Nancy Warren - Aftershocks

What could be more rewarding than helping to save a city she’d grown to love?

AFTER MAKING SURE the hallway outside her office was empty, Briana stepped back inside and locked her door. She felt like an intruder. If Patrick returned for something, or the building superintendent needed to get in…well, she’d have a heck of a time explaining what she was doing at her boss’s desk, and with the outer door locked.

No help for it. If she was going to be a snoop, she was going to have to get used to the guilt.

She crossed to Patrick’s office and took a seat at his desk. Janie smiled at her from the framed photo. There were smaller pictures of Dylan and Fiona, taken at school, Briana imagined. Their innocent faces grinned at her, with that mouthwatering O’Shea grin. Their innocence made her feel small and sneaky and she had to resist the impulse to turn the photos facedown so they wouldn’t watch her do her dirty work.

Honestly, she’d never make it in a life of crime.

Flipping through Patrick’s Rolodex, she found the card for his dentist. And there was the code, scribbled under the dentist’s phone number.

Please, don’t let Patrick have changed his access code, she thought as she pulled up the police department’s internal Web site. She typed in Patrick’s name and his user code, which she’d used often enough. So far, so good.

It took her a few false starts, but she finally got to an area of old arrest files.

Obviously, these weren’t used often, so they’d been archived. When she clicked on the file, it asked for her password, and she began to type in the access code on the dentist’s file.

Briana got four of the ten digits entered when the phone rang. She was so tense that she jumped a mile and almost screamed. The phone would automatically be routed to the main reception desk at city hall, so she ignored the ringing and took a shaky breath.

Her fingers had hit a wrong key when she’d jumped, so she deleted what she’d typed and reentered the password. She swallowed. There was a risk that this transaction was being monitored somewhere, and that it could come back to Patrick as part of a report, though she’d never seen it happen yet. Still, if the password was outdated and someone noticed…

Well, Patrick had talked often enough about firing her. This would give him cause. She pushed the Enter key.

The file opened.

Since she had both her uncle’s name and that of the woman, it didn’t take more than five minutes for the particulars of the case to come up. The arresting officer was Joseph Z. Carlton.

Briana felt queasy at the thought of what her aunt and uncle had been subjected to over this. The incident had occurred more than twenty years ago. According to the scant details, which included a file number that probably corresponded to a moth-eaten manila folder filed in an old archive box somewhere, the charges were later dropped.

Or had there ever been any charges in the first place?

Did Joseph Z. Carlton even exist?

Briana knew how close Patrick and Max were. The police chief had been one of Patrick’s major supporters. But would either of them have stooped to anything so low as falsifying a police record in order to win a municipal election?

It seemed inconceivable to Briana, but obviously her uncle believed the two men had conspired against him.

She noted all the details, then logged out and carefully returned Patrick’s Rolodex to its original position. Grabbing her purse, she left the office, this time for real.

As bad luck would have it, she bumped into Lorna Sinke in the hallway.

“Oh, Briana,” the older woman said, looking puzzled. “I thought you’d gone for lunch.”

“I forgot something and had to come back,” she said, striving for a calm tone. “Is there something you need?”

“No. That’s fine. It’ll keep.”

Briana left the building, knowing she had the first piece of the puzzle-the name of the arresting officer and the police file number. She wanted to know what was in that arrest file and needed to see the original photo.

Once she was in her car, she headed for a mall and found a public pay phone. After calling the police administration office, she asked to speak to Officer Carlton.”

“Officer Carson? Susan Carson?”

“No. Carlton. Officer Joseph Z. Carlton.”

“There’s no officer with that name here, ma’am. What’s it regarding?”

She’d had a few minutes on her drive over to come up with a plausible explanation to that very question.

“I’m doing some research on policing methods in the nineteen-eighties,” she replied, hoping her voice sounded young. “I’m taking criminology in college, and this is my research project. I went through some old newspaper archives and found Officer Carlton’s name in several articles.”

“Oh, well, if it was in the eighties, he might have moved on or retired. We’ve got some officers here who’ve been on the beat a good long time, though. Want me to put you through to one of them?”

“Okay. Thank you.” She decided to wing it and hoped to hell that whoever answered had never spoken to the mayor’s administrative assistant.

A click sounded and a few minutes passed. She was starting to lose her nerve and considered hanging up when a gruff voice said, “Brady.”

“Officer Brady? I’m a university student…”

She asked Officer Brady a few perfectly useless questions about policing in the eighties, then inquired about the police archives. Although the archives weren’t open to the public, she would be able to obtain the name, description and occupation of the persons arrested.

“What if the information has previously been released?” Briana asked. “Like a mug shot.” She thought of the celebrity mug shots she saw far too often in the papers and on TV.

“Once it’s been released, then that information would be considered in the public domain,” the policeman told her.

Briana took a deep breath. “I’m interested in a story that was covered in the Sentinel about Councilor Cecil Thomson. A photo taken during the arrest was printed in the paper. I’d like access to that photo.”

“Sure,” Officer Brady said. “I remember that being in the paper. It caused a scandal at the time. I have to get permission before you can see the picture. Give me your number.”

“I’m on the road and don’t have a cell phone,” she said. “Could I call you back later?”

“Sure. Call around four o’clock. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. Um, the arresting officer was Joseph Z. Carlton.”

“Joe Carlton. Sure. I remember him. He’s been off the force a couple years. He retired to Acadia Springs.”

“Thank you very much for your time, Officer Brady.”

“Anytime. I’ll talk to you later.”

Her stomach felt a little jumpy, so she picked up a deli sandwich, which she didn’t really want, and forced herself to eat it before returning to the office.

At two forty-five, Briana received a phone call from Patrick telling her that he was on his way to Max’s. At the sound of his voice, her heart picked up speed.

“Did the media show?” she asked.

“Yep. I gave them your numbers, and a few sound bites Archie dreamed up. Is the phone still ringing?”

“More phone calls, more faxes, more e-mails. About the same ratio of pro and con.”

“Fantastic. No sign of Thomson waving the white flag?”

“Not yet.”

“All right. I’ll be a while with Max.” He paused. “Sure you don’t want me to put in a good word for you?”

She smiled wistfully. “You gave me a month,” she reminded him.

“Yeah? I don’t know who’s the bigger idiot. Me or you.”

She didn’t know either, but she sure hoped it was her.