Read Online The Jake Helman Files Personal Demons by Gregory Lamberson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gregory Lamberson
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We have to extract the sample ourselves.”
Jake closed his hands into fists. When he had first joined the force, a cop who tested positive for drugs might be sent to an upstate rehab under the guise of alcoholism treatment. But the Department’s new “zero tolerance” policy precluded such maneuvering. He stood to lose his job and pension, and could face criminal prosecution if IAB sought to crucify him. He’d be humiliated before his colleagues. Worse, he’d lose Sheryl’s respect. She knew nothing of his habit or extracurricular activities. If his cocaine use became public knowledge, the families of Oscar Soot and Kevin Creed would file wrongful death suits against the city and the Department. He could even face prosecution and jail time. His temples throbbed and his heartbeat quickened.
“We need that sample,” Hammerman said, his voice taking on an authoritarian tone.
Jake stared back. “You can’t make me do this.”
“As long as you’re a member of this Department, we can.” Hammerman pushed the phone across the table. “Call the Detectives Endowment Association if you don’t believe me.”
Jake ignored the phone. “What if I refuse to cooperate?”
Hammerman leaned back in his chair. “Then we’ll have you suspended and commence a full investigation. One way or the other, we’ll get what we need.”
Jake felt his chest tightening. “As long as I’m a member of the Department?”
“That’s right.”
Swallowing, Jake rose on wobbling knees. The Inspectors looked at him with puzzled expressions. He removed his shield from his belt and gazed at it. How long had it been since he had last polished it? He rubbed the tarnished gold with one thumb. Taking a deep breath, he let out a tremulous sigh and laid the shield on the table.
“That’s it?” Hammerman said, his voice incredulous. “You’re resigning?”
Jake circled the table without answering and opened the door.
“Wait a minute, you have to schedule an exit interview with your—”
Stepping free of the interview room, Jake pulled the door shut behind him.
7
J ake sat on a wooden bench bolted to the esplanade separating Carl Schurz Park from the East River. Around him, bicyclists and joggers passed couples strolling hand in hand and women pushing baby strollers. Ignoring them, Jake gazed at the factories and housing projects on the far side of the gray water. Smokestacks and unlit neon signs rose to the dark, billowy clouds that filled the sky, and a towboat struggled against choppy waves.
He had come here countless times with Sheryl, who preferred the secluded viaduct, gardens, and fenced-in dog runs to the grand expanse of Central Park. Pain seared two fingers on his right hand, and he flung away his cigarette, which had burned down to its filter. The sudden movement startled a pigeon bobbing along the bulkhead and the bird shot past his head with a frantic
flapping of wings. He replayed the events of the day in his mind, cursing at himself for leaving Shannon Reynolds’s apartment building to make his drug run. Why had he been so careless?
Because you needed a fix
.
He’d never considered himself an addict. Out of curiosity, he had lifted a bag of cocaine from the site of a particularly grisly homicide. After sampling the powder, he discovered that the vivid images of the scene no longer lingered in his thoughts. He soon found it easier to get through his workdays high, and once he had ingested the entire bag, he tracked down AK. But he had only gotten high on the job, never at home, and he had managed to keep his habit a secret from Sheryl. How could he explain to her the reason behind his resignation? Would she believe that he had quit out of remorse over killing Dread and Baldy, or fear of getting into another gun battle? He doubted it. All he’d ever wanted to be was a good cop and Sheryl knew it.
The ringing of his cell phone pierced his concentration and he fished the device from his pocket. Edgar’s number
Jake closed his hands into fists. When he had first joined the force, a cop who tested positive for drugs might be sent to an upstate rehab under the guise of alcoholism treatment. But the Department’s new “zero tolerance” policy precluded such maneuvering. He stood to lose his job and pension, and could face criminal prosecution if IAB sought to crucify him. He’d be humiliated before his colleagues. Worse, he’d lose Sheryl’s respect. She knew nothing of his habit or extracurricular activities. If his cocaine use became public knowledge, the families of Oscar Soot and Kevin Creed would file wrongful death suits against the city and the Department. He could even face prosecution and jail time. His temples throbbed and his heartbeat quickened.
“We need that sample,” Hammerman said, his voice taking on an authoritarian tone.
Jake stared back. “You can’t make me do this.”
“As long as you’re a member of this Department, we can.” Hammerman pushed the phone across the table. “Call the Detectives Endowment Association if you don’t believe me.”
Jake ignored the phone. “What if I refuse to cooperate?”
Hammerman leaned back in his chair. “Then we’ll have you suspended and commence a full investigation. One way or the other, we’ll get what we need.”
Jake felt his chest tightening. “As long as I’m a member of the Department?”
“That’s right.”
Swallowing, Jake rose on wobbling knees. The Inspectors looked at him with puzzled expressions. He removed his shield from his belt and gazed at it. How long had it been since he had last polished it? He rubbed the tarnished gold with one thumb. Taking a deep breath, he let out a tremulous sigh and laid the shield on the table.
“That’s it?” Hammerman said, his voice incredulous. “You’re resigning?”
Jake circled the table without answering and opened the door.
“Wait a minute, you have to schedule an exit interview with your—”
Stepping free of the interview room, Jake pulled the door shut behind him.
7
J ake sat on a wooden bench bolted to the esplanade separating Carl Schurz Park from the East River. Around him, bicyclists and joggers passed couples strolling hand in hand and women pushing baby strollers. Ignoring them, Jake gazed at the factories and housing projects on the far side of the gray water. Smokestacks and unlit neon signs rose to the dark, billowy clouds that filled the sky, and a towboat struggled against choppy waves.
He had come here countless times with Sheryl, who preferred the secluded viaduct, gardens, and fenced-in dog runs to the grand expanse of Central Park. Pain seared two fingers on his right hand, and he flung away his cigarette, which had burned down to its filter. The sudden movement startled a pigeon bobbing along the bulkhead and the bird shot past his head with a frantic
flapping of wings. He replayed the events of the day in his mind, cursing at himself for leaving Shannon Reynolds’s apartment building to make his drug run. Why had he been so careless?
Because you needed a fix
.
He’d never considered himself an addict. Out of curiosity, he had lifted a bag of cocaine from the site of a particularly grisly homicide. After sampling the powder, he discovered that the vivid images of the scene no longer lingered in his thoughts. He soon found it easier to get through his workdays high, and once he had ingested the entire bag, he tracked down AK. But he had only gotten high on the job, never at home, and he had managed to keep his habit a secret from Sheryl. How could he explain to her the reason behind his resignation? Would she believe that he had quit out of remorse over killing Dread and Baldy, or fear of getting into another gun battle? He doubted it. All he’d ever wanted to be was a good cop and Sheryl knew it.
The ringing of his cell phone pierced his concentration and he fished the device from his pocket. Edgar’s number
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