Torres took a deep breath. “Sorry about dragging you out here like this. We probably could have talked on the phone, but . . .” He shook his head. “I guess I’m getting kind of paranoid.”
“I know the feeling.”
Torres’s eyes widened. “You? You seem . . . unshakable.”
“Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not.”
Torres bit his lower lip. He seemed to be steeling himself for a dive off the high board. “You asked about Acme Realty.”
“About Acme’s relationship with the department.”
“The way I understand it, it’s kind of a reciprocal arrangement.”
“Meaning what?’
“Rental management can be a tough business in some neighborhoods. Not just trying to collect rent from deadbeats, but nastier stuff. Dealers turning the property into a crack house. Illegal activity that can void the owner’s insurance. Tenants threatening to kill landlords. Gangbangers scaring decent tenants away. Apartments getting trashed. You’re a landlord in a tough area like Grinton, you’re going to be dealing with some dangerously crazy tenants.”
“So what’s the reciprocal arrangement?”
“Acme gets the support it needs from the department. Gangbangers, drug dealers, and crazies are persuaded to move on. People who don’t pay their rent are persuaded to do so.”
“What does the department get in return?”
“Access.”
“Access to what?”
“To any rental unit Acme manages.”
“The Poulter Street house?”
“Yes.”
“The Bridge Street apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Cory Payne’s apartment?”
“Yes.”
Marika arrived with his espresso. “God,” she said. “You boys look super serious. Whatever you do for a living, I’m glad I don’t do it. You want sugar with that?”
Gurney shook his head. When she was gone he said, “So, we’re talking about warrantless searches?”
Torres said nothing, just nodded.
“So let’s say you have a vague suspicion there might be some illegal activity in a particular apartment, but nothing concrete. And you know that no one is home during the day. So what then? You call up that Conway woman and ask her for a key?”
Torres looked around nervously. “No, you go to Turlock.”
“And he calls Conway?”
“I don’t know. I just know he’s the one you’d go to, and he’d supply the key.”
“So you take the key, you check out the premises, you see the evidence you guessed might be there. Then what?”
“You leave everything like it was. You get a warrant from Judge Puckett, specifying what you expect to find, claiming it was based on reliable tips from two sources. Then you go back and find it. All neat and legal.”
“You’ve done this?”
“No. I’m not comfortable with it. But I know some guys have.”
“And they have no problem with it?”
“They don’t seem to. It’s blessed from the top. That means a lot.”
Gurney couldn’t disagree with that. “So the bad guys get put away or run out of town. Acme has fewer problems, and their business is more profitable. Meanwhile, Beckert gets credit for reducing the population of undesirables and cleaning up White River. He becomes a champion of law and order. Everybody wins.”
Torres nodded. “That’s pretty much the way it works.”
“Okay. Big question. Do you know of situations where evidence was planted by the same officer who later found it?”
Torres was staring down into the coffee mug he was still grasping with both hands. “I couldn’t say for sure. All I know is what I’m telling you.”
“But you’re uncomfortable with all that illegal access?”
“I guess so. Maybe I’m in the wrong line of work.”
“Law enforcement?”
“The
He was gripping his mug so tightly now his knuckles were white. “I mean, what’s ‘due process’ anyway? Is that supposed to be a real thing? Or do we just pretend it’s a real thing? Are we supposed to respect it even when it’s inconvenient, or only when it doesn’t get in the way of what we want to achieve?”
“Where do you think Dell Beckert stands on that question?”
“Beckert is all about the result. The final product. Period.”
“And how he gets there doesn’t matter?”
“It sure doesn’t seem to. It’s like there’s no standard other than what that man wants.” He sighed and met Gurney’s gaze. “You think maybe I should be in another profession?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I hate the conflicts that are part of the job.”
“Part of the job? Part of this peculiar case? Part of working in a racially divided city? Or just part of working for Beckert?”
“Maybe all of those. Plus . . . being a Latino in a very Anglo department can get a little tense. Sometimes more than a little.”
“Let me ask you something. Why did you become a cop to begin with?”
“To be helpful. Make a difference. Do the right thing.”
“And you don’t think that’s what you’re doing?”
“I’m trying. But I feel like I’m in a minefield. Take this situation with the toilet handle. I mean, if Payne is being set up by someone in the department . . .” His voice trailed off. He looked down at his watch. “Christ, I better get going.”
Gurney walked out with him to the parking area.
