28. Gus
Gus
ANDY
"The burglar from the Lockwood house? They matched him to the other two break-ins. Stasio's apartment downtown and the one off West Ashmont on Halloween."
The afternoon sun cut across the dash as we headed east on Charleston. We'd cleared two calls since lunch: a fender bender on Tropicana and a noise complaint near the university that resolved itself before we arrived.
"All three?" I'd been flagging that pattern for months. "Good. That's a solid case."
"That's basically what you're doing in the ride-alongs, right? Watching cases come together like that?"
"Sort of. It's different watching it from the inside, seeing how a detective takes the same details I'd put in a supplemental and turns them into something that moves."
Jeremy nodded. "I'm going to miss riding with you when you make detective."
That made me smile. "I've still got hours to finish. But it's coming together."
The radio crackled.
"Shots fired, 419. The Lantern, West Ashmont. Multiple victims. Caller reports at least three people down."
Jeremy and I looked at each other. He hit the lights and floored it.
I told Jeremy to secure the perimeter for incoming units and paramedics before I ran inside.
The bar smelled like gunpowder and copper.
A man was on the floor by the far wall, face-down with a handgun beside him.
Another was slumped against the base of the counter on his back, his handgun on the floor a few feet away.
He looked familiar. I'd seen that face before but I couldn't place it, and I didn't have time to try.
Because Gus was on the floor behind the counter.
Terrence was beside him, on his knees, both hands pressing a bar towel into Gus's chest. The towel was soaked through. Terrence's glasses were crooked on his face and his hands were shaking.
"Gus!" I dropped beside them. "Gus, stay with me."
His eyes found mine. Glassy, unfocused, but there.
"Take care of my boy." His hand came up and gripped Terrence's arm. "You hear me? You're going to be just fine."
"Gus, don't talk. Paramedics are coming."
Gus's hand slid off Terrence's arm. His eyes were still open, still pointed at the ceiling, but there was nothing behind them anymore.
Terrence made a sound I will never forget. He pressed harder on the towel with both hands in one last attempt to revive Gus, but he was gone. Terrence leaned forward. He rested his forehead against Gus's shoulder and broke.
I should have worked the scene. Two shooters, an active crime scene, protocol I could execute in my sleep. Instead I put my arms around Terrence and held him on the floor of the bar while Gus's blood soaked through both our clothes.
"I was in the office. The door was locked.
I was on camera—the interview—and then I heard—" His voice broke.
"I came out and they were on the floor. Both of them.
And Gus was—" He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"Selena's off today. It was just him out here.
He was alone. I should have been out here with him. "
Gus locked that door. Gus put him in that office, in front of that computer, behind a door that didn't open until it was over. The thing Terrence was blaming himself for was the reason he was still alive.
"Don't do that." I put my hands on his shoulders and held him steady. "This is not your fault, Terrence."
Outside, I could hear Jeremy's voice directing units to the perimeter, guiding paramedics to the entrance. The front door opened and Wyatt walked in.
He was in his turnout pants and a department T-shirt, medical bag over his shoulder, moving fast. He scanned the room. His eyes found the two men on the floor, then the counter, then me. Kneeling in blood beside a body he recognized.
I looked at him and shook my head.
He stopped. The bag slid off his shoulder. I'd seen them together at that counter dozens of times. I knew what Gus meant to him.
"Why is the fire crew still in here?" Elliot's voice cut through the room. He was in the doorway, eyes sweeping the scene. "This is a police crime scene. If there's no one to work on, they need to clear out."
"Can you stop being an asshole for once?" My voice came out louder than I intended. "This was their bar. He was their family. Would it kill you to show some respect?"
Elliot didn't respond. His eyes moved past me to the counter, past Gus, to Terrence. A young Black man on his knees in a room full of bodies, covered in blood.
He started walking toward him.
"On your feet. Hands where I can see them."
"Elliot, don't."
"On your feet."
I stepped between them.
"He was locked in the back office during a video interview when this happened. Have you even looked at the scene? Two shooters, two guns, and a man with no weapon trying to keep someone alive. That's what's on this floor, Elliot."
"Andy, you're letting your emotions get the better of you." He said it calmly. "I thought I would have trained you better than that."
I didn't move.
"Maybe I am emotional. But I also know you don't arrest a witness just because he's standing in the room."
Elliot stepped forward until he was so close to my face, I could feel his breath.
"Step aside, Officer Walsh. Unless you want to get written up for insubordination."
Behind me, I could hear Travis and Knox holding Wyatt back. "Easy, brother. Easy." Boots scraped against the tile. "Wyatt, don't."
Elliot didn't move. He stared straight into my eyes.
"What's it going to be, Andy?"
I stared right back and searched for the intelligent man I'd once loved. All I found was a sergeant who needed to puff his chest and pull rank to get what he wanted.
"Officer Walsh."
Zeus Alexander's voice cut through the room from the front entrance.
He walked past Elliot without looking at him. Went straight to me. Same as always.
"Walk me through it, Walsh."
I told him everything about the scene, the bodies, Terrence and his interview. Zeus looked at Terrence, still on the floor beside Gus, still shaking.
"Son, do you consent to us pulling that interview recording?"
Terrence nodded. "Yes, sir."
Zeus turned to one of his detectives. "Get the company on the phone. I want the recording and the timestamps within the hour." He looked at Elliot. "Sergeant Handler, I'll take it from here."
Elliot left without a word.
I stood in the middle of the bar. The counter where Gus dried his glasses. The table where the crew sat every Friday. The wall where our photos hung. Daphne's flowers on the tables.
I'd been trained for this. I'd walked into rooms with bodies on the floor, worked the scene, gone home and come back the next day. I had protocol for everything.
I didn't have a protocol for this.