Chapter Nine
“Wanna go to CenturyLink and back?” Chris asked, eyeing the path ahead, slick with early morning dew.
“Only if we’re walking,” Randall gasped, hands on hips and breath ragged.
“Damn, you’re getting old,” Chris smirked, patting him on the back as they slowed to a walk.
“I’ll tell ya what, having two kids in three years ages you faster than Obama in his first term,” Randall wheezed. “And you can quote me on that.”
Chris chuckled, obliging his best friend with a slower pace.
The cool Seattle air clung to their skin, the sun struggling through layers of Pacific Northwest clouds.
It was peaceful here. Early joggers passed with nods, seagulls squawked overhead, and the scent of saltwater mixed with fresh morning earth.
Even with all that, Chris’s head was anything but calm. Talking to Isabela last night had cracked open a part of him he didn’t realize was still alive. He hated that her voice echoed louder in his mind than the pounding of his own heartbeat during this run.
It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, though, hell, that was impossible to ignore. It was the way she seemed to trust him. She couldn’t afford to do that. Trusting him came at a high cost.
“So,” Chris said, forcing his thoughts elsewhere, “how’s it going at home?”
Randall shot him a look that could peel paint. “How do you think it’s going? Nobody sleeps. The baby’s either screaming or pooping. Jeanine and I eat cold pizza standing up. The highlight of my week was taking a solo grocery trip.”
Chris grinned, but it faded quickly. Randall’s tired joy only emphasized the hollowness in his own life. He used to want all of that, family dinners, baby monitors, and messy kitchens. Then the alcohol and his own self-loathing blew it all to hell.
“You heard anything?” Chris asked, shifting gears again. “From the grapevine?”
“Actually, yeah. This one’s a doozy. Rumor has it the ADA’s husband used to golf with Lorenzo Torres.”
Chris stopped short, heart thudding against his ribs. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
Randall shook his head. “Nope. Might just be an old connection, nothing official, but if this thing turns sideways, might be worth bringing up as a conflict of interest.”
Chris stared out at the Sound. It glittered beneath the rising sun, serene and detached. Nothing like the media firestorm waiting to consume him should this thing go to trial. If the assistant district attorney’s husband and Lorenzo Torres were buddies, what was the likelihood of impartiality?
“This thing’s already sideways,” Chris muttered. “Doesn’t matter that Torres was a predator. Doesn’t matter that I followed training protocol. The only thing they see is the color of his skin and the badge on my chest.”
“You’re not wrong,” Randall said. “The city’s got a short memory when it comes to who runs toward the danger.”
Chris shook his head. “I get it, though. Everyone wants someone to blame. They need a villain. I fit the bill.”
They seemed to forget the numerous times Chris had put his life on the line for a stranger. He was no hero. It was just how he was wired. Kim, his ex-wife, use to tell him he had a savior complex. Maybe she was right. God knows he wasn’t often right in the three miserable years he had been hitched.
Those years were even more unbearable for Kim dealing with the alcoholic shell of a man. Luckily, they never reproduced. The world didn’t need more Chrises running around.
“I’m meeting with Don and the SPOG guys later this morning. I’ll let him know about the potential conflict. That guy’s a shark,” Chris said.
“Sure is,” Randall agreed.
A moment passed and the wind picked up, the crisp breeze cooling his hot skin.
“What about those new attorneys? They treating you right?” Randall asked.
Chris gave a noncommittal shrug. “They’ve got a solid rep. The woman they assigned to me, Isabela Cruz, she’s ... smart.”
Chris was grateful for Walker and Doyle’s representation, although he felt like the pawn in a political chess match. The media had drawn the line in the proverbial sand, Christopher Macklin being a racist redneck cop got views.
Never mind whether it was true or not. On the flip side of the coin, it sickened him that a large base of his supporters did so only because they believed the media’s narrative.
Randall raised an eyebrow. “Smart, huh? That all?”
Chris tried not to smirk. Failed. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“What does she look like?” Randall asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Chris barked.
“Ah, there it is,” Randall laughed. “My man. You’re in trouble.”
Chris tried to laugh it off, but the sound stuck in his throat. “Doesn’t matter. She’s off-limits.”
Randall’s face turned thoughtful. “That why you asked for a new attorney?”
Chris blinked. “What? How do you...”
“She told me when she called reaching out for a background interview. Said you requested to swap her out.”
Chris looked away. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure it is. But listen, if she’s willing to fight for you, don’t make it harder for her. You think she’s judging you, but maybe she’s just trying to understand.”
Chris let that sink in. He wanted to believe that. Needed to.
“You tell her everything?” Chris asked after a moment.
“Not yet. We meet this afternoon in person.” Randall bumped his shoulder. “Anything I should leave out to preserve your shot with Ms. Cruz?”
“There is no shot. Just be honest. That’ll help her build the case. Maybe she’ll finally stop looking at me like I’m some kind of monster.”
“You’re kind of an asshole, but not a monster,” Randall said, before turning more somber. “You made a decision in the worst second of your life. Doesn’t mean you’re not worth saving.”
Chris didn’t respond. His chest felt too tight. They stood at a fork in the trail, letting two dog walkers pass, the rumble of a motorcycle thundering in the background.
“Let’s do another mile.”
Randall groaned. “Your knees are younger than mine.”
“You don’t want to get a dad bod. Jeanine will thank me later.”
“Fair enough,” Randall chuckled. “Lead the way.”
They took off again, feet pounding the trail. For now, Chris focused on the sound of his breath, the stretch of his stride, and the path ahead. In the back of his mind, a voice, softer than his own, warm and unsure, lingered like the coastal fog.
“Hi, it’s Isabela Cruz. The lawyer.”
That, he thought grimly, was the real problem.
****
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the blinds of Isabela’s office, casting golden stripes across her cluttered desk.
The window was cracked, letting in the mild hum of the city and the subtle sweetness of cherry blossoms from the trees below.
Today was springtime perfection in the Emerald City.
She was reviewing notes for her next meeting when a knock sounded at her door. Looking up, her brows lifted in surprise when a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped in. He was casual, confident, and not what she had expected.
“Detective Hurts?” she stood.
Kelly had called before sending him her way, so she knew who it was. But a handsome dark skinned man was not who she envisioned for Chris’s closest colleague.
“That’s me. Randall,” he said with an easy smile, extending a hand.
His handshake was firm but warm, and he looked around appreciatively. “Nice office. You must be important.”
“I like to pretend I am,” she said, smiling as she gestured for him to take a seat. “Thanks for coming in.”
“No problem,” he said, sinking into the guest chair like they were about to catch up over coffee. “I’ve already been interviewed extensively about the Hector Torres shooting but will do anything to help Chris out. He said you were thorough, and your firm’s tenacity gives him a fighting chance.”
She paused. His words were kind but read like a warning. He was taking time out of his day with the expectation that it benefited Chris. Instead of responding, she flipped to a clean page in her notebook.
“Can I offer you anything? Water, soda, coffee?”
“Nah, I’m good. Chris dragged me out for a run at the crack of dawn, so I needed enough caffeine to drown a horse to keep myself upright this afternoon.”
She laughed, surprised. “You and Chris run together?”
“Before this mess, we did everything together. Couldn’t get the guy to stop following me around.” Randall winked theatrically.
“I can imagine he sets the pace high. Mr. Macklin seems like a glutton for punishment.”
“High enough that I’m still trying to catch my breath. I may also have briefly contemplated faking an injury this morning,” Randall laughed. “But it felt good. I needed the sweat.”
She smiled at the image he invoked. “Let’s start with you before diving into Mr. Macklin. I have your employment and education records already. Tell me something I don’t know,” she mused.
This part of the process was instrumental. Getting to know the person behind the testimony. The facts people offered, or didn’t, usually said a great deal more than anything she could find in a search engine.
Randall pulled out his phone and swiped. Standing, he leaned over her desk to show a photo of two beautiful children. One still a baby, the other a toddler covered in spaghetti sauce.
“Those are my monsters,” he said proudly. “Isaiah and RJ This was last night. My wife says they’re just like me, loud and messy.”
“They’re adorable,” Isabela said genuinely, smiling at the picture.
She relaxed into her chair, already charmed by the easy rhythm of Randall’s conversation. He was nothing like Chris. Randall was talkative, warm, and a little bit goofy. Underneath the humor, she sensed a sharp intelligence and a fierce loyalty that made her instinctively trust him.
“Thanks for sharing,” she said, clicking her pen.
“I want to go over the events on the day Mr. Torres was killed. I know you were questioned extensively, and I’ve read those interviews.
Your observations would be helpful as you had a front row view.
Then, if you’re willing, I’d love to get your perspective on Mr. Macklin as a person. ”
“I’m all yours,” Randall said. “Just tell me where to start.”
For the next thirty minutes, Randall answered every question with clarity and detail, even adding context she hadn’t asked for.
He didn’t evade or hedge. He offered names, timestamps, impressions, even body language he’d noticed that day.
She barely had to prompt him. Where Chris had been a locked vault, Randall was a flowing stream.
If this went to trial, she would have to work hard to present him as an unbiased witness.
As the interview continued, they circled back to her client’s personal life. Something shifted then. Randall’s jaw tightened but his tone softened.
“I know what this case looks like,” he said. “I know what people say. But Chris is not what they think. He’s a good man that has had to do hard things. Things most people can’t imagine.”
Isabela looked up from her notes. “He seems ... complicated.”
“Funny, he used the same word this morning,” Randall smirked at what must have been an inside joke. “But he’s also loyal and brave. I’ve seen him go into places no sane person would. He never backs down, never leaves a partner behind. That comes with a cost.”
She tilted her head. “What kind of cost?”
Randall hesitated, fingers tapping on the armrest of his chair.
“It’s not my story to share. Let’s just say Chris has seen more darkness than most men. He carries it around.”
Isabela nodded slowly. She felt it when she was with him.
“He doesn’t let people in easily,” Randall continued, “But once you’re in he’ll bleed for you. That kind of loyalty is rare and comes with walls. Lots of them.”
Isabela swallowed. The words hit closer than she wanted to admit.
“Sometimes I think...” Randall gazed toward the window as if seeing something she couldn’t. When he didn’t continue, she prompted him.
He smiled, almost apologetically, before continuing.
“Chris won’t let himself believe he deserves good things.
Doesn’t think he’s worth seeing beyond the badge, beyond the mistakes.
” Randall rubbed a hand down his face. “He doesn’t need anyone to save him.
Just someone who wants him as he is. Flaws and all. ”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy but hopeful. She let them settle around her.
After a moment, she spoke up. “I appreciate your honesty. It means a lot, especially with everything on the line.”
“I know you’re in a tough spot. You’re not just dealing with facts, you’re dealing with pressure, politics, perception.” He offered a small smile. “But I’m glad it’s you.”
“Why?”
“Because I can tell you give a damn. Chris needs that, even if he’d never admit it.”
She couldn’t respond, so she stood. “Thank you for your time today. This really helps me build a profile for Mr. Macklin’s case.
As she walked him to the door, the weight of the conversation settled in her chest. Stepping out into the hallway, Randall paused.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I think you have good instincts. Trust them.”
“Thank you, Detective Hurts.”
“Call me Randall,” he said, then added with a wink, “We’re friends now.”
She laughed as the door closed behind him. Standing alone again, she turned back to her desk, the sunlight now casting long shadows across the room. Her coffee had gone cold. Her notes blurred on the page.
Chris Macklin was difficult, closed off, and often infuriating. But now, she wasn’t so sure she had him figured out. If Randall Hurts was right, then Christopher Macklin wasn’t the man the world thought he was. The question remained: was that better, or worse?