In the Shadows, page 6
“You have a point. Are you sure the victim didn’t have a gun? Do you have any doubt at all?”
“No. I know what I saw. He had no gun, but that cop never hesitated. He executed that man and he knew him.”
“Okay, alright.”
“I first thought the victim was trying to point at me to stop the cop from shooting him. Like you know, ‘There’s a witness. Don’t shoot!’ It just hit me now. He was exposing me. If the lights hadn’t immediately come on in that apartment, the cop might have turned and shot me. Shit! The victim wasn’t doing me any favors. I would have been as dead as he was. Later, I would have been seen as an innocent bystander fatally wounded during a police arrest. I remember the story of that cyclist who was accidently shot just going to work. He died at the scene. Nothing ever happened to that officer. Cops can get away with anything. That’s how it seems to be. I still see that cop with his gun pointed right at me! The lights saved me, and the fact that I ran.”
“I have to tell you something, Carmen.”
“What?”
“When that officer was standing on the sidewalk, outside your apartment, I heard him say he had a lead. I think he pretty much knows where you live.”
“Why the hell didn’t you just tell me right off?”
“You looked so bad.”
“What the hell am I going to do?” Carmen began to cry. She stood and cried.
Caitlin hugged her. “Call your mother. If he discovers your name, he might find her.”
“From the outset, I told you I was fucked! I don’t mean to be swearing so much. I am so scared.” Carmen cried hysterically.
Chapter Eleven
On Monday morning Detective Damiano was the first detective to arrive on the sixth floor of the Crémazie Division, Major Crimes. Her plan was to check, unnoticed, Chief Donat’s office for late-night emails and work he had not finished. Her thoughts jumped from one strategy to another about her future. She concluded she did not want to become interim chief. Such a move would abort her chance, she felt, of one day having that permanent position. Damiano believed she had earned a chance to be chief. After eleven years in Major Crimes, she deserved and wanted the challenge. It fed a drive that maintained her security, her sense of identity at something she did well. Stasis was capitulation, weakness. Damiano didn’t see herself as a careerist. She never wanted to lose her drive.
Damiano sat down in the chief’s chair, feeling uncomfortable. She took a minute before she reached for the last memo in his basket, the fatal shooting. Ordinarily, when the SQ were taking over a case, Chief Donat spoke with the officer involved to be certain he or she was well prepared, and that Chief Donat was informed and not caught by any surprises. She read the email and decided to meet with Officer Boucher in the main interrogation room on the first floor so as not to draw attention to the fact that Chief Donat was absent and that she was taking the lead.
Damiano printed the email, took two other files of work open on his desk and stopped in her tracks when she saw Donat’s secretary standing like a statue watching her. The woman was devoted to her boss. She didn’t say a word, but she gave Damiano a knowing nod. Pamela had called her.
“I’m taking the work to my office,” she said as she placed a warm hand on the secretary’s shoulder. “He’s tough – he’ll be alright.” Obviously upset, the secretary left without a word.
Damiano had taken greater care than usual when she dressed that day, and she walked back into the general office with a casual air of authority. Around the large room, fourteen detectives sat at their desks grouped in units of two, to provide a semblance of privacy in the open-space office environment. Some were on their computers, others working on notes and a few talking quietly. Damiano’s office was in the far corner near the back elevator, glassed in on all sides. She was the only lieutenant detective in the room. She’d earned her office. At her own expense, she had added an electric blind that she rarely closed. For complex cases, there was a large erasable board on one wall. Premeditated murders, apart from contract killings committed by organized crime, were rare, perhaps two a year. Most of the city murders were ‘stupid’ senseless, lives lost to drunken fights in or out of the downtown bars. A fatal stabbing at one of the downtown bars had occurred over a bar stool.
Damiano was preparing her questions for Boucher when she looked up and saw that her partner Pierre Matte wasn’t at his desk. That was unusual, so she went to investigate, but didn’t find him. Strange. A few minutes later, Detective Pierre Matte walked into the office. Smiling, she pointed to her Cartier watch.
Matte had showered and dressed impeccably as was his style, but his drawn features suggested he hadn’t slept and, if possible, had lost weight as well in the last two days.
“I was fighting a cold all weekend.”
“It’s June.”
“And that means what? I can’t catch a spring cold? I’m not up for jokes, Toni. Do we have something on?”
Damiano didn’t comment, but asked him to close the door. “I have to interview Officer Boucher, the shooter involved in the Laval fatality. I thought it best if I handled the interview alone, but I realize I’d like to have you there. Boucher should be prepped, and we need the facts, before he meets with the SQ.”
“Who appointed you to handle this?”
“That’s the thing.”
“C’mon, Toni, I don’t have the energy for games!”
“You’re definitely under the weather, Pierre. It’s just that Donat’s not in today. I was asked to take Boucher.”
“Donat! He’s never been off work since I came to the division.”
“He’s entitled then, right? He’s the boss.”
Matte’s mind worked like a computer and a single fact led to links. He got to his feet. “Is this serious, Toni? The fact that we’re doing this interview tells me you know what’s going on with Donat.”
“Look, Pierre, I can’t tell you, orders. Why are you so bothered?”
“Why do you think?”
“Get over this cold. It’s making you cranky. I’m your partner, Pierre. Nothing’s changed about that.”
Matte sat back down and blew his nose. “Let me see the questions.”
“We’ll interview downstairs so as not to draw attention to Donat’s absence.” Damiano reached for her phone and notes. Matte palmed his pad, and they took the elevator to the first floor. When Damiano looked down the hall, she saw that the officer was already waiting for them. As they approached, she realized he was older than she’d thought he’d be, mid-thirties. He was also tense. Damiano could smell fear. She kept the introductions formal and brief.
“Lieutenant Detective Damiano and Detective Matte.” She led the way into a large rectangular room, sparsely furnished. They sat together at the top end of the table, Damiano and Matte on one side and Boucher on the other. Damiano put her phone on the table and laid her notes beside them. Matte was quick with his pen and pad. “This interview is prep for you, Officer Boucher, but we will record it to preserve the first account of the incident.” Damiano pressed the record tab on her phone. She noted the time of the interview, the date, and the officers involved. Damiano lead the questioning. “In your own words, Officer Boucher, please relate the events as they occurred.”
Boucher hesitated as though he didn’t know where to begin. Damiano could feel his leg shaking under the table.
“Begin by telling us why you were in uniform, off duty, out of your jurisdiction, on surveillance in Laval at three in the morning. We’re on your side, Officer, but we need the facts.”
Officer Boucher wanted to give as little detail as possible, but he realized he had to reveal the background and the reason he pursued the drug dealer. He needed support.
“A friend of my wife told her that drugs were being dropped off a few streets from our home usually at three in the morning. The elderly woman who lived next door where this was happening couldn’t sleep with the commotion. She called the police. They came, flashed the house. One week later she discovered her car vandalized. Later, garbage was thrown on her driveway, her reward for her civic duty.
“I thought that by making the arrest, nailing the adult pusher, I could protect my own kids. That night, like clockwork, he showed up promptly at three, but he saw me as he got out of his car. He ran and I took off in pursuit. He finally stopped and turned around on that parking lot because I had gained on him. He raised one arm; he pointed the other at me. I saw a weapon. I had no choice. It was a good shoot. I’ve never killed anyone before.” Damiano did not interrupt. She continued her questioning when Officer Boucher finished.
“From the outset, did you have permission for this surveillance?”
“No,” Boucher admitted. “The Laval cops sent one unit on a drive-by for a few nights. Did nothing. I felt I could help on my own time. Like I said, I have kids. Laval is my home.”
“Why the uniform off duty?”
“I wanted him to know I was police. I wanted the arrest to be legit.”
“This shooting did not occur in the line of duty, Officer. That’s troublesome, but I’ll leave the determination of this incident to the SQ.”
Matte asked, “Are you certain you saw a weapon before you fired, Officer Boucher?”
Boucher rapped his knuckles on the table. Every impulse told him to stand and shout. And he did. “What the hell. You’re supposed to take my word, not question it! I already told you he had his back to me. He turned slowly with one arm raised, the other pointing. I saw a weapon. I shot. That’s what I’m trained to do, right? I wanted to take him in when he was getting out of his car, but he ran. I had no choice. I’m just repeating myself.” He sat back down. “The vic did have a weapon. I never gave him the chance to use it.”
It was Damiano’s turn. “We learned just before ten that you were back there canvassing the area yesterday, again out of your jurisdiction. Why?”
“For a witness to verify my account – a witness who might have seen the vic’s weapon. I could use support.”
“You were way up the street – there were no witnesses in that location.”
“It was a good shoot. Maybe someone was walking home and saw something. I’m not stupid. It was a good shoot! That’s all I have. I have a right to protect my family, don’t I?”
“Officer, we’re here to gather the facts. Determination of the incident is out of our hands. Before I terminate the interview, I have to issue an order. Do not under any circumstances return to that area. You don’t want to add insubordination to that other count in your file. When do you meet with the SQ?”
“At two, right here today.”
“Good luck, Officer Boucher.”
Boucher had to go back. He had a lead. He was very close to an address. He’d find the bitch alright, and have a word with the cop who’d reported him.
Walking back to the elevator, Damiano waited for Boucher to leave before she spoke. “Your take, Pierre?”
“Looking for witnesses halfway up the street …”
“That’s the rub. Could be he’s worried about that excessive force claim on his record and needs corroboration for this shooting. Could be something worse.” Damiano stopped and read through the email. “No witnesses have come forward; no videos either.”
“No surprise there. I read some early morning media on the shooting: ‘The victim was known to the police.’ The media doesn’t usually follow these cases.”
“I suppose. The last thing Chief Donat needs to hear is the possibility of a dirty cop. I’m not saying it is. The witness search is troubling.”
Pierre Matte was reassured just hearing the chief’s name. Maybe things wouldn’t change. No other detective in Major Crimes wanted to partner with a gay cop. Damiano had never made an issue of it. They were a good team. He blew his nose and felt a sinus headache coming on. Great!
Chapter Twelve
Officer Boucher thought of returning to rue Favreau before his two o’clock meeting with the SQ, but he couldn’t risk the chance of being spotted and reported. He blamed the betrayal on the cop who had helped him the night before. Boucher looked down at his left boot where he stowed the second throwaway. Some cops never admit they carry one. Those who did said they needed the weapon if theirs was forcibly taken in an altercation. No cop admits to using a throwaway to alibi himself. Generally, the weapon could not be traced back to the cop for a reason. There were rumors that cops nicked the guns from evidence rooms, although there was no proof. Boucher had spent a restless night trying to decide if he should take the weapon to the meeting. In the end, he felt the more truth he told, the better his chances. If the witness hadn’t come forward, he still expected to be put on leave with pay or assigned desk duty. The SQ needed time to investigate. The force didn’t want him back on the street. He’d read the news. The shooting was another black eye for the ‘gun-happy Montreal police.’ Retraining was suggested again by media vultures. Just a few weeks ago there had been another demonstration against police violence that had turned ugly, with nineteen arrests.
It was only June, but the day was already sticky and hot. Though the division was air conditioned, Boucher felt sweat sticking behind his knees as he waited for the second time that day outside the boardroom. If the witness called the police, he would be arrested. Boucher used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from under his chin. When he saw the two SQ detectives approaching, he straightened up. They motioned for Boucher to enter first. They were well prepared and began questioning immediately after setting up the interview. Boucher summarized the events of the evening. He stressed that his elderly neighbor lived alone and in fear. She couldn’t sleep most nights. She was seventy-five years old.
“What is this woman’s address?”
“Could you call her instead? I have the number. They’ve keyed her car twice. She doesn’t want to see cops. Here it is.”
“The victim had no drugs. His vehicle was clean. No cash bag either.” Lead Detective Pichon, SQ, was asking the questions.
“He ran. What more can I add?”
“From what you say, I assume he was a bag man who ran before the pickup. I was never Vice, but it’s strange to me, two trips in lieu of one.”
Boucher laid his palms down on the table before he answered. “Maybe there were two. He was the bag man; the other the dealer.”
“Uh huh. Why run when he had nothing on him? He knew you had no grounds for an arrest. Makes no sense.”
“You’d have to ask …” Boucher stopped abruptly.
“But we can’t, can we?”
“No.”
“Now, when you reached the parking lot, you called to him. That’s why he stopped running and turned?”
“Yes, I shouted twice to stop!” Boucher’s voice rose.
“When did you reach for your weapon?”
“When he stopped.”
“And turned?”
“Yes.”
“Think very clearly, Officer Boucher. Did you see a weapon before you used deadly force?”
“One hand was raised; he was pointing with the other. It was dark. I thought he had a weapon. He posed an immediate danger to me. I acted as I was trained to do. I discharged mine. He did have a weapon when I ran over to him, so I wasn’t wrong.”
“You are trained to use reasonable force. Was it necessary to discharge your weapon three times?”
“I discharged my weapon in rapid succession. He was still standing after the first discharge. His weapon was still aimed at me. I fired till he went down.”
“Forensics is working on both weapons. Tell me, Officer Boucher, do you carry a throwaway?”
“Yes.”
“Here today?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll need that as well, please.”
Boucher scraped his chair back noisily and reached inside his jacket pocket and handed over the weapon.
“Our investigation is ongoing, Officer Boucher, but we do want to clear this file as soon as possible. This vigilante approach has earned you a one-week suspension without pay effective today. We do hope to conclude this within a week. We’re not discussing further sanctions at this point. Please sign the report.”
“I’m not a rogue cop. All I intended to do was to take him in, or run him out of Laval. I also have a family to protect. I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Yes, you have. Still, we hope the facts will confirm your statement. We advise you to act accordingly. We know you were back at the scene. Do not interfere with this investigation again if you wish to continue with the SPVM.” On that serious note, Detective Pichon ended the questioning.
Boucher left the room worried and depressed. The SQ was taking a hard line on the shooting. He felt shafted. Even his partner didn’t want to go the extra mile. He found a washroom on the first floor, ran cold water, bent over and slapped some onto his face and neck. Leaning on the sink, he studied his reflection in the wall-mounted mirror. The veins on his arms stood out like cords, but his face sagged. I should have admitted knowing Jacques, but they would have seen a motive for going after him, and killing him. Boucher regretted his actions. The enquiry was just beginning. The witness was still out there. His suspension afforded him time to get to her, if she didn’t come forward and beat him out. His determination to find her gave way to doubt. He could lose his job, but that bitch could put him away. Somehow, he had to find his way to those three addresses. His legs felt sluggish and heavy. Boucher left the division dull-eyed and confused. How had he become the target?
Chapter Thirteen
Mondays and Tuesdays were ‘dead’ evenings at the Cleopatra. Producer Velma took advantage of those days to hold auditions. By the time she had contacted the performers she wanted for her show, it was four in the afternoon on Tuesday. Matthew Allen had come through again for Velma. This time he wasn’t asked to play one of the Roman soldiers carrying Cleopatra, ensconced on her sedan chair, up across the stage. This Tuesday she asked him to play a lecherous old man. He’d played many parts for her, but a lecherous old man, never. Velma explained that since most of the cast were in their thirties and early forties, he was the old man. His Never! converted to Just this once! because Matthew saw that his victim was beautiful and young.
