The Sorority 1

Author's Note: This is a sequel to my prior series Criminal Affair 1-10, and unlike previously I chose not to piecemeal it out. I wanted this one all at once, and any future stories for this series will be done in this fashion as well. I would like to really thank Tigersman for the excellent editing.

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Monday - March 17, 2025

-Chase Kramner-

A long shot is the kind of phrase I use to describe the situation I am currently in. A wild goose chase, pun not intended. Needle in a haystack. A blind squirrel in search of an acorn. Whatever colloquial term you want to use to describe someone in search of something they will not find.

This murder investigation started three days ago, and if this guy had anything resembling a brain in his skull he would be three states away by now. Edward Taylor certainly would not be at the subway station seventy-two hours after murdering two people, with his name and face plastered everywhere in the city for the last forty-eight of those hours. No one is that stupid. Then again, if people were not that idiotic, I would not have so much work.

My more experienced partner and superior Sergeant Leonard Sweeney leads the walk down the stairs to the subway terminal, his hard leather shoes echoing in the narrow stairwell descending into the terminal of the station. His well-trimmed beard with streaks of grey do more to accent his experience than his age. Leo is exactly my height, and I think he is a good allegory for me at that age. The same longer hair, mine slicked up at the front and his combed straight back.

The soft soles of my running shoes are not as harmonic as his leather shoes. The more formal attire of Leo compared to me continues above the ankle, but he looks rigid while I sacrifice none of my mobility. The three-piece blue pinstripe suit makes him look more like an off-color Secret Service Agent than a homicide detective, but to each his own.

"Seriously kid," Leo starts saying as we approach the last step, taking a brief pause in his statement to make that small change in elevation appear more dramatic with a light jump off. "Get a suit. That lab tech who verbally castrated you, she's right, you look like a fucking frat boy."

"I was a fucking frat boy," I reply casually, reaching the terminal a step after him.

Upon reaching the station, I take a fast scan across the space in front of me and the bustling movement of people going about their day including the bodies that continue to shove their way past us. Along the wall are ticket dispensers where you can pay with card or cash. The access to the station is blocked by the waist high turnstile with an on-duty guard behind glass who gives us a nod as we flash our badges. A solid clank sound snaps from inside the turnstile, indicating it unlocked to let us through.

The bars release a thud as they snap back after we move through. I examine the area for any sign of Edward Taylor, but all I see is an ocean of bodies of different heights creating the mirage of waves crashing into each other. Needle in a fucking haystack.

"Why are we here?" I ask Leo as we look at the madness of rush hour transit.

"Tip line. Someone recognized our guy. Along with the other seventy-three people who recognized our guy. Mother fucking tip line. Our car was closest to this great locale," Leo said to summarize our circumstance.

"Mother fucking tip line," I parrot back to him. "Let's get through with this. I'll get that end," I say, pointing at to the end of the terminal we are currently facing. Then I point over my shoulder with my thumb. "You get that one."

"Easy rook, seniority is me, and you are a pissant before me," Leo teases then laughs a little. "I concur."

"See you in a minute," I say and start walking. Five steps later I do a communication check with Leo by pressing the talk button three times and three clicks follow.

What a waste of time. This guy is miles away. He is more likely to get picked up by a state trooper crossing state lines or getting pulled over for a broken taillight than me finding him in a crowded subway terminal. I touch the wall for good measure, just to say I searched entirely. I place my right toes behind my left heel and do a full military about face -- thank you high school JROTC -- and continue back the other way only to immediately see Edward Taylor sitting against the pillar I just walked around three seconds ago.

"Fuck me," I say as he looks up and sees my badge on my belt and my thumb unclipping the leather strap holding my pistol in its holster. He scrambles to his feet faster than I can draw and starts running back the way I came from.

"Suspect's here!" I shout into my radio and finish brandishing my weapon. "Everyone down! Down! Down!" I shout, half of the room stampeding, the other half hitting the floor. I hear Leo shout back.

Edward slides behind the next pillar and I assume Leo is still pushing his way through a torrent of self-preservation.

"Put your hands in the air and approach slowly..." I say before he leans around the pillar with a gun and pops two rounds into mine. "Mother fucker!"

I lean over to shoot back, but too many people are behind him, and no one is behind me. The only advantage I have is that I have a larger magazine than him. The ballistics at the crime scene were consistent with the weapon he had registered, a Smith & Wesson Model 52. His hand gun can only load five bullets and an extended magazine is unlikely because this gun was discontinued in 1992. He could easily have another magazine, but the second he fires that fifth bullet I am rushing in.

I can hear Leo calling this in as I take a deep breath to focus. I have no clean shot.

"Can you get him?" Leo asks from the radio.

"Negative. I'm pinned here, but if he's aiming at me, he can't hit a civilian," I say back, looking around the pillar and see him start to run. I take off after him and when he is at the next pillar he turns back and fires again. It misses and slams into the wall behind me. My back rams the next pillar for protection. Keep shooting at me. Keep your eyes on me. Do not see the middle-aged detective about to tackle you.

"Where are you?" I say in the radio as I peek around the corner. He fires the fourth shot which clips off the side of the pillar much closer to my face than I would prefer. Pieces of the pillar are launched toward me and impact on my left cheek which I clinch as I flinch back behind the pillar. "Shit!"

"I got eyes, I'm a pillar down from him," Leo says, and I lean around again and see Leo. Edward is still looking at me and I think he does not see Leo yet.

"Edward, it's over!" I shout, wiping the blood slithering off my cheek and down my chin. "Put the gun down, put your hands behind your head, walk out from the pillar, and get on your knees!" I order from the safety of my pillar.

Edward does not reply, but he keeps his gun trained on me when I poke my head around again for a moment.

"I got a shot," Leo says quietly in the radio.

"Last resort," I say back and take a deep breath. Fuck me.

"Edward, I'm coming out. See my gun," I say and place my gun on the ground and kick it away from me. "I'm coming out," I say again.

Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. And I step out. I keep my hands above my head as I leave my cover. Edward keeps me down the sight of his gun and steps out as well.

"Put it down, before you kill someone else," I say, and he does not reply. "Put it down."

"On your knees."

"I'm not doing that. I'm going to step to you."

"Do it and I shoot," Edward warns.

"You would have already shot me. Put the gun down, kick it to me, and get on the ground," I order, and I see Leo sneaking up on him. Just a little more. I take a step and he gets more nervous. Hurry up Leo, get him.

When Leo was near five feet away, Edward hears him and reflexively turns and shoots. Leo drops to the ground and I charge. Edward turns back and pulls the trigger, but the gun clicks. I spear tackle him to the ground and in the struggle, he punches up and hits me in the face, so I return the punch and roll him to his stomach and hold him down. As we wrestle our reinforcements arrive. I direct one officer to help Leo and the other to assist me in cuffing Edward.

With the patrol officer holding Edward, I check on Leo and see the officer has gauze on his neck to hold pressure. He is conscious and alert, and gives me a simple thumbs up to let me know he is as good as he could be considering.

--

Tuesday - March 18, 2025

The next morning, I am called in for an after-action review, which is protocol for any shooting. A small investigation always takes place, but this was clean even with Leo getting hit. I did not get much sleep because I spent the night with him in the hospital after my own face received two stitches. Lieutenant Queen said he would have one of the other detectives process Edward Taylor for us.

I am sitting across a desk in a casual environment. It is not an interrogation room, but a simple office with a small desk for the Public Integrity Unit. I am leaned over the desk slightly, my elbows just above my knees on my thighs with my hands under the table. On the other side is a Sergeant who has a folder with the initial intelligence of the case and the shooting. The CSI techs worked through the night at the train station which was already reopened to the public, and a member of the Chief of Police's executive staff already gave a press briefing to announce the suspect had been arrested, an officer was injured, but there were no fatalities.

"Detective Sweeny and I received a call on dispatch of an anonymous tip that the suspect was seen at the eastern side subway station. We were the closest car so we responded, arriving at approximately thirteen ten."

"What happened next?" the Sergeant asks, his tape recorder on for the conversation.

"Seventy-two hours into the investigation, we didn't believe he was likely there. We split up, both approaching the far walls to sweep."

"You split up?" the Sergeant asked.

"Yes," I say. That is the wrong answer. That is horror movie stupid, but neither of us expected to see him there. "Again, this is long into an investigation. The suspect is usually long gone and avoiding public transit."

"Continue."

"Upon reaching my wall, I turned to sweep back, and the suspect was sitting on the ground leaning on the last pillar. I didn't even have time to identify myself as a police officer before he saw my badge and drew his weapon. He took cover behind the next pillar where I then identified myself, shouted for civilians to get down, and he fired twice upon me."

"Is this when you were wounded?"

"No," I say. "Detective Sweeny began to move through the crowd, and we coordinated actions through our radio. I saw I had no clean shot due to civilians behind him and none behind me, so made it my objective to ensure his weapon was only trained on me. He bounded back to the next pillar and I bounded forward. He fired a third round, missing again and I retook cover. When I leaned out again to address the suspect, he fired upon me a fourth time. The bullet impacted the pillar and sent debris into my face, which is when my minor injury occurred."

The Sergeant writes down a few notes then says continue.

"Detective Sweeny arrived one pillar behind him undetected and indicated to me he had a clear shot. That was the last resort. Our positions on him made capture the preferred resolution. I told the suspect I was coming to him, and I placed my service weapon on the ground so he could see it. This was to divert his attention away from Detective Sweeny maneuvering on him. He was alerted to his presence regardless, and reflexively turned and fired. This is when Detective Sweeny received his injuries."

"I charged at that moment. I did not believe he had any more ammunition, as his registered weapon used only five round magazines. I tackled the suspect, a small skirmish ensued with me overpowering him. Uniformed officers arrived and helped subdue the suspect and render aid to Detective Sweeny."

"Are there any other pertinent details you wish to elaborate on regarding this incident?" the Sergeant asks, and I shake my head, then he reminds me it is recording, and he needs a vocal response. "Thank you for your time," he says and turns off the recorder. "Even with Detective Sweeny, I see no reason right now this goes further than just the official record. Regardless of how small the chance the suspect is to be somewhere, don't do that Scooby-Doo shit again."

"Yes Sergeant," I say, and we shake hands before I leave his office.

I take the elevator straight back to the second floor to the homicide department. Before I can even sit at my desk Lieutenant Queen calls me into his office. I have been told the man has looked disheveled since the dawn of time, and I initially wrote him off as someone coasting to retirement. Then I saw him handle a few cases and I understood he was in his position on merit. No one has ever spoken a negative word about the man, which is a rare feat for police officers. I am only a few days removed from him giving me the ass chewing of my career. How the fuck was I supposed to know that chick used to be his partner.

"We got the word, Leo's going to be discharged in about a week," he says as I gesture to close the door and he says that's not needed. "Shit happens, and I don't see negligence on either of your parts. Clean arrest, even though his lawyer is trying to kick up shit about you roughing him up a little, but it wasn't excessive, and we have about forty witnesses willing to say that." That is good to hear.

"Go to the CSI lab and pick up the final report for the initial crime scene and the subway incident. Submit through legal with recommended charges to the DA. You got a week to recover, not negotiable," he interrupts when I start to say I am fine. "You got an appointment with the doc tomorrow. Standard procedure after a shooting."

"I'll get the file," I say, and he dismisses me to head down to the basement to visit the CSI lab. The elevator ride felt longer than it was, and my hands will not stop shaking. I had to hide it under the desk during the debriefing so he would not notice. How was I cool as a cucumber during the incident, but now my hand is trembling uncontrollably?

I request the file at the sliding glass window and the secretary tells me to wait a moment and slides it shut again. The double doors swing open while I am waiting and Jill Whitaker steps out and sees me.

"It's the frat boy," Jill says, and as I am about to respond, her body convulses, and she looks around the room. There is a small trashcan next to the door, which she hunches over and pukes into. "Not you," she ensures me, spits one last time and stands upright again. She looks a little sweaty, but all and all I still would have loved to have seen her ten years ago.

"You okay?" I ask, and she nods.

"Yeah, I'm good. Morning sickness," she says. Is she pregnant?

"Congrats," I say unenthusiastically.

Like it or not, I will have to work with her in the future. It is already very apparent she is not a person I need to get on the wrong side of. Her old partner is my boss, and her husband is my boss' boss. She was respected enough to have her badge retired, which is no small achievement. I am out of my depth if I choose to piss her off.

"Look, for before. I'm sorry. I didn't know who you were, and it was unprofessional. I'm sorry," I say and she grins.

"Well thank you. Apology not accepted," she retorts. What?

"I didn't know who you were?" she asks, her voice and inflection changing. "If my thirteen-year-old son said half of the shit you did, I would beat his ass. You don't talk to anyone that way, and you certainly don't have a halfhearted bullshit apology because of who I know. You're not apologizing to me; You're taking political cover."

All I could do was stand there, silently absorbing her response. She is not wrong, and I without a doubt have made this worse.

"I've been in law enforcement for seventeen years. I've been a woman in a man's world since you were on the fucking playground. Do you have any idea how many years I watched men roll their eyes, then come back and say the same shit I just said and take credit for it? You aren't the first dick to condescend to me, and I've made a profession out of putting people like you in their place.

"You think you had me figured out? Let's put you under that lens and see what we find. Let me guess, barely graduated high school, scraped by in college at some place no one has ever heard of, became a cop as a fall back?" she asked sarcastically. She is batting zero, but even if I tell her, she would dismiss it as sardonic on my part.

"Stop by my desk, I'll show you my degree from Dartmouth," I reply, and she laughs.

"Sure thing frat boy," she says as the glass door slides open and the file is placed on the ledge. "Get your file." I do and I watch her leave first. No chance in hell I am boarding the elevator with her.

--

Wednesday - March 19, 2025

My appointment with the shrink is fast and I still have time before I go back to work. I do not address the fact my hands have not stopped shaking and my sleep is difficult. Regardless, I get a clean bill of health and move on with my life.

Even though I would rather be at work, I do take the time to do some shopping that I have been neglecting to do. I was planning on getting a suit as Leo suggested and try it out for a week to see what it does. The frat boy comments from Jill certainly helped make that decision faster.

Not even at the mall for five minutes when I hear from a few stores down someone shouting about a shoplifter. I step out of the store and see a kid running straight toward me with an man in his thirties in hot pursuit shouting things in Hindi at him. I guess he assumed I would just step aside and not interfere, but I snatch his arm and watch his momentum swing him to the floor.

"Let go!" the kid shouts, and tugs away, trying to pry my fingers off his arm.

"Not a chance kid."

"I'll scream for the police."

I pull my wallet out and flip it open to show him my badge. "Go ahead."

I drag the kid to the mall security office and talk with the guards. They have already smoothed things over with the shop owner and returned the stolen item. All this over a cell phone case. No one wants to press charges or anything on a kid, but we do want to scare him plenty.

"What's your name kid?" I say after they try to call his parents to no avail.

"Jesse," he says, evading my eyes.

"Jesse James? Jesse Owens?" I say.

"Whitaker," he says. Roughly thirteen. You must be shitting me.

"You Captain Whitaker's kid?" I ask.

"Yeah, and he's not going to be happy about this," he says, his tone slightly threatening. I will call that bluff all damned day.

"About what? Me arresting you, or you getting arrested? I have witnesses and a pissed off shop owner, I'll take my odds over yours," I say, and the guard says he still could not get his parents on the phone. I sigh and look at him. I would bet money he is giving them bad numbers.

"I can get him to his parents," I say, the guards just shrugging.

"Whatever you want detective," they reply, and I escort Jesse from the building and to my car.

"Get in the car," I say, Jesse crossing his arms and leaning against the door. "There is no way out of this. I can leave you in that office and your parents get here when they get here, or you come with me and I take you to the precinct. What's it gonna be tough guy?" He gets in the car.

The kid broods the entire drive and when we get to my office, I sit him in the chair next to my desk. I see Lieutenant Queen lean over in his chair and see me and the kid. He gestures me inside and I close the door.