Chapter 6 #2
Besides, it was fine. He had a boyfriend now. It was normal to worry about your boyfriend. Even more so when Javi was on the trail of a missing FBI agent.
He had to remember that Javi wasn’t family.
Cloister glanced briefly in his rearview mirror. In the back, Bourneville woke up with a chop-smacking yawn and scrambled to her paws to see where they were going.
It was safe to care about Javi.
Maybe if Cloister told himself that enough times, he’d believe it.
“Due to a complaint about your conduct, we’re putting you on paid administrative leave,” Frome said. “Pending an investigation.”
It wasn’t a surprise. Cloister had expected it the minute he walked in and saw Gunner from Professional Standards sitting in on the meeting.
Actually, he’d expected something like this since he saw Kincaid sitting on the steps of his trailer.
He just nodded.
Frome took his glasses off and fastidiously folded the legs before he tucked them into his breast pocket.
“Do you have any questions?” he asked.
“No,” Cloister said.
Frome pursed his lips, glanced at the file in front of them, and then at Gunner. Out of the corner of his eye, Cloister saw Gunner shrug.
“Good,” Frome said. He consulted the file in front of him as if he hadn’t already read it thoroughly.
Cloister had seen him pull the same trick in interrogations; it gave him a minute to reorganize his thoughts and gave the target the hope that maybe Frome had missed something.
Once Frome was ready, he closed the file and flattened his hand on it.
“There would only be so much I could disclose right now, anyhow. You know how it works. You’re relieved of duty effective immediately.
You’ll need to hand in your service weapon and badge. ”
Cloister glanced down at Bourneville next to him as she made a low grumbling sound in her chest. She was sprawled on the floor, head on her paws, but she wasn’t relaxed, just quiet. He dropped his hand down to rub her ears.
“What about Bourneville?” he asked. “Are you going to assign her a new handler?”
There it was again, the glance over Cloister’s shoulder as Frome checked in with Gunner. This time Cloister couldn’t make out Gunner’s reaction, but Frome followed up on it with a slow nod.
“She will be,” he said. “That's the procedure, Witte. If you want to recommend someone—”
“Harris,” Cloister said immediately. “Definitely not Gordon, she doesn’t like him. Nobody does.”
Gunner snorted, then coughed as he tried to cover it up.
A nerve twitched in Frome’s cheek as he clenched his teeth. He tossed his glasses down on the table, metal clicking against wood, and stood up abruptly. The backs of his legs hit his chair and sent it rolling back into the wall with a thump.
Under Cloister’s hand, he felt Bon tense as she lifted her head off her paws. He turned his stroke into light pressure against her scruff.
“Ruhig,” he said quietly.
She grumbled but did as she was told.
“This is bullshit,” Frome snapped as he jabbed his finger at Gunner. “You know it, and I know it, and I’m not seeing the fucking humor in it. So if you’re done here, Deputy Gunner? You can go.”
It took a heavy second, but Gunner finally clicked his recorder and stood up.
“I think we’re covered,” he said. Cloister glanced around to watch over his shoulder as Gunner flipped his notebook shut and slid it into his jacket pocket.
Gunner turned to go and then paused. Without looking at either of them, the stocky deputy added gruffly, “And off the record? This isn’t coming from inside the department. We don’t like it any more than you do.”
Frome snorted. “I doubt that,” he said coolly.
Gunner acknowledged that with a wry nod and showed himself out. The door closed behind him with a click, and Frome reached around to pull his seat back into place.
“Look,” he said, “I’m confident that this complaint isn’t going to go anywhere. We’ve never had any founded complaints about you or Bourneville. So just sit tight and…officially…we are going to reassign Bourneville, but until we get a new handler transferred in, she can stay in your custody.”
It wasn’t safe to feel anything right now, so Cloister didn’t. He just dug his fingers into Bon’s thick ruff, the warmth of her anchoring, and nodded.
“I appreciate that,” he said. His jaw felt stiff as he forced the words out.
Frome nodded and settled back in the chair. It creaked under him as he picked up a pen from the desk and fiddled with it. He studied Cloister briefly and then glanced toward the door.
“I take it you have a fairly good idea where this came from?” he said.
Cloister considered the ground around the question. It didn’t seem to be a trap, but then the best ones never did. After a moment, he just nodded.
“I can hazard a pretty good guess,” he said.
“Good,” Frome said. “Then you know that, even though I have confidence in your work, this is going to be a fucking mess. Your professional and personal life is going to be fair game. It doesn’t matter if it has anything to do with the investigation.
If these…parties…think it will throw you off your game, that’s reason enough to dig it up and throw it at the wall to see if something sticks. You need to be ready for that.”
“I’ve nothing to hide,” Cloister said.
Frome snorted and pointed at him with the pen. “It would be nice if that mattered,” he said. “You know better. Innocence doesn’t make having your life upended and shaken down for change in public any less damaging. Don’t try and tough this out. When you get out of here, call your union rep.”
It wasn’t really funny, but the corner of Cloister’s mouth tilted anyhow.
If nothing else, his childhood had prepared him for this.
After his brother had disappeared, he’d gotten used to anything in his private life—in his head, his drawers, or his pants—being dug up to be used against him.
Even during the periods his mom accepted that he didn’t remember anything about that, it only made her more convinced there was something to find.
He’d learned not to place any value on privacy. And that he shouldn’t let pride get in his way…not that he always heeded that bit. Still…
“It’s Tancredi,” he said. “I’ll talk to her.”
Frome looked satisfied. He clicked the pen twice and then tossed it down on the table.
“Good. Good. And just remember that, right now, I can’t afford to be on your side,” he said. “But that doesn’t make me your enemy.”
Cloister lifted his hand off Bourneville’s neck and stood up. He brushed fur off on his thigh as he considered Frome across the desk. At his feet, Bon scrambled up and pressed her shoulder against his knee.
“People keep telling me that lately,” Cloister noted. “Not sure how many of them I should believe.”