He touched a wet finger to it, and the ink smeared.
“What’s the basis for this?” Ben asked. “How did you make probable cause?”
“I’m not required to brief you on my case,” Matthews said. “And I don’t plan to.”
The two words that resonated most in Ben’s brain were “my case.” “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t have to answer that question, either.”
“If you’ll give me a clue, maybe I can—”
“Just stay out of our way, Kincaid.”
“I’m telling you—”
Matthews shoved Ben back, hard. His teeth clenched together and his lips curled. “Listen to me, you goddamn piece of filth. I don’t know if you’re a murderer or just someone who gets his jollies helping murderers. That’s for someone else to decide. But I can tell you this. I don’t like cop killers and I don’t like people who help cop killers. They should be executed on sight, far as I’m concerned. And if you get in my way, that just might happen.”
Ben stared back at him coldly. “You’re making a mistake.”
“See those weapons my men are holding? Those are Smith and Wesson forty-caliber semiautomatic handguns loaded with Federal hollow points. Fast, accurate, and deadly. The two in the rear are carrying Remington 870 twelve-gauges loaded with double-ought buckshot. If my men should be forced to use their weapons in pursuit of a cop killer’s accomplice, they’d never be prosecuted. More likely they’d become national heroes. So stay the hell out of our way.”
Ben stepped aside.
“Spread out,” Matthews instructed his team. “Everybody take a room.”
“Stick with them,” Ben said, instructing his own team, Christina and Loving, Jones and Paula. “Each of you take one of the officers. Don’t get in their way, but don’t let them out of your sight.” Something about the expression on Matthews’s face gave him the feeling he couldn’t be too careful. He didn’t know what they were looking for, but whatever it was, he wanted to make sure it didn’t come out of a police officer’s back pocket.
Ben started after them, but Matthews grabbed him and shoved him sideways. Ben tumbled into a desk.
“My apologies,” Matthews said. “Didn’t see you there.” He moved closer to Ben and lowered his voice. “No courtroom tricks are gonna get you out of this, asshole.”
If there were any doubts in Ben’s mind about what was happening before, there were none after that. Ben pulled himself together and followed one of the uniforms into the nearest office. The others did the same.
Ben watched as an officer ripped open the drawers in Jones’s desk and dumped the contents on the floor.
“Is it the McNaughton case? Is that what this is about?”
The officer grunted and continued tearing apart the office.
“Is that necessary?” Ben growled.
The officer did not look up. “Get in my way, I’ll cuff you. Which I would enjoy.”
Ben buttoned his lip and kept an eye on the man’s hands.
Outside, the other officers searched with the same ham-handed technique. Entire file cabinets were dumped out on the floor. Desk drawers were emptied; even the trash was spilled. Desktops were cleared—phones, laptops, and all. Ben hadn’t expected them to worry about keeping things tidy, but he’d been on searches before with Mike and he knew this wasn’t how it was usually done. It almost seemed as if the object was not so much to find something as to create the biggest upheaval possible.
A high-pitched shriek brought him out of his reverie. “Christina!”
Abandoning his post, Ben raced into her office, where she’d been watching one of the uniforms destroy everything in sight. When Ben arrived, the officer had Christina’s arms pinned behind her back and was snapping handcuffs on her.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Ben shouted. He was mad now, damn it. If they wanted to run some petty harassment vendetta against him, fine. But manhandling Christina was something else again.
“We
“What’s the basis for this?” Ben asked. “How did you make probable cause?”
“I’m not required to brief you on my case,” Matthews said. “And I don’t plan to.”
The two words that resonated most in Ben’s brain were “my case.” “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t have to answer that question, either.”
“If you’ll give me a clue, maybe I can—”
“Just stay out of our way, Kincaid.”
“I’m telling you—”
Matthews shoved Ben back, hard. His teeth clenched together and his lips curled. “Listen to me, you goddamn piece of filth. I don’t know if you’re a murderer or just someone who gets his jollies helping murderers. That’s for someone else to decide. But I can tell you this. I don’t like cop killers and I don’t like people who help cop killers. They should be executed on sight, far as I’m concerned. And if you get in my way, that just might happen.”
Ben stared back at him coldly. “You’re making a mistake.”
“See those weapons my men are holding? Those are Smith and Wesson forty-caliber semiautomatic handguns loaded with Federal hollow points. Fast, accurate, and deadly. The two in the rear are carrying Remington 870 twelve-gauges loaded with double-ought buckshot. If my men should be forced to use their weapons in pursuit of a cop killer’s accomplice, they’d never be prosecuted. More likely they’d become national heroes. So stay the hell out of our way.”
Ben stepped aside.
“Spread out,” Matthews instructed his team. “Everybody take a room.”
“Stick with them,” Ben said, instructing his own team, Christina and Loving, Jones and Paula. “Each of you take one of the officers. Don’t get in their way, but don’t let them out of your sight.” Something about the expression on Matthews’s face gave him the feeling he couldn’t be too careful. He didn’t know what they were looking for, but whatever it was, he wanted to make sure it didn’t come out of a police officer’s back pocket.
Ben started after them, but Matthews grabbed him and shoved him sideways. Ben tumbled into a desk.
“My apologies,” Matthews said. “Didn’t see you there.” He moved closer to Ben and lowered his voice. “No courtroom tricks are gonna get you out of this, asshole.”
If there were any doubts in Ben’s mind about what was happening before, there were none after that. Ben pulled himself together and followed one of the uniforms into the nearest office. The others did the same.
Ben watched as an officer ripped open the drawers in Jones’s desk and dumped the contents on the floor.
“Is it the McNaughton case? Is that what this is about?”
The officer grunted and continued tearing apart the office.
“Is that necessary?” Ben growled.
The officer did not look up. “Get in my way, I’ll cuff you. Which I would enjoy.”
Ben buttoned his lip and kept an eye on the man’s hands.
Outside, the other officers searched with the same ham-handed technique. Entire file cabinets were dumped out on the floor. Desk drawers were emptied; even the trash was spilled. Desktops were cleared—phones, laptops, and all. Ben hadn’t expected them to worry about keeping things tidy, but he’d been on searches before with Mike and he knew this wasn’t how it was usually done. It almost seemed as if the object was not so much to find something as to create the biggest upheaval possible.
A high-pitched shriek brought him out of his reverie. “Christina!”
Abandoning his post, Ben raced into her office, where she’d been watching one of the uniforms destroy everything in sight. When Ben arrived, the officer had Christina’s arms pinned behind her back and was snapping handcuffs on her.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Ben shouted. He was mad now, damn it. If they wanted to run some petty harassment vendetta against him, fine. But manhandling Christina was something else again.
“We
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