Dana Nussio - Strength Under Fire

Ben frowned at the TV and turned to Sergeant Leonetti. “You know anything?”

The funny man wasn’t even grinning this time. “Sorry, man. I don’t.”

A loud click came from the steel door behind them, and Trevor Cole rushed inside with Kelly Roberts close behind him hurrying to get out of the rain. Both paused inside the door to shake off their coats. Trevor glanced from the officers to the television.

“Another meeting of the Ben Peterson fan club? Who interviewed him now?”

“You’d think he’d get better at giving interviews after so many, but he looks miserable every time,” Trooper Roberts said as she slid out of her coat.

At the almost imperceptible shake of Lieutenant Campbell’s head, the two troopers stopped talking. What did some of them know that they weren’t sharing? Instead of paying attention to the conversations that were shrinking to curious whispers, Captain Polaski stared at the television, his posture so straight that he appeared cemented in place.

“Up next is our report coming out of Brighton,” the reporter said to segue to the next news story. “From the same post where just last week we reported on an incident of bravery and heroism comes disappointing news. What can you tell us about this, Laura?”

A field reporter, next to the big blue “State Police Brighton Post No. 12” sign, appeared on a split screen.

“Yes, Kimberly, I’m here at the Brighton Post, where an investigation is underway in evidence tampering and larceny regarding drugs confiscated during a series of arrests.” She paused, her expression becoming somber. “Sadly, a person of interest in the case appears to be the same officer recognized last week for bravery in a thwarted bank robbery. Will this be the downfall of a hero? We’ll let you know as News 3 investigates.”

If the others hadn’t been hauled into an uncomfortable silence, Ben’s gasp might not have sounded so loud. But in that vacuum, the sound pierced the quiet like the click of the magazine in a .40-caliber Glock.

“A person close to the investigation tells us that Lieutenant Ben Peterson...”

Delia barely heard anything the woman said after that as the reporter cited convenient, unnamed sources. She couldn’t pull her gaze from Ben, who stared, wide-eyed, at the screen, his arms stiff at his sides.

The urge to run to the TV, smack its power button and shout to anyone who would listen that the newspeople were wrong was overwhelming. And yet her feet must have been buried in ice. The other troopers appeared frozen, as well.

Delia shook her head to get out of the deep freeze. The suspicion surrounding the lieutenant was incomprehensible, but her reaction to it made even less sense. Without her knowing the details of the investigation, or having any proof, her gut reaction was to eliminate him from the suspect list. How could she even call herself a cop? How did she know he wasn’t guilty? What did she even know about him really? Nothing.

The scene shifted on the screen, and Captain Polaski stood next to the reporter in a taped segment.

“Captain Polaski, what can you tell us about the investigation and the independent state investigator appointed to oversee it?”

The commander cleared his throat. “Sorry. I am unable to comment on an active investigation. I can only say that the Brighton Post will cooperate fully with the state investigator.”

“Can you confirm or deny the tip we received that Lieutenant Peterson is a person of interest in this case?”

“Again, I can have no further comment on an active investigation.”

The reporter only smiled. “Captain, then can you confirm if Lieutenant Peterson is the same Ben Peterson, son of Leonard J. Peterson, a—”

“That matter doesn’t pertain to this—”

But she continued as if he hadn’t tried to interrupt her. “—a career criminal, who died in prison after a vehicular homicide conviction involving the death of his own wife.”

Delia stiffened. Had she heard that correctly? Ben’s dad was responsible for the death of Ben’s mother? She was right. She didn’t know Ben at all. She hadn’t even been aware that she wasn’t the only one with ugly secrets. Unfortunately for Ben, his secrets had just been aired for the entertainment of the entire Detroit metro viewing area.

From some faraway place, Polaski repeated the standard response that he couldn’t comment, but silence in the room swallowed the sound. It didn’t matter that the captain cut off the interview right then. The titillating details were already out there, just as the newswoman had planned.

Sergeant Leonetti grabbed the remote and hit the power button, sending the screen back into darkness. The other officers seemed to hold a collective breath, waiting for Ben to respond. Seconds ticked by in the rhythm of Delia’s pulse that pounded in her ears. Finally, Ben turned to the commander.

Polaski held his hands wide. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

Ben only shook his head. “I don’t know where all that’s coming from.”

Although some of the others looked as shell-shocked by the news as Delia was, Lieutenant Campbell stalked angrily toward Ben. When he reached him, he squeezed his shoulder.

“This is shit, Ben. You know we’ll get it cleared up.”

“We’re behind you,” Sergeant Leonetti added.

“Sorry, man.” Trooper Cole paused, clearing his throat, “And, uh, sorry to hear about...the other stuff.”

The others didn’t speak up, pretending not to be watching Ben. Gail swiped a sneaky tear from the corner of her eye.

“Thanks, guys,” Ben said after a long pause.

The hitch in his voice sliced through Delia. She had this irrational, unprofessional urge to gather him in her arms and tell him everything would be okay. What was wrong with her? She not only didn’t know if he was guilty, but she also had no idea whether anything would be okay for him again. She needed to take hold of her emotions before she did or said something stupid.

Polaski looked at Ben and gestured toward the hall. “Guess we’d better talk about this in my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lieutenant’s lack of emotion bothered Delia as much as the break in his voice had. Why wasn’t he more upset over what had just happened? Or furious at the reporter for sensationalizing his family’s dirty laundry?

Ben hadn’t looked at her once since the news report had aired, but as he followed his superior officer from the room, he glanced her way. Gone was the laughter that had always danced in his eyes. His gaze was raw now, his glasses only magnifying the bleakness. She’d seen that dazed look in the eyes of accident victims before. Was Ben a victim or just someone shocked that he’d been caught?

Her lips opened as she searched for words of comfort, but none came. His gaze narrowed, and then he lifted his chin, continuing into the commander’s office. The door closed with a final-sounding click.

The others slipped from the room as if driven to the protective havens of their offices or locker rooms. Delia couldn’t bring herself to go with them. Other officers who were just coming on duty emerged from the locker room, the questions on their faces left unanswered.

Delia took a seat at one of the desktops and opened a report she had to complete before she went home. She didn’t want to leave yet. Not without knowing what had happened to Ben. Muffled masculine voices came from the distant office, but she couldn’t make out the words. Though it was none of her business, she couldn’t help herself. She had to know.

Part of her sensed that no matter what Ben was accused of, he was innocent. That it was all a mistake. In the end, he would be cleared, if he was even ever charged. But an unsettling feeling that formed deep inside her brought a truth along with it: she’d been wrong about people before.