Chapter 20 Shawn
Angrier than I should be and armed with proof that someone here lied, I march into the Tacoma office of the Washington State Patrol.
Beckett is with me, but we left Lauren at a local café so we can keep her out of it as best we can.
Right now, no one knows about her. And that’s how it needs to stay.
It’s bad enough that Beckett has a target on her back; I won’t paint one on Lauren, too.
“Can we help you?” a uniform asks as she crosses over, her hair back in a tight bun.
“I need to speak with your captain,” I say.
“Um, is he expecting you?”
“Not yet. But he will want to take this meeting,” I snap.
“Sir, just calm down and—”
“Hi, Beckett Wallace,” Beckett interjects, plastering a fake smile on her face and offering her hand to the uniform. “Lawyer out of Boston. And this big guy, who is clearly agitated, is homicide detective Shawn Sampson from Seattle PD.”
“Detective Sampson?” The uniform’s eyes widen, and she eyes me with renewed appreciation. “The guy who took down Doctor Glen Dodger two years ago? Even way out here, we heard about that.”
“One and the same,” Beckett replies. She’s trying to keep the peace when I feel like I’m about to go off like a grenade in this place.
Dirty cops? To me, they’re the worst of the worst. Monsters disguised as protectors.
And even if we don’t have any concrete proof, there are plenty of signs pointing to a cover job.
“Gotcha. I read all about that case, impressive work.”
“Wasn’t just me,” I reply coldly. “Where is your captain?”
“Right here,” a man says.
I turn slowly to face Captain Cary Seymore, whom I’ve never met in person but have heard plenty about. From what I hear, he was an arrogant cop for the South Precinct in Seattle before resigning and taking a job as the Captain for Washington State Patrol’s District 1 office here in Tacoma.
And from what I hear about him now? It’s only gotten worse. We’ve gotten into plenty of jurisdiction arguments with his office.
“Well, Detective Sampson. Nice to see you and put a face to the name.” His hair is white, his mustache the same. His eyes narrow on me though he flashes a smile that’s cold as ice.
I take his offered hand. “We need to talk in private.”
“Sure. We can talk in my office.” He starts back toward it, so Beckett and I follow.
As soon as the door is closed behind us, I start in on him. “What do you know of the Paul Jameson case?”
“I’d have to look into it,” he says. “We deal with a lot of—”
“Don’t hand me that. I remember every single case I’ve worked. The names of the victims are tattooed on my brain. You and I both know you remember. Especially since it was the first big case you worked after transferring here.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. Frustration. It’s written all over his face.
“Paul Jameson’s plane went down in a tragic accident.
We took over the investigation from the National Park Service and worked closely with both the National Transportation Safety Board and the FAA.
There were no signs of foul play or tampering with his plane.
The guy missed something, and his lack of attention to detail is what killed him. Nothing else.”
Beside me, Beckett stiffens. “That man you speak so candidly about? He was my husband.” She takes a step closer, her own anger surging. “And he did not make a mistake. You all did.”
Captain Seymore’s face reddens. “Excuse me, miss, but—”
“No.” I set my phone down on his desk with the photo of the trees I took only a few hours ago.
“What am I looking at?” Seymore slips his glasses onto his face and leans down. “Broken trees?”
“That’s the crash site for Paul Jameson’s plane,” I say, keeping my voice as calm as possible.
“If you notice the trees, I think you’ll find them bent at a very peculiar angle.
” Leaning forward, I swipe to the next photograph, which is a picture I took of the image in the original case file.
“And this is the image filed with the case when it was deemed an accident as he was coming into Seattle. The angles in that photograph are wrong.”
Seymore studies the image, then shoves my phone back to me. “Just what are you suggesting, Detective?”
“That, at the very least, someone made a mistake on the report.” Though we both know that’s not possible. Not of this magnitude. Anyone there would have seen the trees and corrected the error before it ever got filed.
“And at the worst?”
“You have someone here who wanted to cover it up. Make it look like Paul was flying into Seattle versus heading home. I would like to talk to the officers who were assigned this case. Oliver Wilson and Bradley Caraway. Do they still work here?”
Seymore eyes me, his own anger simmering.
“Detective Wilson died in a car accident a few months after that case was closed, and Detective Caraway drowned in a boating accident two months later. It was a tragic time for this office, and I will ask that you don’t throw around baseless accusations and taint the names of two good men. ”
The warning is there, but all I can see is another red flag.
Officers die in the line of duty, but both partners taken out in separate ‘accidents’ within a year?
No. It doesn’t add up.
“And you mean to tell me you have no suspicions at all?” I gesture toward my phone. “I literally handed you proof that something is off.”
“You handed me a photograph that could have been from anywhere. Not to mention the fact that it very well could have been flipped, distorting the angle. Whether by you or by the original photographer. Accidents do happen.”
“A mirrored image? That’s your big explanation?” I snap.
Seymore’s face reddens even further, and he stands, planting both palms on the desk. “Did you just walk into my office and accuse me of having dirty cops?”
“You can’t tell me this doesn’t stink.” I cross my arms.
Seymore straightens and shakes his head angrily. “Then tell me, Detective Sampson, what was their motive? What could the officers who worked this case have to gain by covering up the death of a non-essential private pilot? If that is what you are accusing them of.”
“Non-essential?” Beckett growls. “Non-essential?” She charges forward, and I grip her arm to pull her back. Assaulting a police captain would have her in a cell before I could intervene. And, if my gut is right and someone here is dirty, she won’t last long enough for me to get her out.
Seymore pinches the bridge of his nose. “I only meant that he has no ties to this precinct.”
“Choose your words more carefully next time, Captain,” Beckett warns. “Or do you always talk to the family members of victims with such callous disregard?”
“When they storm in here, accusing my officers of being dirty with no proof—”
“This is proof,” I say, pointing back to my phone. “The fact that the records are wrong is proof that something is going on.”
“You have no motive.”
“Does that mean it doesn’t warrant looking into it? If that were the case, no murder would ever get solved. You investigate; that’s where you find motive.”
“They’re dead, Detective,” Seymore growls. “And I won’t go tarnishing their good names on the assumption of a widow and a cop who clearly overestimates his value. Now. I will ask you this one time. Get out of my office before I have you both arrested for harassment.”
I want to yell.
To hit something.
But since it won’t do either of us any good, I retrieve my phone, then grab Beckett’s hand and pull her back toward the door. “When this comes out—and it will come out,” I warn as I glance back at him, “you’re going to find that you should have helped us when we asked.”
“Ican’t believe he called him non-essential.
” Beckett shakes her head as I hand her a mug of tea.
She’s seated on my couch, cross-legged, wearing leggings and an oversized t-shirt.
Lauren turned in about an hour ago, though I think that had more to do with needing her own space than actually going to sleep.
“He’s an arrogant jerk,” I reply as I take my seat next to her. “Always has been, from what I hear. Gives good cops a bad name.”
“Is this really a dead end?” she asks.
I know what she’s thinking, why that’s the first thing on her mind.
Not ten minutes after we left Seymore, I got a call from my captain.
He was furious and demanded my resignation.
Which I have every intention of delivering to his desk as soon as I’ve wrapped this up.
Not that I told Beckett that last part. She already feels guilty enough that I got reprimanded.
If she finds out I lost my job? It’ll only do more damage.
It doesn’t matter anyway because I’m done there.
Probably in Seattle altogether.
And what’s bad is I don’t really care. Financially, I’ll be fine. I have plenty of money saved up to live on while I figure out my next move. Mentally? That will be an adjustment.
All I ever wanted to be was a cop. I wanted to help people, to bring bad guys to justice, and make the world a safer place. But now? After dozens of undercover jobs and working tirelessly to bring justice to murder victims, maybe I could use a breather.
“Maybe it’s time to make a call,” I say as I lean back on the couch.
“What call?”
“Doesn’t Tucker Hunt have ways of getting information that police cannot?” I ask, choosing my words carefully. I don’t know the extent of his reach, but I do know that, when things went sideways when his brother was in town, Tucker was able to get information we otherwise couldn’t access.
Beckett arches a brow. “You want me to call Tucker?”
“We need answers, and clearly, we’re not going to get them any other way.”
Beckett smiles. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen on her face since she found out about Lauren and the fact that Paul was working with Lucian Creed. “My-my, Detective. How you have evolved this past week.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”
Laughing softly, she withdraws her cell phone.