Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [104]
Chief Naborski glared at him. “I’m going to write a letter of discipline that will go into your file. If you ever get a second letter, you’ll be suspended without pay. A third letter will result in termination.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right now, you are going to go out to the squad room and write up a matter of record. Shut my door behind you. When you’re done, bring it in here.”
Roelke didn’t allow his shoulders to slump until he was seated at the typewriter in the next room. This was just round one of the trouble he was facing. But disappointing Chief Naborski was the worst of it.
“You OK?” Marie asked quietly. “You want a cup of coffee?”
Marie had never offered to get Roelke coffee before. He sighed. “Thanks. That would be good.”
The big mug she brought him was drained by the time he got his admission down on paper: he’d disobeyed, he’d done things wrong, he regretted his mistakes. It would also go into his permanent file. You’re screwing your career out there, Rick had said. Rick had no idea.
The chief read the admission through, then put it aside. “I just got off the phone with the DA. I explained that you have some kind of a personal relationship with this curator woman. I don’t know exactly what it is—”
I don’t either, Roelke thought.
“—and I don’t care,” Naborski was saying. “But the DA is extremely uncomfortable with the idea of you seeing her socially until the trial is over.”
Which could take a very long time.
Chief Naborski planted his forearms on his desk and leaned forward. “I am ordering you to stay away from this woman until after the trial. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Roelke realized that his right knee was bouncing like a pile driver. He forced himself back to stillness.
“It will come out that you lied to the deputies. I can’t protect you from the consequences of that.”
“I understand.”
“There’s just one more thing.” The older man rubbed his chin with thumb and forefinger. “The good news is that you got the SOB.”
Roelke exhaled slowly. “Concealed carry and reckless endangerment at least. Probably more.”
“Carlisle never aimed?” the chief asked.
Roelke hesitated. He’d always known that he could shoot to kill if necessary. When a bad guy points a gun at a cop, the cop shoots. But yesterday, when he’d seen Chloe’s pants stained with blood … he’d felt those pulsing moments of anger so fierce that he had wanted to shoot. He had willed Carlisle to raise that dangling revolver, so he could—
“Officer McKenna?” Chief Naborski was frowning again.
“Not at me. He aimed at Ms. Ellefson before I got there.”
The chief picked up a paperclip and toyed with it. “So. You handled a volatile situation without loss of life. That part was well done.”
Roelke didn’t quite feel safe saying thank you, so he settled for a small nod.
“I will expect your presence at the next Village Board meeting.” Naborski tipped his chair back on two legs again. “Next Thursday, 7:30 P.M. You will receive your citation then.”
Before Roelke could do more than blink, Chief Naborski’s phone rang. “Marie,” he yelled irritably.
The clerk opened the door and stuck her head into the room. “I know, I know. But I think you want to take it.”
The chief picked up the phone, made a few noncommittal noises, said “Thanks for the call,” and hung up. Then he looked at Roelke. “Carlisle’s bail was set at fifty grand, but evidently daddy has deep pockets. Your boy’s out on bond.”
____
When Roelke emerged from the chief’s office, he sat down and reached for the phone. The county was crawling all over the Carlisle case, now. But he wasn’t ready to hand everything over in a gift-wrapped box. Not yet.
The DA had told Chief Naborski which Waukesha county detective was now assigned to the case—someone fairly new, which was good. Roelke got him on the phone and introduced himself. “I’m calling about Rupert Engel. I know the ball’s in your court, but if you’d like some help on this end, I’d be glad to question the guy myself.” He tried to sound off-hand. The politics of this kind of thing could be delicate.
“Well …” Detective Shuler