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  Farrell ran down the list of things he needed to know, decisions he needed to make, and those things he could not forget. An officer-involved shooting, or OIS, was one of the more difficult events for a police leader to handle. There were many moving parts and many different considerations. In a typical shooting, he had to concern himself primarily with the criminal investigation, and realistically, Lieutenant Flowers oversaw that. Major Crimes detectives were good at what they did and had his full confidence. Most of the time, his role was limited to informing the chief of police about the details he learned from Flowers. Occasionally, he took media duty, giving them what amounted to a canned statement.

  Not tonight, though.

  Tonight, he had to worry about more than just the investigation. The media had already assembled in force at the far end of the outer perimeter. In the aftermath of a controversial shooting in Philadelphia, Farrell didn’t doubt they were primed to tear into this one with vigor. Right now, the shark tank looked only marginally larger than usual, but he knew it would grow, especially if what Flowers had told him in their brief phone conversation turned out to be accurate. He imagined the blaring headline now: Black Police Officer Shoots Unarmed White Victim in the Back!

  It didn’t matter. He had a job to do. He had to make sure that Garrett’s rights were protected, both criminally and in line with the union contract. Unless Flowers had some different news when they talked, he would need to invoke the OIS protocol. That meant calling the county sheriff’s office and requesting that they take the lead in the investigation. The purpose of this was to ensure objectivity and avoid conflicts of interest. Farrell wasn’t entirely sure the process accomplished either goal any better than the old system, when they investigated their own shootings, but he recognized the political advantages. It just created a different set of headaches for him, dealing with another agency. Especially one headed by an elected official.

  Farrell reached for the door, then realized he had forgotten the most important thing. Officer Tyler Garrett. The man had just been involved in a life and death situation. He needed to make sure Garrett was all right.

  “Jesus,” Farrell muttered in the silence of his car. That should have been his first concern. Garrett was a person, not just another box on his checklist. He wondered if he’d been away from the street for too long, practicing politics instead of policing.

  He got out of his car and strode toward Flowers. The corporal standing with Flowers saw him coming and suddenly found something else to do. Farrell didn’t take it personally. He knew it wasn’t him. It was the bars on his collar. That was all most officers saw.

  “Hey, Cap,” Flowers said.

  “Dan.”

  “You awake yet?”

  “Awake enough. Run it for me.”

  Flowers glanced down at his steno notepad, then he said, “Not much has happened since I called you. We’ve locked everything down and established an inner and outer perimeter. Media is contained over there.” He pointed down the street.

  “How are they?”

  “Restless.”

  “I bet. What else?”

  “Well, Corporal DeHaan is taking preliminary photos of the scene. We’ve kept most everyone out of the inner perimeter once we managed to string some tape, so the scene itself is relatively clean.”

  “You’ve been inside the scene?”

  Flowers nodded. “Yeah, before I called you.”

  “And?”

  Flowers’ expression was grim. “It’s like I said. Looks like Trotter was hit in the back.”

  “Still no gun?”

  “No.”

  Farrell sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “The gunshot wound to the back I can understand. A shooting situation is a tense, uncertain—”

  “—and rapidly evolving situation,” Flowers finished, picking up the quote. “Perfectly stated, Cap. Straight out of Graham v. Connor.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Farrell chewed on his lip. The shot in the back could be legitimately explained, he knew. It was the missing weapon that bothered him.

  “Any ideas on the gun?” he asked Flowers.

  “Nothing that isn’t pure speculation.”

  “Then speculate.”

  Flowers looked around to make sure no one could overhear him. “We’re in East Central. Maybe someone grabbed it.”

  Farrell scowled. “Plenty of good people live in East Central.”

  “So do plenty of shitheads.”

  Farrell couldn’t argue that point, so he moved on. “How, then?”

  Flowers pointed at the small house that Garrett’s patrol car was parked in front of. “Someone fired on Garrett from that house. He ran after them and hadn’t returned yet by the time Officer Zielinski arrived on scene. There’s a window of time that someone could have grabbed the gun.”

  “How long?”

  Flowers shrugged. “A minute. Maybe a little more.”

  “That sounds like a bit of a stretch.”

  “It is, but it’s possible. Besides, you asked for speculation.”

  Farrell nodded slowly. “I did.” He looked around the scene. “What else?”

  “There are expended casings on the floor inside the house. It’s for sale and deserted.”

  “Okay. Witnesses?”

  “None yet, but we’re still canvassing.”

  “Who have you called?”

  “I notified the chief right after you. He’s on his way.”

  “How is he not here yet?” The chief lived in a condo in the revitalized area of downtown, all of five minutes away.

  “He was at his lake cabin.”

  Farrell nodded. He’d been to the cabin on Loon Lake for a command retreat less than a month ago. Even accounting for how fast the chief liked to drive, he knew that he probably still had ten or fifteen minutes before his arrival.

  “The Union here?”

  “Yeah, Dale Thomas is around somewhere. I didn’t have to call him, though. Someone else already did.”

  “Who else did you call?”

  “I notified Lofton.”

  Farrell grimaced. “Jesus, Dan. Did you call the Pope, too?”

  Flowers looked slightly hurt. “Lofton’s on the notification list.”

  “It’s the chief’s job to call the mayor, not yours.” Unspoken was that the notification from the chief was better done after he’d been thoroughly briefed. As far as Farrell was concerned, telling everyone and their sister what was going on before the investigators really knew themselves was a recipe for disaster.

  “Sorry.”

  Farrell waved it off. “What’s done is done. What else?”

  Flowers cleared his throat. “I…uh, I made a preliminary call to county to let them know we might need to invoke the OIS protocol. They’re just waiting on official word from you as the duty staff officer.”

  That one didn’t bother Farrell as much. In reality, the decision to invoke was a slam dunk, and Flowers probably saved some time in making the call. It meant that county investigators were probably already awake, dressed and waiting for the official notification.

  “Good,” he said, smoothing over his earlier disapproval. “Go ahead and make the call.”

  “I thought you—”

  “I need to check on Ty. Where is he?”

  Flowers pointed across the street. Officer Ty Garret sat on the concrete steps of a walkway leading from the sidewalk to someone’s house. He had a blanket draped over his shoulders and held a bottle of water loosely in his hands. Two other patrol officers stood nearby protectively, giving him his space.

  “Do we have peer support en route?”

  “Officer Griffin is already here, but Ty didn’t feel like talking.” Flowers motioned toward the pair of officers near Garrett. “Those two are SWAT, and they’re pretty much keeping anyone away who doesn’t have business with him.”

  Farrell raised an eyebro
w. “Anyone?” He didn’t like the idea that the SWAT officers thought they could sequester Garrett from him. He appreciated how hard that SWAT trained and how good they were at their job, but sometimes the price for having such an elite unit was a corresponding elite attitude. “You’re SWAT or you’re not, huh?”

  “I don’t mean it like that,” Flowers said. “They’re just making sure he has some space, is all.”

  Farrell understood then. “You got a tactical debrief from him already, right?”

  “Yes. That’s how I know the basics of what occurred here. Shots fired, direction, number of suspects. I got it all from him, by the book. Even had Thomas there for the whole thing.”

  “Good.” He clapped Flowers on the shoulder. “Call the county, Dan. Invoke the protocol.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Farrell turned to go, then thought of something. “Dan?”

  “Yeah, Cap?”

  “We need to assign a shadow as host agency for this. Who’s up next on the wheel?”

  Farrell thought Flowers might need to consult his notes, but obviously he had already thought of this. The lieutenant answered immediately. “Talbott’s up. I’ll get him down here to liaise with the county detectives.”

  “Make it happen.”

  Flowers was already pulling out his phone when Farrell walked away.

  The two SWAT officers eyed him coolly as he approached. One had his patrol rifle slung and hung, dangling in front of him on its strap, his right hand poised on the grip. The other stood on the opposite side of Garrett with crossed arms. Farrell recognized both men but had to glance down at their silver nametags to remember their names. Unlike large municipalities, Spokane’s SWAT team was a part-time unit with team members spread across every patrol unit. Members jumped at moments like this to gear up and look ready, even when a threat was no longer viable. “Gentlemen,” he said. “Thanks for taking care of him.”

  Neither man answered but both dipped their chins in reply.

  Farrell settled onto the concrete step next to Garrett. The patrol officer had been staring at his hands until then. When he noticed Farrell, he stiffened slightly.

  “How’re you doing, son?” Farrell asked, keeping his voice easy.

  “Fine, sir.” Garrett’s tone was neutral, formal.

  “I was told you weren’t injured. Is that true?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. You have everything you need?”

  Garrett raised the half-empty bottle of water. “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything I can do for you?”

  Garrett shook his head. “No, sir. I don’t think so.”

  Farrell hesitated, then told him. “Things are going to be all right. We’ll get through this. If this was a clean shoot—”

  “It was a clean shoot!” Garrett interrupted suddenly and forcefully.

  Shit, Farrell thought. He was making a mess of this. He had to choose his words more carefully.

  “I know,” he said, holding up a hand to calm Garrett. “Everyone knows who you are, Ty.” He used the man’s first name even though they had never talked in an unofficial capacity. “We all know what kind of cop you are. We’ll stand behind you.”

  Garrett looked at him for the first time since Farrell sat down. “I didn’t do anything wrong, sir. They shot at me. I—”

  “Captain?”

  Farrell looked up. Union President Dale Thomas stood nearby. He wore jeans and a rumpled Spokane Police Union sweatshirt, a far cry from his usual suit and tie.

  “Yes?”

  “Why are you talking to my member about this incident?”

  Farrell’s jaw clenched. He bit back his first two replies. Instead, he turned to Garrett and patted him on the leg. “Everything will work out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let me know if you need anything.”

  Farrell stood and headed back toward Flowers. On the way, he purposefully brushed past Thomas. The union president called after him, but he ignored his words. Ever since the union transitioned from having an active duty officer act as president to hiring a full-time advocate in that role, relations between the administration and labor had worsened drastically. It had reached the point where every meeting was contentious, every action based in legality. Farrell remembered the days when command members and union reps simply talked problems out. Now they went to binding arbitration over everything.

  An approaching siren irritated him further. He listened to discern if it was law enforcement or medics. It was one of theirs, he decided. He wondered what kind of idiot ran lights and siren to a static crime scene.

  Flowers hung up his phone as Farrell approached. “County is en route.”

  “Good.

  “Talbott on the way, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is there any reason we have to keep Garrett here?”

  Flowers considered. “No, I guess not.”

  “Let’s get him a ride to the station, then. Corporal DeHaan can photograph him and collect his uniform and equipment for evidence. Afterwards, get him home to his family.”

  “All right.”

  The siren drew closer, then abruptly stopped. Farrell saw a black SUV pull to a stop behind his own Chevy Impala. The license plate read L-100.

  The chief had arrived.

  “Belay my last,” Farrell told Flowers. He knew the chief would want to talk with Garrett before the officer left the scene. “But get it arranged.”

  “Copy that,” Flowers replied.

  Farrell walked toward the SUV, clicking off the things in his head that the chief would want to know.

  Chief Robert Baumgartner eased his huge frame out of the driver’s seat of his SUV. He’d taken the time to dress in his uniform. While the uniform itself wasn’t particularly impressive on his doughy body, the amount of brass on display made up for it. The three stars on his collar were prominent enough to reflect even the dim light of the street lights. Farrell noticed that Baumgartner’s hair was neatly combed, and he was freshly shaved. How he managed all of that and still got here so fast was a mystery to Farrell, but it could only mean one thing. The chief intended to address the media.

  “Tom, what do we know?”

  Farrell spent the next ten minutes carefully briefing the chief on everything he knew about the situation. To his credit, Baumgartner listened almost entirely without interruption, only asking for the occasional clarification. When Farrell had finished, Baumgartner pressed lips together and sighed through his nose.

  “This one could be bad,” he said. “Especially after the one that happened in Philadelphia.”

  Farrell didn’t reply.

  “What do we tell the media?” Baumgartner asked.

  “Nothing,” Farrell said. “Because we know nothing.”

  Baumgartner narrowed his eyes. “You just spent the last several minutes briefing me on everything we know, Tom. That’s hardly nothing.”

  “I’ve filled you in on a very few basic facts that we know, Chief. All of the rest is simply what we are doing at this stage. When it comes to what we know for certain, the answer is virtually nothing.”

  “I can’t go in front of the cameras and tell them nothing.”

  “Then don’t go in front of the cameras.”

  The chief smirked. “I have to. People need to be reassured and hear that everything is under control, especially after the Philadelphia mess.”

  “That’s Philadelphia. It’s clear across the country. It has nothing to do with Spokane.”

  The chief shook his head. “That’s not true anymore, and you know it. When some white cop shoots a black citizen and it looks dodgy, the fact that it happened in Philadelphia barely matters. That’s why I need to get in front of the cameras and sooner rather than later. I have to tell them that this isn’t Philadelphia. That’s the reality of the situation. Tell me what I can tell them, not what I can’t.”

  “All right.” Farrell counted
on his fingers one at a time. “An officer made a traffic stop. Shots were fired. One person is dead. The officer is safe and we’re investigating. That’s it.”

  Baumgartner sighed again. “A trained monkey could make that statement. There’s no meat to it.”

  “We don’t have the meat to this case yet, Chief. Just give them those basics tonight. Or don’t say anything.”

  Baumgartner considered this, then shrugged. “Okay, but I won’t be able to put them off for long. If we don’t get the facts out there, they’ll make something up. Either way, there will be a story.”

  Farrell was well aware of Baumgartner’s media philosophy. “We should be in a better position by late morning. I’m sure the mayor’s office will want to be in the loop.”

  “No shit,” Baumgartner said, anger flashing in his eyes. “I’ve already been on the phone with Cody Lofton, his chief of staff.”

  “I know Lofton.”

  “He already knew about this when he called me. How is that?”

  Farrell hesitated, then lied. “I asked Lieutenant Flowers to notify him, as a heads up. Lofton was supposed to wait until you called with the rest of the details.”

  Baumgartner glared at him. “Well, he didn’t wait, did he? Talking to the mayor is my job, Tom.” He pointed to the stars on his collar. “That’s what these mean. For good or bad, it’s my job. Don’t do that again.”

  “No, sir. I won’t.”

  Baumgartner dropped his bluster as quickly as he’d assumed it. “You said you invoked the OIS protocol, right?”

  Farrell nodded.

  “And assigned a shadow from our department?”

  “Yes. Detective Talbott.”

  Baumgartner shook his head. “We’re going to change that.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Talbott. He’s out. We need a different look in that role.”

  Farrell didn’t understand. “I’m sorry, sir. A different look?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you mean?”

  The chief affected an even expression, almost imperious. “I spoke with Lofton, and we both agreed that Detective Clint would be the best fit to shadow the county’s investigation.”