Bringing Adam Home - Les Standiford [96]
The major shrugged. She wasn’t so sure. She had heard he couldn’t get along very well with Dick Witt over at Hollywood PD.
Matthews was stunned. Less than six hours since he’d spoken with Witt, and already he was being torpedoed? He left the major’s office without another word and made his way to the office of the chief. Matthews had known Richard Barretto for a long time, and while they weren’t necessarily pals, they got along just fine. Matthews showed Barretto the memo from his supervisor, and Barretto handed it back to him.
“So?” he asked Matthews.
“So?” Matthews repeated. “What the hell is going on here? Is Dick Witt the chief of this department, or are you? I just talked with the major. She let the cat out of the bag. I give Dick Witt a little grief, and suddenly I’m being transferred back into uniform?”
Barretto stared evenly back at Matthews. “Dick Witt doesn’t have anything to do with your transfer. You interfered with a sexual harassment investigation being conducted by our internal affairs division. That’s why you’re being transferred.”
Matthews shook his head in puzzlement. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“That camera you had removed from the office was placed there by IA.”
Matthews was dumbfounded by Barretto’s revelation. “It was a departmental surveillance camera? You mean internal affairs took all that turtle statue shit seriously? That’s still no reason for me to be transferred.”
Barretto folded his hands and leaned across his desk. “I’m the acting chief,” he told Matthews. “And I would like to become the chief. The major wants you transferred, and I can’t undermine my command staff by issuing counterorders. It’s as simple as that.”
Matthews started to protest yet again, but what was the point? He’d simply done what any other detective who’d found a spy camera in his office would have done. All that was just a smoke screen.
He stood up and walked out of Barretto’s office while the acting chief was prattling on, reminding him that he had just a few months left to retirement, and that he probably had that much leave time accrued. Matthews could in effect retire right now, no worries about uniform duty . . .
Sure, Matthews was thinking. But all he could think about was what had happened to Buddy Terry in Jacksonville. Terry was a well-respected, hardworking detective who had gotten crosswise with Hollywood PD trying to make headway on the Adam Walsh case, and look what had happened to him. Now—and Matthews was certain of it—he had made the same mistake.
When he came home that evening, Ginny met him at the door excited, waving a sheaf of photos. Joe had missed the opening of Cristina’s dance recital the day before because he’d been held up at work, but that was no problem—she had these great pictures of their daughter coming out on stage. When she suddenly saw the expression on Joe’s face, she stopped.
She took a closer look at what was in the box. Pictures from his office—a dozen years of the kids growing up—one of his father, who’d been so proud of his detective son, and framed commendations. When she heard Joe’s account, she was stunned. That’s the thanks he got for caring about a case an entire police department had botched? Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “Joe, things happen for a reason. Your family loves you. I love you. It’s going to be fine.”
When his brother Pete, also a Miami Beach detective sergeant and supervisor of the department’s crimes against property unit, heard what had happened, he demanded a transfer back to uniform patrol as well. “You don’t need to do that,” Matthews protested to his brother, but Pete was having none of it. It was all bullshit, and everyone knew it.
Sure enough, when Matthews turned up at roll call on his first day back in uniform, the entire shift stood to give him a lengthy ovation. They all knew it wasn’t much, but it was the very least they could do.
Raiford, Florida—June 27, 1995
On Tuesday of the following week, Detective Smith did in fact travel to Raiford, Florida,