Chapter Twenty-Four
Fury. That was the only word to describe the feeling that had overtaken Joe when Sam mentioned Roy Gallagher’s name.
That arrogant, high-handed, self-serving son of a bitch.
If he’d had anything to do with Skip’s shooting, Joe would see him strung up.
He walked by Helen, who held up a stack of messages.
Joe took them from her without comment and continued into his office, slamming the door behind him.
Roy Gallagher.
The name took him back to the earliest days of his career, beginning with the academy where he’d met the men who became his closest friends and colleagues.
Gallagher had been in their class, but he’d never been one of them.
After a year on the force, he’d left to pursue loftier ambitions that had included a run for city council.
To Joe’s surprise, Gallagher had won that election and re-election every two years since, making him the longest-standing member of the city council.
Any time he ran into Gallagher at City Hall, he made a point of reminding Joe that he’d supported his bid to be chief, almost as if Joe owed him something in return.
The hell he did. He’d received a unanimous mandate from the council when he’d been hired as chief, and he didn’t owe that swine Gallagher a damned thing.
Joe had never forgotten the night that Gallagher made a play for Marti when they were first dating.
He’d told Marti she could “do better” than boring old Joe, and that she ought to go out with him instead.
Marti had told Roy to go to hell, but Joe had never forgiven his former “friend” for the blatant disrespect.
That’d been the end of their so-called friendship for Joe.
Who needed friends like that? But Conklin had stayed close to Gallagher over the years, and as such, Joe and Marti had been forced to socialize with him on occasion.
Neither of them ever gave him more than a passing hello to keep from being rude.
Running his fingers through his hair, Joe tried to get himself together.
Sam was right. Going off on a rogue mission to give Gallagher a piece of his mind wasn’t going to help anything, and it could make things worse.
So he did what he always did when things got to be too much for him. He called Marti.
“Hi, hon. This is a nice surprise.”
“I need you to talk some sense into me.”
“How come?”
“You won’t believe whose else’s name has come up in the reenergized investigation into Skip’s shooting.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Gallagher.”
Her gasp echoed through the phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Wish I was.”
“What does he have to do with it?”
“Perhaps nothing, but he was one of three people Conklin called after Jake and I confronted him the other night. The other two were his wife and lawyer.”
“Do you think he had something to do with Skip’s shooting?”
“I don’t know what to think. With this new information, Sam is taking another look at Steven Coyne’s shooting, too.”
“Oh, Joe. Oh my God.”
“I should’ve retired when you wanted me to last year. If I had, none of this would be my problem.”
“Even if you had retired, you’d still want to know who shot Skip—and Steven.”
“Yes, you’re right. I would’ve wanted to know.” He sighed and took a seat behind his desk, mentally and physically exhausted. “Is it possible people we’ve known for decades could’ve been behind these unsolved shootings?”
“I suppose anything is possible, but I have full confidence in you and your team. If anyone can figure this out, you all can.”
“I want to go over to City Hall and confront him.”
“Don’t do that, Joe. If he is involved, you’d be risking the case, not to mention the damage he could do to your career.”
“Sam said essentially the same thing.”
“She’s right and so am I.”
“I hate that son of a bitch.” Hate wasn’t a word he threw around lightly, but in this case and a few others it was the only word that fit.
“I know you do, and with good reason, but you have to keep your head about you. Your team will take their lead from you.”
“Have I ever told you that marrying you was the best thing I ever did?”
Her laughter made him smile. “Only a few thousand times, and I’m always happy to remind you of it when you forget.”
“I never forget.”
“I know you don’t, and I love you more than anything. I hate to see you struggling.”
“I want justice for Skip so badly I can taste it.”
“I want that, too. Just as badly. But you can’t sacrifice who you are as a man and a cop to get there. There’s never been a time to be more ‘by the book’ than this.”
“Thanks for talking me down. I was ready to go over to City Hall and have it out with him.”
“If the trail leads to him, you’ll know it soon enough.”
“I guess so,” he said, sighing. “I think I’m getting closer to having had enough of this place.”
“Oh yay.”
Joe laughed. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“I’m ready to have you all to myself, but not until you’re ready.”
“I’m getting there.”
“I’ll be here waiting for you when the time is right. Keep me posted on what’s happening?”
“I will. I’ll try to be home for dinner.”
“See you then. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” He ended the call feeling calmer than he had before he talked to her.
She was right—he had to play Skip’s case completely by the book to ensure that no mistakes were made that prevented them from getting long overdue justice for him and his family.
But if the trail led to Roy Gallagher… God help that son of a bitch.
With the rest of her team sequestered in the conference room digging through Conklin’s digital and paper trail, Sam took the opportunity to reach out to Officer Matt O’Brien, asking him to come to her office when he got a chance.
He showed up a half hour after she called him. “You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?”
“Come in. Shut the door.” She gestured for him to have a seat in her visitor’s chair.
“What’s up?” He had light brown hair, brown eyes and a rugged, muscular build that indicated many hours spent in the gym.
“As you know, we have an opening in the Homicide squad, and I wondered if you might be interested.”
He smiled widely. “Hell, yes, I’m interested.”
“Before you commit, I want to make you aware that due to my higher-than-usual profile, which I hate in case you wondered, the squad is under the microscope far more often than we used to be. That can cause heartburn not only for me, but for the rest of you, too.”
“That’s not a concern to me. It’d be an honor to work with and for you.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“We’re still putting the pieces back together after losing Arnold. We have good days and bad days.”
“I get it, and I totally understand. We were all affected by his death.”
“I’ll put in the paperwork and run it up the flagpole.”
“I appreciate the opportunity.”
Sam stood to shake his hand. “I’ll look forward to working with you.”
“Likewise, Lieutenant.”
“Keep it between us until the department makes it official.”
“Will do.”
After he left, Sam filled out the requisite forms to request that Patrolman Matthew O’Brien be promoted to detective to fill the vacancy left by Will Tyrone’s departure earlier in the year and sent it to Malone for his approval.
With that task accomplished, she sat back in her chair to think, puzzling through the case and picking through each detail, letting her mind loose to ponder the various possibilities.
She thought it through from every angle and sat up straight when an idea occurred to her that had her picking up the phone to call Malone.
“Need to see you. Your place or mine?”
“Mine.”
“Be right there.” Sam launched out of her chair and made a beeline for the captain’s office, knocking on his door two minutes later. When he waved her in, she shut the door behind her.
“I got your email about O’Brien. Good choice. I’ll send it through.”
“Thank you.”
“What’s up?”
“Conklin’s wife.”
“What about her?”
Sam leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “You said he made three calls after you and the chief were there the other night. One of the calls was to his wife. What if he was giving her instructions to get rid of things, such as the messenger bag?”
Malone sat back in his chair, balancing a pen between two fingers as he pondered that. “He was at the house. Why would he need to call her to make that happen?”
“Maybe what we’re looking for wasn’t at the house but somewhere else.”
“I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but if Conklin had that bag or other evidence pertaining to Skip’s shooting, don’t you think he would’ve gotten rid of it a long time ago?”
“That’s what you and I would’ve done, but who knows about him? Did either of us think he’d be capable of withholding information about my dad’s case for four years?”
“No.”
“So we can concede that anything is possible where he’s concerned?”
“I suppose we have to.” He picked up the phone and made a call to request a warrant to search Conklin’s wife’s car and office.
“Thank you,” Sam said when he’d completed the call.
“I know you’re sick of people asking if you’re okay, but are you?”
“I’m frustrated because I can’t be in the thick of this one.”
“I know, but it’s for the best. Keep doing what you’re doing and working the edges.”
“I’m heading to the library to do some research.”
“Let me know if you find anything.”