It was one of those situations that no one could have predicted. Alex shouldn’t have confronted her partner, but she also knew that the chances that the department would do anything more than slapping Detective Tommy Cordell on the wrist for screwing a prostitute were slim to none. Alex had walked in on her partner receiving oral sex from a young girl. She’d lost her temper and threatened to turn him into Internal Affairs. Cordell’s over-reaction suggested that there was something he feared more than a suspension. He’d shot Alex in the back as she turned to leave. Only her quick thinking had saved her life—she’d returned fire and took Cordell down. That they’d both survived was a testament to modern medicine and great surgeons.
Matt didn’t blame Alex for what happened. No one did, though they’d wished they could have connected Cordell firmly to Rykov. If she’d had more time to gather evidence, they might have been able to flip Cordell to turn state’s evidence on Rykov. As it was, Cordell had kept his lips shut from the minute he’d been arrested.
Alex was lucky she wasn’t dead. Lucky that she was a good shot and the pills that Cordell had been popping had thrown off his aim. Lucky that Cordell hadn’t died. His trial started in six weeks. Matt wanted to prosecute him personally, but if it came out that Matt was working with the FBI prior to the shooting, it could cast doubt on the trial. Matt had to assign a prosecutor who had no personal connection to Judge Andrew Morgan or Alex.
“I’ll talk to Andrew, then to Alex.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll let you know.”
“I can talk to her,” Dean offered.
“No. I’m the one who got her into this mess in the first place.”
He hung up on Dean and dialed Andrew’s number. While on hold, he stared at the chair where Alex had sat fifteen months ago. It was right after Christmas. The office was quiet, court adjourned until after the New Year.
“My partner’s on the take and I don’t know who to trust.”
“You can trust me, Alex.”
She smiled. She was so beautiful when she smiled. Matt had always been attracted to Alex Morgan, but he’d never pursued it and he didn’t know why. His sister had told him—often—that he’d let his father’s multiple marriages turn him into a cynic. Maybe Megan was right—he dated, but never anyone he was truly interested in. Plus, he had his career.
Now, it was too late with Alex. She’d moved in with her boyfriend, another cop. He’d missed his chance. “I know I can trust you, that’s why I came here. I can’t go to my boss, you know how it is—a slap on the wrist or they’ll reassign me. I’ve turned my back on crap other cops have done, minor stuff that just isn’t worth fighting over. But this? Tommy has a gambling problem, and I think he’s taking money from the Russian mob. Sergei Rykov. And I know Rykov is suspected of running girls, running drugs, building his organization. Ever since I transferred to the Northern Command last year, I wondered how he could get away with it, why the police could never pin anything on him. Now I know why. He has cops on his payroll. I don’t think Tommy is the only one, but I can’t go to my commander without proof. And need something so egregious no one can ignore it.”
“We should call the FBI.”
“Why? Don’t you have an investigative unit in the D.A.’s office?” She’d sounded panicked. No cop wanted to work with the feds against one of their own.
“This would be a federal investigation. Public corruption is almost always investigated by the FBI. I’ll talk to my sister first.” Megan was the SSA of Violent Crimes. “But if anyone has an open investigation into Sergei Rykov, it’ll be Dean Hooper.”
“I don’t know him.”
“You know Officer Riley Knight?”
“Of course. We used to work together in Central Command.”
“Dean is his brother-in-law. He’s a good guy. You can trust him as much as you trust me. You can ask Riley about him.”
She looked nervous, but agreed. “Just tell me what to do, because I can’t live like this. I almost put in for a transfer ... but if I don’t do something, who will?”
Chapter Three
Detective Jim Perry shut off his phone before he went to the penthouse where the hotel had put Hart and his entourage. He didn’t need anymore calls, didn’t need to be nagged, didn’t need anyone breathing down his neck.
He just needed to do his job.
He flashed his badge to the CHP officer standing at Hart’s door, then went in. It was a clusterfuck. Reporters and staff and security. He spotted Lieutenant Governor Travis Hart standing by one of the windows, talking on his cell phone. Jim went straight over to him and interrupted. “Mr. Hart, we need talk about the shooting. Now.”
Hart wrapped up his conversation quickly and said, “Of course, Detective.”
“Is there any place private we can talk?”
Hart shook his head. “Not really. We have the two rooms adjoining this, but staff is in there. The CHP said you’d want to talk to everyone.”
“Yes I do,” Jim said. He motioned for the people hovering around their boss to go to the other side of the room. He’d like to have done the interviews one-on-one and without the commotion, but he also wanted to do them now.
Hart still wore the suit he had on earlier, but he’d taken off his jacket. Blood spotted the crisp white. “You weren’t hit, were you Mr. Hart?”
Hart looked down. “No. But the woman was. I was told she was okay, but going to the hospital.”