The Burden of Truth by Neal Griffin

Author:Neal Griffin [Griffin, Neal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780765395634
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

29

“Damn it, Joaquin. Como pudiste?”

The familiar voice brought him awake. He’d been expecting the phone call and knew there’d be hell to pay. He sat up on the couch in his cramped living room and automatically reached for a phantom cigarette. Even after a year, the stale odor of a two-pack-a-day, forty-year habit remained embedded in the paint of the walls and fabric of the furniture. A constant reminder of an urge that would never go away and was worse at times like this.

“I tried to get hold of you, Anna. It went to voice mail four times. I texted you twice. Sorry, but there was no way I was leaving a detailed message.”

Anna Ramirez was the community outreach and public information officer for the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department. Having previously served as a sworn cop in Phoenix for twenty years, she knew more about crime scenes than press releases, but she turned out to be a quick study. When Sheriff Collier had brought her on three years ago, her marching orders had been to repair the tattered relationship that existed between the sheriff’s department and the Latino community, particularly in the North County. Nowhere more than in Vista.

“Then you should’ve driven back out to the scene,” she said, giving no ground. “You knew I’d be there. I can’t believe you were involved in something like this. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

“Believe me, it could’ve been worse.”

“Worse? How? It’s like watching a goddamn snuff flick, Joaquin. How could it be any worse?”

Yes, he’d caved. And yes, all because he was afraid of losing his job. But at least he’d talked Philip down from airing the images uncensored. He’d agreed to do both the English and Spanish voice-over if Philip would air only thirty seconds of the first deputies to reach the scene, without showing the face or bloody wounds of their slain comrade. The end product showed the tall white cop kneeling over the mostly hidden body, his arms covered in blood and his face spattered with red. His female partner stood over him, crying.

“Stop, Travis. Just stop. He’s gone.”

Even with the heavy edit, it was still the worst film production he’d ever been party to. Anna was right. It did feel like some kind of perverse snuff flick, and there he was at the end, with a microphone in his hand, like he was taking a bow. The bobblehead on the couch had summed it all up with her typical eloquence: “Damn, Boomer. Intense.”

“I’m sorry, Anna. I am. I did all I could to keep it off the air.”

She scoffed. “Really? Is the suspect standing off camera with a gun to your head?”

“I did what I could. I fought. I lost.”

“You should know, the sheriff is beside himself. I’ve never seen him this angry. I mean, on top of everything else, he’s got to deal with this? The murder of a deputy sheriff, broadcast practically live?” He’d never heard such emotion from her. “He wants me to blackball your station and anybody else that jumped on your … your demented bloodwagon.

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