“This department will eat you alive.”
Marcus’s expression did not change.
“No.”
Caldwell waited.
Marcus looked around the station.
“It’s been eating everyone else.”
Then Caldwell was gone.
No applause followed.
Marcus would have hated applause.
There was work.
At 9:32, thirty-two minutes after his scheduled introduction as chief, Marcus stood in the command conference room.
His cheek was still red.
The marks around his wrists had darkened.
The four gold stars remained on his shoulders.
The command staff sat around a long table.
Deputy Chief Charles Vance occupied the chair immediately to Marcus’s right.
Vance was fifty-seven.
White.
Tall.
Silver hair.
Thirty-one years in Riverside.
The man many officers expected to become chief.
He wore concern well.
“Marcus, I cannot tell you how embarrassed I am.”
Marcus placed both palms against the conference table.
“Chief Reed is fine in this room.”
A tiny correction.
Vance noticed.
“Of course.”
Marcus studied him.
Vance had been smiling in every transition photograph.
Welcoming.
Professional.
Cooperative.
Too cooperative, perhaps.
But Marcus had spent too many years investigating crimes to confuse suspicion with evidence.
Not yet.
Vance continued.
“Caldwell has always been aggressive.”
Marcus stared.
“Always?”
The deputy chief realized the problem.
“He’s… direct.”
“Four civilian complaints in five years.”
Vance nodded.
“Unfounded.”
“By whom?”
“Internal Affairs.”
“Under whose command?”
Vance hesitated.
“Mine.”
There it was.
Marcus sat.
Around the table were commanders of patrol, investigations, training, evidence, and Professional Standards.
Several avoided his eyes.
Marcus folded his hands.
“I was supposed to give a first-day speech.”
Nobody spoke.
“I wrote one.”
He looked toward the leather folder before him.
“I’m not going to use it.”
He pushed the folder aside.
“I’m also not going to stand here and tell you every officer in Riverside is corrupt.”
Several people visibly relaxed.
Marcus continued.
“That would be as lazy as what happened downstairs.”
The relaxation vanished.
“I will not replace one assumption with another.”
He looked around the table.
“But I will say this.”
“You have a culture problem.”
Deputy Chief Vance opened his mouth.
Marcus raised one hand.
“No.”
Vance stopped.
“Not because one sergeant handcuffed me.”
Marcus leaned back.
“Because twenty people watched.”
Silence.
“A dispatcher had my photograph.”
“Desk officers had access to the roster.”
“A civilian asked for verification.”
“A junior officer recognized something was wrong.”
“Still, nothing changed until a radio call made consequences personal.”
Nobody moved.
Marcus let the silence stretch.
“That is not a procedural failure.”
“It is a moral one.”
Captain Helen Shaw, head of training, finally spoke.
“Chief, some officers may have believed Caldwell had information they didn’t.”
“Did anyone ask?”
“No.”
“Then that explanation is part of the problem.”
Shaw nodded slowly.