I sighed in relief. “Thanks. See you soon.”
Three o’clock found us outside Iverson’s office— me dressed down in jeans and a band T-shirt because being commanded to show up rubbed me the wrong way, Zeke in his uniform, ready to head straight to work if this ran long.
Iverson opened his door a couple of minutes past the hour, and gestured to me. “Fitzpatrick. Come in.”
Zeke got up when I did.
Iverson eyed him. “I don’t recall asking for you.”
“No, sir. Callum did, though.”
“Ah.” Iverson stepped back. “All right, come in, both of you. Have a seat.” He went around behind his desk, while Zeke and I took the two chairs across from him.
“I did you the courtesy—” Iverson raised an eyebrow at Zeke. “—of bringing you in here, Fitzpatrick, to let you know that the GREC will not be proceeding with your case against either Wayne Fitzpatrick or Ronald Shoemark.”
“What?” I jumped to my feet, despite Zeke’s grab for me. “Why not? Zeke and I got you all the evidence, wrapped up with a bow. They’re guilty. What more do you want?”
“Relax. Sit down.” Iverson stared at me silently until I dropped into my chair. “You are correct. We have the makings of a good case against them. That was very useful, in fact. Regarding your uncle, the additional charges will be dropped as part of a plea bargain in which he agrees to testify against Shoemark.”
“So Uncle Wayne just gets away with, like, extortion and stealing and everything?” My gut lurched at the thought of him walking free around Vancouver again.
“Not entirely. He’s pleading guilty to the stolen car charge, which is a parole violation. He will serve out the remainder of his original sentence, in parallel with that. There will simply be no other charges. That puts him behind bars for four more years, I believe.”
That was something, but the unfairness burned inside me. “And Shoemark? Don’t you want to convict him?”
Iverson smiled, a curve of his lips that was small and tight and somehow vicious. “Your case wasveryuseful, because itgot us subpoenas we’d wanted for a long time, to get into his business dealings. We havefarmore serious charges coming for Mr. Ronald Shoemark than bribing a minor league goalie.”
I didn’t mind GREC viciousness aimed at Shoemark-Smith, but I hated being brushed off like I didn’t matter. “What he did could’ve derailed my career. Millions of dollars in earnings. That’s notminor.”
“Believe me, Fitzpatrick, he’s going away for a long time. We don’t need your charges. Although we aren’t destroying any evidence. If, by some disaster of a mistrial, he goes free on the current charges, we might be speaking with you again. We can always reopen the case.”
“Oh, good, so I get to hang around forever, just in case you might screw up badly enough to need me later?”
Zeke nudged my knee with his, probably in warning.
Iverson looked at me like I was a bug on his windshield. “You should be pleased. As long as the case stays under wraps and no charges are laid, you don’t have to explain yourself to your bosses, or the press.”
I was pleased in a way, I guessed, not to have to testify. But I was pissed too. “At least, if I testified, all the truth would be out there. Now, if rumors start, I can’t point at the evidence. Will you give me a document saying that I made the complaint and was the victim here?”
Iverson laughed. “No, we won’t give you a note for your teacher excusing you. If we need your help later, we’ll be in touch. I consider that unlikely. Thanks for stopping by, gentlemen.” He stood and gestured at the door.
Acid burned in my gut, but I didn’t see any way to change things. I threw, “Thanks for nothing,” over my shoulder as I strode out, and gritted my teeth to hear Iverson laugh behind me. Zeke shut the office door before I could slam it.
“Come on.” He grabbed my hand, tugging me forward. I got a sour kick out of walking past the GREC people in the hallway and reception holding hands with my cop boyfriend.
That kick wasn’t enough to keep me from coming to a stop in the parking lot, staring up at the sky, and shouting “Aaargh!” I let go of Zeke to shake both fists toward the building.
Zeke laid his hand on my back. “I’m sorry. I’ve made clean arrests and seen the perps walk on a technicality, or bargained down to a slap on the wrist. It sucks.”
“Maybe you should get into a line of work that sucks less!”
“Maybe I should.”
I’d just been taking my frustration out on Zeke, but that threw me out of my tantrum. “What?”
Zeke gestured toward his truck, and I followed him. Once we were inside, he said, “I’ve been thinking for a while that police work isn’t what I hoped it would be. I mean, it’s necessary, but I’m hurting people, more often than I’m helping. Yeah, cleaning up society, if you want to look at it that way, but… I don’t know. Just a nagging thought.”
“What else would you do?” I’d listened to Zeke complain about his job, but I’d figured it was just bitching, like I did about bruises and travel and stupid opposing forwards, while loving my work. I hadn’t realized he’d meant it.
