Lines of Duty Read online

  “You don’t have to say goodbye to your stuff, Corus.”

  He didn’t look back. “It’s just goodbye for now. But yes, I do.”

  “I’m a vestige of your Army life. You gonna get rid of me? Gonna lock me away?”

  He sat back on his toes and made a quarter turn. “You will have to figure out who you are now, too. No longer the wife of a deployed soldier. No more base living. No support system.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the door jamb.

  He got up and slid past her, picking the framed medal off the kitchen counter.

  “No.” Karen blocked his way back into the bedroom.

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen. This is your life, Corus.”

  He hefted the frame in both hands. “Any police or sheriff’s department is going to be full of ex-military like me, but it’s not the military. I’m not sure I’ll like it. But I have to jump in with both feet and give it a chance. I have to know.”

  “You don’t have to forget who you are.”

  “It’s not about forgetting.” He looked up at the ceiling in frustration. “I want to see if being a cop will bring new things out of me. Don’t you get it? With this…” He held up the frame and looked at her. “And with my CIB, all my other quals, my long list of officers who owed me big time. I could have coasted on choice jobs up to E-8 and a sweet pension in twelve more years, and that was before they commissioned me.”

  A dark memory of a dying horse on a mountain flashed before his eyes, but he couldn’t tell her the whole truth. He had to make it all seem purely positive. She fed in unhealthy ways on his darkness. So, he had to be light.

  “I don’t want to coast. I want… no I need new challenges. I have to close the last chapter. Please, let me.”

  “You sure you don’t wanna become a history professor instead of a cop? I’d rest easier.”

  “It’s a solid plan B.”

  She let him pass, and Corus set the medal on top of his other memories. He locked the lid shut and slid it in a closet.

  THREE

  The first few days at the Seattle Metro Advanced Policing Academy, SeaMAP for short, passed without incident. The atmosphere was professional without being stifling and intense without being spartan. The PT sessions felt like a light day back in the army. The conceptual work was so redundant to topics covered in his criminal justice degree that Corus had glazed over in boredom during the long classroom sessions. He’d finished his bachelor’s degree through an online university while still a Private First Class with time to kill, before 9-11 had changed the scope of his military service and before he’d married Karen. He didn’t regret having the degree, but if the information had been new, it would have been far less tedious to sit through Lead Instructor Tang’s uninspired lectures.

  Sergeant Wendy Tang was clearly a joker, keeping her professional mask on tight enough to instill a sense of authority, but not so tight she could help making wisecracks at cadets’ expense to her comrades in the instructor cadre. He didn’t find her very amusing, but it was interesting to Corus to see how a non-military personality had succeeded in police work, and how she held obvious sway over her charges without being a bully, a tyrant or trying to be too friendly.

  Cadets were expected to follow a strict dress code: academy issue sweats for PT and combatives, polo shirts with academy seal on the breast with black cargo pants for classroom and range work. Sgt. Tang paced before them wearing a pair of Chuck Taylors, a shiny blue track suit with white piping, and a black t-shirt emblazoned with the face of Albert Einstein. Aviator sunglasses perched low on her nose, short hair under a beret, sloped in military fashion. She had a habit of pacing about like Patton with a wooden dowel over her shoulder instead of a riding crop. Her two assistant instructors, Stocker and Davies, were both female as well, but tall and thickly built where Tang was petite.

  The academy ran classes of sixteen students at a time, fewer than Corus had been expecting. Tang talked as if she expected only half that number to graduate.

  “Some people call you the cadet elite, because we produce the best cadets. But you’re nothing until I say you are. Some of you failed to get hired through the normal hoop-jumping. Some of you think you’re too good for the hoop-jumping. The truth is SeaMAP is for walk-ons. You piss clean and you’re in.” She whisper-shouted, “It’s easy to get here. Shh. Don’t let the secret out,” then returned to her normal speaking voice. “Getting here doesn’t make you elite. Staying here until the end is what makes you elite.”

  Tang nodded as she paced.

  “Today, we take your first conceptual test. Fail and you’re out. After you finish, form up outside.”

  Sitting for their first week’s exam, Corus found the wording of some questions confusing. Still, he gave his answers confidently, figuring it was better to miss a nuance of the question than to appear mealy-mouthed. He breezed through the multiple-choice section, remembering high school days when he’d last filled in the little bubbles of a scantron sheet. He was the first to finish his test, just before Cadet Chu.

  “You must really know your stuff to beat me,” Chu said.

  “I did all right,” Corus said. “I think it was a solid effort.”

  Chu was a cheerful guy about Corus’ age. He clearly didn’t have a military background. Based on his soft bearing and nerdy vibe, it was confusing why he’d entered the academy.

  Corus and Chu started the formation outside, and others filled in over the next ten minutes. The sun poked through the sheet of clouds common to Seattle area winters, casting warmth down on the wet ground. Corus turned his face toward its rays like a flower, only for it to disappear just as quickly behind the grey.

  The instructors stalked out, and Tang paced before the cohort. “Friday afternoon has no curriculum listed. I can use it to review coursework we’ve covered. I can use it for conditioning. I could have a detective come in and tell you all their war stories. You shlubs know what war stories are, don’t you?” She extended an ear toward them.

  “Yes, Sergeant,” they said as one.

  “For detectives, war stories aren’t about fights or shooting; it’s about the cases you didn’t solve. The ones that keep you up at night. But who wants to hear about all that depressing shit?”

  Stocker and Davies shared an intimate chuckle.

  “You aren’t the dumbest group I’ve ever had. You all can run. No fatties here. What I think I will use this Friday for…” she said menacingly, “…is weeding out the bitches.”

  She held out a hand and Stocker tossed over her wooden dowel, which was the width of a thumb. Without preamble, she whipped it across the back of Ochoa’s thighs. The stocky man yelped and dropped to his knees.

  While Corus was a little surprised that Tang had struck any of them, it came as no shock that she picked Chu out of the lineup next.

  “What? You think because you’re Chinese I won’t smoke you?” She leaned in close, resting the dowel on his cheek. “You gotta be tough for this job. And I’m not talking about looking tough.” Tang jabbed the dowel into the ribs of Jeffries, the large man standing next to Chu. Jeffries bent, stunned and grimacing, but didn’t cry out.

  “If you haven’t noticed by now, this is not your grandma’s police academy. We are faster, sleeker, meaner and smarter. My job is to weed out the bullies, the ticking time bombs, and of course, the bitches.” She smacked the dowel sharply into her own hand.

  SeaMAP, as Tang so eloquently put it, was not a normal police academy. Rather it was a pilot program that aimed to produce a new normal.

  The road to becoming a cop in most of Washington State involved a lengthy application, a series of interviews, a board, and then, upon approval, four months of training at the Criminal Justice Training Center over by SeaTac airport. SeaMAP was the brainchild of a group of area tech billionaires focused on addressing the changing needs of Seattle and the metro area, including the use of technology in policing. A number o
f highly politicized policing scandals and abuses had lent political support to the effort.

  In 2005, the year before, SeaMAP had opened and graduated six cadets from its opening class. The curriculum was accelerated but designed to adhere to all the same CJTC standards and then some. The Seattle Post-Intelligencer article that introduced Corus to the existence of SeaMAP had recounted an event open to the press where the six graduating cadets were assessed by CJTC instructors. All six cadets were graded as exceptional and had been immediately snapped up by the police service of their choice.

  Ninety percent of the time, Corus had remained confident in his decision to apply to SeaMAP. Only ten percent of the time did he wonder if things might be saner at CJTC.

  “Yeah, you need to know how to take a shot,” Tang said. She faked a blow, making the man next to Corus flinch, and bringing a smile to her face. “I’m not scared of you big sons of bitches. You know why? ‘Cause I got nowhere else to be. I’m not afraid of any pimp or thug or wife-beater. I’m not afraid of any big man, any cracked out woman with sharp nails, any asshole in a fast car. Why? Because I got nowhere better to be.”

  She whipped the inside of Corus’ leg and moved on when he showed no reaction.

  “The only thing I fear is what those bad people will do to the peace-loving citizens if I let them get through me. Some people will tell you technology is an edge, but it’s an edge for the criminal, too. No matter what you hear about the new ways, know this: We are the thin blue line. I am a guardian holding the chaos at bay. And if you wanna join that line, a little Chinese lady with a stick better be the least of your problems.” She slapped the dowel into her palm. “You gotta be tough. You gotta stay put when others would run. You gotta have a mad dog inside that bites down and doesn’t let go. That’s what we’re gonna learn about today. And if you can’t learn, you go and make Happy Meals.”

  Davies stepped forward. “This test is going to seem physical. But I assure you, it is not. It is mental. The biggest amongst you may have the hardest time. File out to the obstacle course.”

  They did as told, and Davies jogged out before them, substantial thighs pounding the earth all the way to a set of wide monkey bars.

  “Everybody pick a bar. Two to a bar,” Davies yelled.

  Corus stepped under the last bar of the set, and Chu fell in beside him.

  Davies threw a tall, skinny cadet named Ulman a towel and told him to wipe all the bars down from the early morning rain.

  Tang marched out from the training center, Stocker behind her holding a carton of eggs.

  “Everybody, up!”

  All sixteen cadets jumped up and grasped a bar, some with more ease than others. The bars were thick, which meant they didn’t fit easily into the hand and required a good grip.

  “You can hang any way you want,” Tang said. “But you won’t be able to move.”

  Stocker put an egg in between Chu’s knees. “Clench, cadet.”

  Chu whimpered, but he obeyed. Corus accepted his egg, glad he wasn’t bowlegged. As long as he didn’t move much, he didn’t have to squeeze his legs together to keep the egg secure. It dawned on Corus exactly what the nature of the test was, so he changed to a better grip, turning to face Chu who glanced out of the corner of his frantic eye. Corus clapped one hand on top of the other, steadied himself for a moment, then interlaced his fingers. Because he was at the back, no one saw what he’d done except for Chu, who glanced over again, then up at his hands. Chu licked his lips and attempted to change his grip, too. He moved too quickly though, and his legs swung to one side. He almost lost the egg, clenching his teeth to keep his knees together.

  “Somebody thinks they’re smart,” Tang said. “But there’s no way to outsmart this. You’re gonna feel pain, and you’re gonna have to decide whether or not you’re good with it. Oh, and by the way. The first one to drop their egg gets cut. That’s right. You better not let me catch you slipping.”

  Chu let out a rapid succession of breaths, then clapped one hand over the other. He started to sway again and closed his eyes. For a few seconds Corus thought Chu was going to be the first one to drop, but then with no telegraphing his fingers suddenly interlaced, locking together atop the bar. Chu let out a long slow breath, his body as still as a wind chime on a breezeless day.

  Corus closed his eyes too, centering himself on a place deep inside, small and dark, a diamond of nothingness, impossible to break, a room only he had the key to.

  “Corus?”

  Corus opened his eyes. Chu still had his eyes closed, but asked, “What’s your first name?”

  “Corus is fine.”

  “What kind of name is that?”

  “What kind of name is Chu?”

  “It’s Chinese. Duh. Where you from?”

  “All over.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “All told? Six years and nine days.”

  Chu opened his eyes.

  “Okay, maybe not that exact,” Corus whispered. “I went to high school around here. Then did a couple years in community college before leaving. Just came back.”

  “How old are you?”

  Corus blinked, getting annoyed. “Twenty-eight. Why do you ask all this?”

  “I think that’s what will make me a good cop,” Chu said. “I like getting to know people.”

  “It’s Seattle, not Mayberry.”

  “You gotta know people, either way,” Chu said.

  Corus grunted. He actually agreed with that. “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Same as you. Ooh, both born in seventy-eight. Year of the horse, baby.”

  “Is that so.”

  “The horse forges ahead,” Chu said. “But without others to run with, the horse will find itself alone.”

  “Being a lone horse sounds pretty good to me.”

  “You’re thinking of a lone wolf. Horses are herd animals. They’re prey.”

  Corus tilted his head, allowing the point.

  “You ever ridden a horse?” Chu asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You any good?”

  “I’ve had mishaps.”

  “You fell off? Did you get back on?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “The eyes are the window to the soul, Corus. You’ve already shown me you’re in pain. The rest is just details.”

  Corus bit off a retort, feeling an unsettling memory rush to the surface.

  Something about hanging in the uncomfortable position made it feel okay to talk about unpleasant things, as if the sting of sharp memories might be worn down by the physical pain growing in his body.

  “Six months into my second tour in Afghanistan,” he began, not knowing where to go next. “…It was an odd mission, to be frank, even for me. I had to use some horses to pack a cargo up to a fire base in the mountains. I was leading a column of men with ten horses in all. Tough terrain, knowing the enemy could pop up at any time. I felt like they were watching us from across a ravine. You learn that.”

  A few moments passed. Chu said, “And?”

  Corus realized he’d trailed off into the memory and shook himself. “The rocks in this rising valley were this greyish white, like we were walking into some ghostly, ethereal otherworld. The wind was fierce and could drum up out of nowhere, practically picking you up off your feet. I was leading a horse, first in the column, and we came around this bend. A gust of wind hit me in the face so hard I couldn’t breathe or see. Then I felt the tether strain in my hand and suddenly I was sliding face first down the mountainside. The horse had been blown sideways and taken a bad step.”

  “Oh, my gosh.”

  “I grabbed onto a rock to keep from sliding over a ledge, but the horse went over. I craned my neck to see the fifty feet down where it landed, legs kicking in agony, but I couldn’t see its head or body. I checked myself over — I was fine — but I couldn’t see a safe way down to the horse. As soon as I tried to pick a handhold, crack. A sniper fired from across the
ravine. I scrambled for cover. Crack, again. This time, I heard the bullet ricochet off a rock below me.

  Crack.

  “I was hunkered down tight behind a rock. It wasn’t perfect, and I was exposed, wondering if I’m gonna take the next bullet. Then everything got really quiet. Not even the horse was screaming anymore. I peeked out and its legs were still.”

  “Whoa.”

  Soft sobbing bubbled up to Corus’ left. By the gentle shaking of the shoulders it was coming from Cooper, the African-American cadet hanging on the bar closest to Corus. The man on the bar next to him, a big meat-headed fellow named Gaines, looked over. “What you crying for?”

  “I love horses, dawg.”

  “You ride horses?”

  “No, never. They’re just so damned majestic.”

  Gaines looked back over his bulging deltoid. “The story’s not over. Tell us the ending, Corus. How’d you get the horse out?”

  Corus blinked. “Pardon?”

  “Yeah. How did you get the horse up that hill? You said it stopped crying.”

  “The horse is dead, Gaines.” Cooper sniffed. “The enemy sniper shot it out of compassion.”

  “Why’d the sniper shoot your horse and not you?” Gaines asked.

  “I didn’t get to ask him.”

  Gaines went a little cross-eyed, then a soft thud sounded from below him. On the bark, an unbroken egg rolled to a rest.

  “You’re outta here!” Tang blew a whistle.

  Gaines dropped onto the egg, crushing it under his foot. “Am I really out?”

  “Listen, you big dumb animal, this was never gonna work out.” Tang pulled him out from under the monkey bars.

  Gaines stopped and pulled his arm away. “I’m not out! I can’t be out. I have to become a cop, or else I’m gonna be working night shift at the bars forever.”

  “Yesterday you misspelled law enforcement on an essay question.”

  “So?”

  “You spelled it lawn forcement.”

  Gaines held his hands out defensively.

  “Do you think we protect lawns?”