Unfortunately, the reality was less an ideal family and more an organization as creaky and prone to error as most. While admittedly elite and proud, it was also full of prejudice, ambition, and slight, of management and union struggles, of too many people scrambling for too few promotions. The public image was to appear always perfectly unruffled, which only forced those in trouble to sometimes twist on their own, suddenly discovering the famous clannishness as more hindrance than help. Workaholic that I was, I had Gail, my books, my stints in college and in battle, and even my age to help keep me steady-and even so, I was now nagged by doubt. In contrast, shunned by the people he’d assumed would rally around him, young Brian Padget had to be lonely, confused, and increasingly bitter. In all conscience, I couldn’t leave him dangling while we plotted strategy, especially since I feared Emily Doyle might soon be suffering the same fate.
Padget wasn’t happy to see me. “What do you want?”
“To talk, if you got a minute.”
He scowled, holding the front door as if bracing to slam it. “A minute? You’re shitting me. I got nothing but, thanks to you… ” He suddenly hesitated, momentarily confused. “Do I got to do this?”
“No. You can throw me off your property if you want to. I don’t know why you would, though.”
It was a small challenge, to test his anger, although I suspected it was early for him yet, that he was only in the confusing first stage of what would seem like an endless descent. In fact, he was still responsive to perceived authority. He stepped away from the door and muttered, “All right.”
I walked into the familiar living room and took a seat on the sofa. Padget remained by the door.
“More questions?” he asked.
“Some.” I waved at an armchair.
He perched on its edge, his elbows on his knees. He looked sleep-deprived. His skin was pasty, his eyes bloodshot and dark-rimmed. He didn’t smell like he’d washed recently.
“It’s been a few days since we found that dope in your toilet, Brian,” I began briskly. “You’ve had a lot of time to think about how it got there-and why your urine tested positive. What’ve you come up with?”
He shook his head, staring at the floor. “I’m the last guy to ask. I don’t know shit about this whole mess.”
“Think back to a week before it started, further if you can. What was your routine, from when you woke up to lights out?”
“I don’t know. I’m a cop. I go out on the streets. I make enemies. I’m a sitting duck.”
I spoke to him sharply. “That’s movie bullshit. Crooks don’t make enemies out of us. They work their side, and we try to put them in jail. It’s professional, not sandlot wrestling. You’re either in a jam because you screwed around with another man’s wife, or because you are a doper. Which is it?”
He stood, his face flushed with anger. “I’m not dirty. No matter what everyone thinks.”
“Fine,” I almost shouted to quiet him back down. “So what’s that leave?”
His lips compressed into a thin, bloodless line. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes betrayed his confusion.
“You were used,” I said gently, “by someone who went after you by turning the system against you. He knew we’d have to do what we did, and that the rest would naturally follow-the press drumming it up, the politicians covering their asses, the people you work with giving you a wide berth. You feel bad now, but it’ll get worse unless we can cut it off with the truth.”
“I’m not dirty,” he repeated in a barely perceptible voice, sitting back down.
“Maybe I believe that. It doesn’t make any difference. Not until you can help me find some proof. If you want a cliché that holds water, remember the one about cops being guilty until they’re proven innocent, ’cause that’s the way it is.”
Padget cupped his face in his palms and rubbed his eyes hard with his fingertips. “This supposed to make me feel good?”
I took hope at that glimmer of humor. “It’s supposed to get you off your ass. Right now, it looks like you committed a crime. But even though I’m the one who found the evidence, my job’s not near done. I still have to look under rocks-make sure what I got is solid. I’m hoping there’s something that proves what we have is bogus, and you’re one of the best people I know to help me with that.”
He stood up again in a frustrated lurch and stalked over to the window. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, staring out at the street. “That’s about all I do anymore. Jan was never in this place, and I know it wasn’t Emily. You guys are definitely wrong there.”
“Who says? You dumped her for Bouch’s wife. That’s been known to piss a few women off.”
“God damn it,” he shouted, glaring at me. “Is that how it works? Everything gets twisted to fit the picture? I didn’t dump Emily and I didn’t go straight from her to Jan. Emily and I are friends. We went to bed a couple of times, it didn’t work out, and we called it quits-nice but no cigar. Emily’s not out to get me. That’s total bullshit.”
“She was in this house. Was anyone else?”
He merely rolled his eyes.
“Did she ever use the bathroom, or have access to it when you couldn’t see her?”
He still didn’t answer.
“That’s how we have to think, Brian,” I said. “Not that Emily stuck it to you, but that she had the opportunity. Which means we can’t rule her out-same with Jan.”
He returned to his chair, suddenly eager to talk. “Look, Lieutenant. I know you’re a good guy. And I know you don’t screw other cops. But this is all crazy. I’m just starting out and I got a lot to learn, but I am pretty good. Ask Sergeant Davis. I can figure out when people’re pulling my chain. Emily Doyle is a nice kid. She’s got a chip on her shoulder and she comes on too strong, but that’s because she’s scared of screwing up. She wants to make it so bad as a cop it hurts. There is no way in hell she’d go after me because we didn’t have a good time in bed. I mean, Jesus, I’m about the only one in the department who can put up with her shit half the time.”
“Why the chip on the shoulder?”
He shook his head impatiently. “Family junk. Her father wanted a boy, gave her shit as a kid, said she’d never measure up. She overcompensates.”
“What about Jan Bouch?”
He hesitated at the sudden change in direction. “That’s different.”
I waited for more and finally had to prompt him. “Starting with the fact that you love her?”
His discomfort came off him like smoke.
“I love somebody, too,” I said. “It’s not something to be embarrassed about. Tell me what kind of person she is-objectively, as a cop.”
“She has her problems,” he admitted. “Her son-of-a-bitch husband for starters. He hooked her on coke to tie her to him. But she’s working on kicking that.” His voice became wistful. “She was, at least.”
“Is she a strong person?” I asked.
“She’s not Emily-God knows. She’s got strong feelings, though. But she’s no fighter.”
“What do you like about her?”
Padget shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She makes me feel good. The things she says are kind of dumb, but they put me right on top… I guess that sounds stupid.”
Not stupid, I thought, but disarmingly flattering. “What kind of influence do you think Norm has on her, besides the drugs?”
He looked at me in wonder. “I hadn’t thought about it till just now, but he reminds me of Emily’s father-the two of them are real domineering.”
“But where Emily ended up fighting back… ” I left the thought dangling on purpose.