Michael Prescott - In Dark Places

"How could I?"

"You said you've known him for years. You know how he'll behave, you told me."

"That doesn't mean I keep tabs on his whereabouts."

"Why do I have the feeling you're holding out on me?"

Wolper tried a smile. "You sound like a cop interrogating a suspect."

She didn't smile back. "I'm just a doctor trying to get some information. I think you can help me. Why won't you?"

A moment passed as he squeezed the ball a few times and considered several responses. "Let me be honest with you, Doctor. I'm not too happy about the idea of Brand's participation in this program of yours. Using the same treatment on cops that you've been using on criminals amp; it doesn't sit well with me."

"The only connection is the nature of the syndrome. Post-traumatic stress doesn't discriminate between good guys and bad."

"That's not how the media will see it. They'll jump all over this. You know the angle they'll play upcops who are so shell-shocked, they're one step away from being hardened cons themselves. The department doesn't need that kind of publicity. We've gotten enough black eyes over the last few years as it is."

"Black eyes? I guess that's one way to put it."

He knew what she meant. Since the Rodney King arrest, there had been an unbroken string of public relations disasters for the LAPDthe riots of '92, the O. J. Simpson debacle, the succession of failed chiefs, and the overshadowing scandal of the antigang cops in Rampart Division, who had turned into a drug-dealing gang themselves.

"How would you put it?" he asked, though he really didn't care.

"According to the Christopher Commission report"

"The Christopher Commission report was a politically motivated smear job."

"Was Rampart a smear?"

"The Rampart scandal was blown out of proportion. It was a few bad cops. The department overreacted, and the media jumped all over the story."

"But you don't deny there were abuses, that people were framed by their arresting officers, that cocaine was stolen out of evidence rooms, that police officers perjured themselves"

"What is this, a Sixty Minutes interview?"

She took a breath. "Sorry. We're getting offtrack. The point is, the media need never know about this. My work with my patients is completely confidential."

"Nothing is confidential in this town." Wolper rubbed his forehead. "Ever since the orders came down from Parker Center, I've known this was going to be a pain in the ass. Brand doesn't want to cooperate, most of his fellow officers agree with him, and I get to play the bad guy, the enforcer."

"All you're enforcing is an opportunity for Sergeant Brand to get better."

"That's not how the rank and file see it."

"No? Why not?"

Wolper leaned back in his chair. "Brand's a street cop. He never wanted to be anything else. Some guys get into this work to be civil servants. They put in their twenty years, then cash out. They hate the street. They'll take a desk job as soon as it comes up. No one ever got killed riding a desk. It's nice and safe back here. We call them pogues."

"Pogues?"

"Pogues. I don't know where the term comes from, but it means a commanding officerlieutenant, captainwho knows all about paperwork and has zero street IQ. Not exactly admired by the rank and file. Brand's never aspired to a desk job. He's only happy when he's pushing a black-and-white, chasing the radio. It's what he lives for. He has no wife, no kids, nothing at all outside the job."

"Doesn't sound like a very well adjusted personality, does he?"

Wolper fought back his irritation. "My point is, he's the kind of cop that other cops respect. Any officer who's ever worked with him trusts Brand to watch his backor take a bullet for him if necessary. Men like Brand are the guts of this police force. We've already lost too many of them to early retirement or transfers to other cities. We can't afford to lose any more."

"That's a nice speech, Lieutenant. But the fact is, you've already lost Brand, haven't you? He's not showing up for work. He's showing other symptoms of post-traumatic stress also. I know. I've talked with the psychiatrist who's been treating him. If he's as important to the department as you say, then you ought to want him to get over this problem that's keeping him off the job."

"I do want him to get over it."

"Then why are you shielding him from me?"

He flattened the squeeze ball again. "I'm not shielding anybody."

"That's not how it looks from here."

Wolper took a moment to compose a reply. "Being a cop amp; it's a lot like joining a fraternity. We all go through the same initiation, the same hazing. We earn our street degree. We look out for each other."

"You're supposed to look out for the public."

"We do that also. The two aren't mutually exclusive."

"Aren't they?"

He knew she was thinking of the scandals. Baiting him.

He was tired of being on the defensive with this woman. He set aside the squeeze ball and stared her down.

"Look, if Brand needs to work off his emotional baggage by doing some things I wouldn't do, hanging out in places I wouldn't go" He stopped.

"What places?"

Damn . He hadn't meant to say that much. "Even if I told you, Doctor, you wouldn't want to go there. Take my word for it."

"What places?" she asked again.

"I have no idea. I was speaking hypothetically."

"No, you weren't."

"Let's just say I was." He showed her a hard smile.

"Let's just say I'll go over your head to Deputy Chief Wagner. If he asks you, maybe you'll give a straight answer."

So she was playing hardball. Great.

Wolper had gotten himself cornered. He could give her a phony address, but what would that accomplish? She would only come back to hassle him again. And if he kept putting her off, she would put Wagner on the case. That was all he goddamn neededa deputy chief breathing down his neck.

He drummed his fingers on the desk for a long moment, then picked up a plain index card and wrote on it in block letters. He almost handed it to her, but hesitated. He really did not want her to have this information. If she knew what was good for her, she wouldn't want it, either.

"Going here is not a good idea, Dr. Cameron. Believe me."

"Bad neighborhood?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"VFW?"

He was surprised she knew the term, and even more surprised she'd used it. "Definitely. But that's not the only reason. It's the nature of the establishment itself. To be blunt, I can't vouch for your personal safety."

She wasn't backing down. "Are you going to give me the address or not?"

Reluctantly he surrendered the card.

"You're putting yourself in danger if you go," he said.

"Maybe you'd like to accompany me."

"Can't do that, I'm afraid. It's off my beat. Besides amp; I shouldn't be seen there."

Something flickered in her eyes, and he knew she'd understood why he filled out the index card in capitals instead of his normal, identifiable handwriting.

"And if anyone asks how I got the address amp;?" she began.

"You never received it from me."

"I'll keep that in mind. So you think I can find him at this address?"

"Can't guarantee it. But it's your best shot."

She stood. "Thanks for your help. By the way, what exactly does VFW stand for?"

"I thought you knew."

"I don't. It's just something I picked up."

"Well amp; not everything about the LAPD is politically correct, even today. It stands for 'very few whites.'"

"I see."

"Shocked?" He allowed himself to smile at her.

"It takes more than that to shock me, Lieutenant Wolper. Thanks again for your help."

She left, shutting the door. Wolper stared after her.

She wasn't quite what he'd expected. He had imagined someone more timid. Instead she was stubborn and tough. Maybe not as tough as she wanted to appear, but tough enough.