Frank Zafiro - Heroes Often Fail

Fred shook his head. “You don’t understand. When that officer came to the house, she was still upstairs. She was still alive.”

0843 hours

“Son of a bitch!” Crawford said in a low voice.

Tower’s Styrofoam cup slipped from his fingers and fell to the tiled floor. Coffee splattered against the wall and across the floor.

“Shit!” Crawford said.

Tower ignored him. He stared through the one-way glass, his stomach sinking. Amy Dugger was alive in the attic when Kopriva came to the house.

She was alive. And Kopriva refused Nancy’s invitation to search the house.

“He would’ve found her,” Tower muttered, shaking his head. “She’d still be alive.”

“Son of a bitch! ” Crawford repeated and stalked from the observation room.

0844 hours

Browning fought down the bile in his stomach and maintained a professional demeanor. Fred had responded well to his calmness and to his sympathy. He couldn’t abandon them now.

“When did she hurt Amy with the hammer?”

“Last night,” Fred said. “Before dinner.”

“How did she end up in the field?”

Fred lowered his chin to his chest and began to cry again. “She made me.”

“She made you do what, Fred?”

He balled up his fists and slammed both onto his own hips. “She made me do everything after. I had to take care of everything.”

“The van?”

“She made me burn it.”

“And Amy?” Browning asked. “Did Nancy make you put her in the field?”

Fred nodded his head. “She said they couldn’t be connected.”

Browning sat back and took a deep breath. Then he reached into the small drawer in the interview table. He removed a notepad and a pair of white Bic pens. Both pens were missing caps. He slid the pens and the pad across the table to crying man.

“Write it down, Fred,” he said. “Write it down so everyone will know the truth.”

Fred nodded, blinking at the notepad through tear-filled eyes. He reached for the pen and pulled the pad toward him. “What do you want me to write?”

“Everything,” Browning said.

0846 hours

Officer Jack Willow had watched as Detective Browning exited the interview room earlier. The rooms were relatively soundproof, but he’d heard Detective Tower’s voice get loud earlier and then the detective had stalked out of the room. As he passed Willow, Tower had tipped him a wink and the officer understood. They were playing the oldest gambit there was-good cop/bad cop.

Now, as Browning approached him, he wondered whether the ploy was successful or not. From the grave look on Browning’s face, he didn’t think so.

“Jack, I need you to stand guard here,” Browning said. “The guy in there is not to leave. Understand? He’s a collar.”

Willow nodded and changed his mind about the interview. If the guy was under arrest, something must have gone right. But that didn’t explain the expression on Browning’s face.

Tower slipped out of the observation room and joined them.

“Right now,” Browning continued instructing Willow, “he’s writing up a statement. If he gets thirsty, have one of the secretaries get him some water or soda or something. Don’t ask him any questions and don’t tell him anything. If he gets antsy, you tell him he needs to wait for me to come back. If he asks when that’ll be, just tell him it’ll be another ten minutes, no matter how many times he asks. Okay?”

“Okay,” Willow said.

Browning turned to Tower. “Let’s go find her.”

Crawford appeared from the other side of the room, walking purposefully toward his office with Kopriva in tow. The young officer limped slightly as he struggled to keep up with the heavy-set lieutenant.

“El-Tee,” Browning said. “We’re going out to look for Nancy Henderson.”

“Find her,” Crawford said gruffly. He paused at the door and waited for Kopriva to enter his office. Then he stepped inside and closed the door loudly behind himself.

Tower turned to Willow and tapped him lightly on the arm. “Always follow your gut, kid. You got that?”

Willow nodded.

“Let’s go,” Browning said, and they left a bewildered Willow standing near the interview room.

0912 hours

Crawford’s words hung in the air like the stench of a burned out building. Kopriva shook his head in disbelief.

“She was there? Amy was there? ”

“Yes, you stupid son of a bitch,” Crawford spewed at him. “She was upstairs in the attic, where you would have found her if you had taken the time to search.”

Kopriva shook his head again. “She was still alive?”

“Are you deaf?” Crawford roared. “She was alive. She was upstairs. You should have searched the goddamn house when that crazy woman offered.”

“But she was crazy,” Kopriva muttered, his head spinning. “We were looking for a black guy and a Mexican. I just thought-”

“You didn’t think! You fucked up!” Spittle flew from Crawford’s mouth in a spray as he yelled. “Why didn’t you search? I want an answer to that, officer. I want an answer to that right now!”

“I…I…just thought it was nothing.” Kopriva gave his head a hard shake to clear it. “Oh, Jesus. She was there? Alive?”

There was a short silence. Kopriva’s head was spinning and his mouth was dry. He could hear the hum of the air system and Crawford’s labored breathing.

“Oh, Jesus,” he muttered. “I killed her.”

“You’re fucking right you did,” Crawford barked. “And you are relieved of duty. Go home and don’t come back until the Chief calls for you.”

Kopriva looked up at Crawford and met his dark eyes as they bore into him. His stomach lurched and he gagged.

Crawford looked at him in disgust. “Don’t you puke in my office, you piece of shit.”

Kopriva gagged again, but forced it down.

“Get the fuck out of my office,” Crawford said.

Kopriva turned and left. When he opened the door, he saw Officer Willow look over at him, and his stomach heaved again. He fought down the gorge once more and walked as quickly as could out of the Major Crimes office and down the hall to the bathroom.

Once inside, he knelt in front of the toilet. His knee screamed at him in protest, but was overruled by his stomach. He heaved again, and this time held nothing back. He threw up his breakfast, then his coffee and then there was nothing left except the dry, hard contractions.

Slowly, the dry heaves subsided. He spat into the toilet several times, and then flushed the mess. He stared at the water and the vomit as it turned and whirled and sank down the drain.

1121 hours

They waited for two hours, parked up the street under the shade of a huge oak tree, watching for the blue Taurus. When it appeared at the end of the block, both men sat up. Browning started the car.

“Think she’ll run for it?” Tower asked.

“Who knows?”

“I hope so,” Tower muttered.

The Taurus pulled up in front of the Henderson house and stopped. Nancy Henderson exited the driver’s seat and walked toward the trunk. Even from a distance, it was obvious that she was talking to herself as she pulled a bag of groceries from the rear of the car.

“Punch it,” Tower said.

Browning agreed and gunned the engine. The Crown Victoria roared and in less than two seconds, the detectives screeched to a halt just five feet from Nancy Henderson.

The look of surprise on her face quickly melted to anger as the two men exited the police car.

“Are you sonsabitches out of your minds? You just about hit me!”

“Nancy, you’re under arrest,” Browning said.

Nancy snorted. “No, I’m not. Fuck you.” She turned and walked toward her house.