Read Online The Meridians by Michaelbrent Collings - Free Book Online Page B

put him on trial.
    A number of the cops that Scott worked with were up in arms over the inquiry. After all, they told him, it wasn't enough that he had lost his wife and child in the same day that he had left his spleen and a good portion of his intestines in a hospital operating room. It wasn't enough that he had spent four months in a hospital room and another four learning how to walk once more - though even now he still couldn't get around without the aid of crutches. It wasn't enough that he had survived a shootout with one of the strangest endings anyone in the department could ever recall.
    They had to have their trial.
    Not that Scott could blame them. After all, there had been a very public murder, followed by an even more public shootout, followed by...nothing.
    No prints.
    No shooter.
    No evidence, other than the spent casings and three dead bodies: two family members, and the blue eyed John Doe.
    Of course the journalists got a hold of the story and ran with it, running exposé after exposé on Scott Cowley, asking the question of whether he was a good cop, but asking it in such a way that it was never really in doubt what the answer was: no, he was not a good cop.
    For those journalists who ran the pieces, after all, there was no such thing as a good cop. It didn't matter to them that Scott and people like him were the reason that they could write their drivel without having to look over their shoulders at night for fear they'd be attacked. It didn't matter to them that freedom of the press existed because of the blood of men and women who kept the peace and who provided a community safe enough that such freedoms were even possible.
    It just mattered to them that there was a shooting, and that there was a cop involved. So it was only a short leap from "Cop Involved in Shooting" to "No Suspects Found" to "Cop Under Investigation."
    So no, Scott couldn't blame his superiors on the force, who were under pressure from the mayor's office, which was under pressure from the voters, who were being spoon-fed a load of crap about Scott being an irresponsible and perhaps irrational, gun-toting lunatic.
    The trial itself wasn't termed a trial, of course. It was an "inquiry." He told his story over and over, to police commissions, to civilian oversight committees, to Internal Affairs, and to anyone and everyone else who asked. Even though he knew it was going to end up as a public flogging sooner or later, he answered the questions, and answered them truthfully.
    But yes, eventually it became clear that though there was no real dirt on Scott - he had a record as spotless as the floors that Amy had kept in their home - even so, there was also no real evidence to support his story. Just bullets and casings and some "friends" who had come upon a scene where, ultimately, there was no suspect to be found.
    Eventually, he was reprimanded and demoted several levels. His career as a cop - at least, as a cop who had a chance at any serious vertical movement in the department - was over.
    And Scott didn't mind.
    In fact, on the day that the letter was delivered to him at his home, he was almost relieved. It was over. The people had their scapegoat for a crime that had "likely never occurred except in the mind of an overstressed officer." Indeed, he was aware that it could have been much worse; that there were those in the department and in the journalism sector who quietly whispered about the possibility that Scott had staged the whole event for the sole purpose of covering up the real crime: his murder of his own wife and child.
    The day that he was demoted, he came home early from work, feeling like hell. What were they going to do, demote him again? he reasoned. So he said goodbye to the few remaining friends he had on the force and came home, reasoning that he might take a nap.
    Or he might kill himself.
    It was a tossup. On one hand, a nap sounded damn fine.
    On the other hand, you had to wake up from a nap, and Scott didn't know