Castillo Linda - Outsider

“He say anything about immunity?”

“No.”

She nods, her expression telling me she didn’t expect a different answer. “I’ll be arrested?”

“Probably.”

She nods, having known that, too. “Booked into County?”

“Until they can figure out what to do with you. I don’t know about bail. You’ll likely have to wait for your arraignment or bail hearing.” I look around, not for the first time regretting that I dumped that bottle of Gentleman Jack. “Gina, I wish there was another way.”

“I could always hightail it to Mexico.” The laugh that follows is cold and rough.

“It’s the best we can do. The rest is up to you and the system. The courts.”

Finally, she raises her gaze to mine. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

“I’m glad we got to reconnect. I wish the circumstances were different.”

“I’m ready to be done with this, Kate,” she tells me. “Get it over with. Whatever happens, whatever the future holds, good or bad, it’s got to be better than this … limbo.”

Even as she makes the statement, we both know there are no guarantees. She’s facing a multitude of serious charges and could possibly spend years behind bars. Her career is finished, her reputation forever tainted. She’ll never work in law enforcement in any capacity again.

We fall silent, thoughtful, both of us feeling more than is prudent. The truth of the matter is there’s nothing left to say. No comfort to be had.

Rising, I set my hand on her shoulder. “Get some sleep,” I tell her, knowing it’s the one thing neither of us will do tonight.

And I walk away.

CHAPTER 29

They left the motel at twelve thirty A.M. The snow had stopped at some point. A heavy-lidded moon gazed down at them from an infinite black sky. The wind was nearly calm, and the temperature hovered somewhere in the teens. Bertrand couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so edgy. Usually before a raid or the execution of a no-knock warrant, he was pumped up and ready to go.

This was different. This time, there was more risk, more at stake. He didn’t have the rest of the team to back him. No SWAT. No cops standing around, hoping for some action. And there were so damn many things that could go wrong. When that was the case, something usually did.

Road conditions were still hazardous. All over town, vehicles were stuck in drifts and abandoned. Piles of snow left by the plows were ten feet high on both sides of the road. At nearly every intersection, they had to break through a foot or so of residual ice and snow left by the blade.

Bertrand cut the headlights as he made the turn onto the township road. Moonlight glinted off the snow, offering just enough light to see the road. He stopped the SUV in front of the Lengacher place, the same spot they’d parked the night before. He could feel his heart beating against the Kevlar vest he’d cinched tight beneath his coat.

“No lights inside,” Mercer muttered from the passenger seat.

“Barns are dark,” Bertrand said, squinting into the darkness.

They’d put the shotgun in the backseat. Both men carried pistols. Bertrand had the warrant tucked into his shirt pocket beneath his coat. He’d called the Holmes County Sheriff’s Department at just before midnight. He’d apprised the deputy of “the situation” and told him they would be serving the warrant “around twelve.” The deputy, believing he meant at noon the next day, agreed to have the sheriff call him back “ASAP.” Bertrand had also mentioned Kate Burkholder, telling him she would likely be at the scene. He didn’t know the whole story there. Seed planted. Everything under control. Time to move.

The lane to the Lengacher farm hadn’t been cleared and the snow was too deep for any vehicle to navigate. The neighboring farm was a quarter mile away and there weren’t many trees between the homes for cover, so Bertrand idled down the road a ways and parked in the shadows beneath a stand of trees. He shut down the engine.

“You got the throw-down?” he asked.

Mercer unzipped his coat pocket, withdrew a pistol bundled in a hand towel, and unwrapped it. “Picked it up at a bust last year. Serial number is filed off. Never been logged in to Evidence.”

Bertrand knew his weapons. Even in the semidark, he recognized it as a Smith & Wesson .380. A common gun. Cheap. Accessible. This one couldn’t be traced.

“Give it to me,” he said, and dropped it into his coat pocket.

He pulled out his own sidearm, a Glock 22 he’d carried for years. He checked the clip, made sure there was a round in the chamber, and shoved it into his other pocket. Mercer handed him a mini Maglite, a smaller version than the one he kept in his cruiser, which made it easier to carry. The large ones, after all, doubled as a billy club if you needed it.

“Keep your eyes open,” Bertrand said, and got out of the vehicle.

The two men stood outside on the road for a minute, looking for anything out of place, listening. Around them, the night was so hushed Bertrand could hear the steady thrum of his heart.

“I guess this is it,” Mercer said, his breath puffing out in front of his face.

“Let’s get this over with,” Bertrand said.

The two men started toward the mouth of the lane.

CHAPTER 30

I’d been a cop for four years the night I found out my best friend wasn’t the person I thought she was. That she was keeping secrets. That there was more to her than I’d ever imagined—and not all of it was good. Initially, I wanted to believe she’d taken some bad advice, conceded to impulse, or made a wrong decision somewhere along the way. Or maybe someone had pressured her into doing something she didn’t want to do. Hey, maybe she’d simply fallen in with the wrong crowd.

Wishful thinking all.

Everyone knew there were a few rogue cops among us. Patrol officers and detectives who pushed the boundaries of departmental policy, not quite breaking the law but skating the line. The ones who partook in activities that would be frowned upon by the brass—and get you fired if you didn’t have the aptitude for a promotion or the solve rate to back you up.

I wanted to believe anything except the truth that had been staring me in the face for months now—and threatened to crush the friendship I’d held dear since the night I wandered into that diner looking for food and walked out with the best friend I’d ever had.

We were working second shift by then and it was the night before my weekend, which happened to fall on Monday and Tuesday. It was July, and Gina and I had planned a trip to Cleveland and Lake Erie for three unencumbered days of sun and fun on the beach—and whatever else we could get into. It was an hour before quitting time and a slow night to boot. Gina had called earlier to cancel the post-shift dinner we’d planned. She was helping out some task force guys working in an area that abutted my zone. My beat was slow, I had half an hour left on my shift, so I headed that way to pass the time.

I found her at McWhorter Transmission & Parts, a known chop shop, tucked between a salvage yard and an abandoned building near Franklinton. It was a low-slung blue metal building with two big overhead doors in front, a couple of windows, and a smaller personnel door marked OFFICE.

Two Crown Vics and an unmarked vehicle were parked in the alley. The double overhead doors were closed, but I could see lights blazing in the window. Gina’s patrol vehicle was parked in a small side lot. It occurred to me that this was a bit of an odd scene. Gina had mentioned some kind of raid and yet no emergency lights flashed on any of the vehicles. I brushed off the thought, assuming the LEOs had been on scene awhile and were finishing up. I parked next to Gina’s vehicle and started toward the building.