David Simon - Homicide - A Year On The Killing Streets

“I wonder who even told her there was a meeting,” said James, amazed. “She fucking knows what’s going to happen even before we do…”

Everything that Worden had tried to avoid instead came to pass. He had wanted to work murders; now murders were not the priority. He had wanted to avoid spending time and effort wandering around in a public man’s private life for no valuable reason; now he and three or four other detectives would waste even more time prying up large pieces of the man’s privacy. Worden, James, Nolan-they were all pawns in a ridiculous game of brinksmanship as the bureaucrats tossed Larry Young’s political future around like a hot potato. And to what end? On the day that he had convinced the senator to recant his story, Worden had two open murders and was still actively involved in the grand jury probe of the Monroe Street shooting. Now, none of that meant a damn thing. Now, the bosses wanted nothing more than a complete investigation of state Senator Larry Young and his recantation of an alleged abduction. The department would be sending some of its best investigators out on the street to prove a negative, to show that a state legislator had not been abducted by three men in a mystery van. Then the senator would be charged with filing a false report-a paltry misdemeanor-in preparation for a court trial that the prosecutor’s office and police department had no real interest in winning. By tacit agreement, the trial would be nothing more than a public display, a show to appease public opinion. And Worden’s word-given honestly in the solitude of a beleaguered man’s office-now meant nothing. To the department, it was an utterly expendable commodity.

In a brief conversation that occurred a few days after the Larry Young imbroglio broke in the press, the captain mentioned Worden’s plight to Gary D’Addario and Jay Landsman. “You know,” he remarked, “I’d hate to see a good detective like Worden get jammed up over this Larry Young thing…”

Hate to see it? You’d hate to see it? What the hell does that mean? D’Addario wondered. The captain had signed off on the back door approach to Larry Young; they all had. How could this thing fall on Worden? D’Addario wondered whether the captain was trying to send a message or merely talking off the top of his head. With Landsman listening, D’Addario spoke up cautiously, trying to give the captain the benefit of the doubt.

“Why would Worden get jammed, captain?” he asked pointedly. “He was only following orders.”

It would be unfair, the captain agreed. He didn’t want to see it happen. At that moment, D’Addario was unsure what to believe and he held his tongue behind his teeth. If the captain’s comment was a grant of immunity-a suggestion that they could both skate any controversy by sacrificing Worden-then D’Addario hoped that his own response was enough to sink the plan. If the captain was just spouting off and not thinking about the implications, better to just let it pass.

Landsman and D’Addario both left the captain’s office confused. Perhaps the idea of Worden as a scapegoat was coming from the captain, perhaps from someone higher up. Perhaps they were misreading the comment. There was no way for D’Addario to know, but he and Landsman agreed that if the idea of burning Worden ever took solid form, they would have to go to war with the captain and burn every last bridge. Even to someone as jaded by command staff ethics as D’Addario, the idea of Worden as a sacrificial lamb was unbelievable. Worden was one of the best men in the unit, yet in a crisis, he was being considered as fodder.

The defense of Donald Worden in the captain’s office was a subdued affair, but D’Addario’s quiet refusal to burn a detective was soon known to the entire shift. It was, the detectives agreed, one of LTD’s finer moments and proof positive that he was a man that other men could follow.

It had been one thing, after all, for D’Addario to cater a bit to the chain of command when the clearance rate was low; that cost nothing and allowed his detectives to do their work with only a minimum of interference from the bosses. Besides, the same clearance rate that had made D’Addario seem vulnerable earlier in the year was now his ally. Even with the summer homicide deluge on them, the rate was now hovering at 70 percent, and the lieutenant’s leadership, which had earlier been open to question, was once again of some value to the bosses. For D’Addario, the worm had turned.

But even if the rate had been low, D’Addario would have felt obligated to speak up in the captain’s office. Worden in a jackpot? Donald Worden? The Big Man? What the hell could the bosses be thinking? However seriously the idea had been considered, if it had really been considered at all, there was no further mention of it after D’Addario’s conversation with the captain. And yet the lieutenant knew that his defense of Worden could only go so far; in the end, Worden might not be abused for his part in the Larry Young fiasco, but the detective was most certainly correct in believing that he had already been badly used.

Worden had given another man-a politician, of course, but a man nonetheless-his promise. And now, for the sake of its own public image, the police department and the mayor’s office were proving just how much such a promise was worth.

Still, even a badly used detective has to eat, and on this summer morning, Worden mixes his anger with a little patience as he waits for Eddie and Dave Brown to return from their murder scene. When Dave Brown finally returns to the office, he glides gently into the coffee room, conscious of Worden’s week-long anger. Wordless, he lays the egg sandwich directly in front of the Big Man, then swings back toward his own desk.

“What do I owe you?” asks Worden.

“I covered it.”

“No. What do I owe you?”

“That’s okay, bunk. I’ll get you next time.”

Worden shrugs, then sits back to pick at his breakfast. McLarney was off last night, and as senior man, Worden had worked the midnight shift as the acting supervisor. It had been miserable and now Worden can look forward to another full shift of shepherding witnesses to and from the grand jury that is hearing the Larry Young case. The whole fiasco would probably consume the rest of the week.

“What did you have out there?” Worden asks Dave Brown.

“Stone fucking whodunit.”

“Hmmm.”

“Dead yo in a low-rise courtyard. When we rolled him, he still had his own gun in his pants. That bad boy was cocked, too, with one in the chamber.”

“Someone was quicker on the draw, huh?” offers Rick James from the other end of the room. “Where’s he shot?”

“Top of the head. Like the shooter was above him or maybe caught him when he was ducking down.”

“Ouch.”

“He’s got an exit wound in the neck and we got the bullet, but it’s all fucked up, pancaked like. No good for comparison.”

James nods.

“I need a car for the morgue,” says Brown.

“Take this one,” says James, tossing the keys. “We can walk over to the courthouse.”

“I don’t know about that, Rick,” says Worden with bitter sarcasm. “I don’t know if we can give him a car to do real police work. If he was investigating a senator or something like that, it would be one thing. But I don’t think he gets a car for a murder…”

James shakes his head. “Hey, they can do whatever they want,” he tells Worden. “I’m just happy to be making money again.”

“Oh hell yeah,” says Dave Brown. “More money than I’m gonna make on this murder, I’ll bet.”

“That’s right,” says Worden. “For purposes of the Larry Young investigation, the overtime cap has been lifted. From now on, I won’t be working murders anymore. There’s just no money in it…”