn’t leave his face but got pushed behind something more deliberate. He reached for his desk phone.
“I need to bring Vance up to speed. He’s going to have questions about the gap in the rotation, and I’d rather he hears it from me than through the rumor mill.”
He dialed the extension. “Eric. My office. Now, please.”
We waited. Thirty seconds, maybe less. Then a knock, the door opened, and Vance walked in.
Same easy posture. Same calm authority. He read the room immediately—Rawlings behind the desk looking like he’d been through a war, the two of us sitting across from him with carefully blank faces. He knew something serious had happened.
“Sit down, Eric.”
Vance took the chair next to Donovan. He settled into it unhurried and attentive, his weight balanced like a man who never sat in a chair without knowing how fast he could get out of it. His eyes moved from Rawlings to me to Donovan and back.
“I’m going to be straight with you,” Rawlings said.
“Ben and Donovan’s role here went beyond K9 training.
I brought in outside help to identify a potential security problem within the department.
I’ve suspected for some time that operational information was reaching whoever’s behind the drug push of the last few months. ”
Vance took this in. A beat of something crossed his face—not quite surprise, more like the confirmation of something he’d already been turning over. He looked at Donovan and me with a reassessment that landed as respect.
“I had a feeling it was something like that.” Not accusatory. Almost relieved. “The syndicate’s been a step ahead of us too many times. I kept thinking somebody had to be feeding them intel, but I didn’t want to point fingers without proof.”
Rawlings nodded. “We’ve identified the source. Martinez was leaking operational information through an off-duty situation that compromised departmental security. Not a deliberate leak, just not keeping his mouth shut when he should be. He’s been placed on administrative leave as of this morning.”
Vance’s expression shifted. Genuine disappointment mixed with a kind of sad recognition. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling for a long moment.
“Martinez is—was—a decent cop. He just… He never could hold his liquor.” He brought his gaze back down. “I think most of us knew he had a problem. I just never thought it was this bad.”
He was quiet for a few seconds. Then, quieter, he added, “The gambling. The drinking. The signs were there if anyone had been looking. I wish I’d stepped in. Maybe could’ve changed things.”
We all sat in silence for a moment.
“You can’t be responsible for everybody,” Rawlings said. “But damned if I don’t feel the exact same way.”
“What happens next?” Vance asked.
“Donovan’s heading back to Denver. Ben stays on for real K9 work. We pursue the syndicate investigation through proper channels now that the leak is addressed.”
Vance straightened. Professional. The shift was clean. He went from processing bad news to doing his job. “I’ll make sure the team stays focused. Martinez’s absence is going to create gaps in the rotation, but I can cover it. I’ll have a revised schedule on your desk by end of day.”
Rawlings gave him a nod. “Appreciate it, Eric.”
Vance stood. He was almost to the door when he paused, hand on the frame. Turned back.
“Does Martinez have family around here? I know his ex-wife moved to Grand Junction a while back, but I can’t remember if he’s got anyone else close by.”
Rawlings shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Vance nodded, almost to himself. “Might want to have somebody check in on him at some point. He’s probably not in a great headspace right now.”
Then he was through the door, and it clicked shut behind him.
A few minutes later, Donovan said his goodbyes to the chief, and we headed out to the parking lot. Daylight was bright after the dim office. Late-morning sun off windshields. A sharp wind coming down from the peaks, carrying the first real edge of the season.
Donovan walked beside me without talking. We crossed the lot and stopped at his SUV, away from the building and anyone who might pass by.
He leaned against the driver’s door and squinted up at the mountains. “Not exactly the ending I pictured.”
“Yeah, me neither.”