Chapter 5

Craig may still have been learning about the behaviors of his fellow detectives, but he could tell that there had been a lot of internal strife in the next month.

For one thing, after nearly four months of being held in departmental limbo, Kellerman was finally cleared by the grand jury of any wrongdoing when he was in arson. But you would've had to have been blind and deaf to see that he was anything but okay. At the gathering at the Waterfront to celebrate, Mike had taken the occasion to say that he hadn't taken any money, but given how little support he had received from the squad, he might as well have. Worden knew he should have said something, anything, but Kellerman then stormed out of the bar.

The next day, it was clear that Kellerman was still emotionally hung over, and he wasn't helped one bit by the fact that Gaffney had walked right up to him in front of the entire squad, and asked how much the Rolands had given. Kellerman blew him off, and then pushed a file cabinet over. If Craig hadn't been sure that he'd made the right decision, that pretty much solidified it.

It didn't help matters much that Kellerman had caught a shooting that tied right back to Luther Mahoney - a Korean grocer who had chased some of the corner boys away from his store, and then gotten shot in the heart for his trouble. Three days later, Kellerman went on sabbatical, probably because he needed time to clear his head from the last few months.

Simultaneously, it was clear that something was going wrong with the partnership between Bayliss and Pembleton. Ever since Frank had come back in the rotation, they'd seemed to be arguing a lot. No one else in the squad thought this was a big deal - it seemed to be the center of how the two best detectives in Homicide worked. But it seemed to be more hostile this time, and for the last couple of weeks, the two had not worked a case together.

This didn't seem like it was going to affect Craig that much, until the squad caught its first red ball of the year.

"We have an officer down in Calvert County," Giardello bellowed. "Everybody goes. Frank, you're the primary. "

Everybody, of course, was something of a misnomer. Meldrick was out investigating a shooting that had taken place earlier in the shift. But Howard, who was almost never out on cases, grabbed a car, and so that Munch. Craig was about to walk down with him, when Giardello added: "Worden, you're secondary."

Craig was surprised. Pembleton was pissed. "I can handle this myself," he told Gee.

"Frank, we need all hands on deck. And Worden used to walk that beat. I don't need to tell you what happens if this isn't solved fast."

Pembleton looked like he wanted to argue, but he knew better. "Fine. But I drive."

Craig had worked secondary with every other cop, except for Lewis and, obviously, Kellerman, but he'd gotten to know Frank well enough that you didn't try to engage him in meaningless conversation anywhere. Which is why he was a little surprised when Pembleton initiated it.

"This is a one-time thing," he said brusquely. "If you see something that can help, say it. If you see anything, tell me."

"And there's the infamous Frank Pembleton prickishness," Worden couldn't help but say. "Look, I may be the new guy, but I don't need to be fucking babied."

"There's no time for hand-holding," Pembleton said. "Man in blue is down. Gee says we work together to catch his killer, we work together. But don't think for a moment that this is going anywhere."

"Look, I get it." Worden sneered. "The last new guy you worked with you ended up being your partner for four years. You don't like forming attachments, you're Frank Pembleton the lone wolf. I'm fine working with Munch. When this case is over, you can go back to being the warm, charming, convivial, friend to man that everyone in the Baltimore PD knows you to be. Got it?"

Frank's expression didn't change so much as a scintilla. "I already like working with you more than Meldrick." That was the last thing they said until they arrived at the crime scene.

The shocks stared coming the moment they arrived on the scene. "The victim is Officer James Haybert," Rogers told them.

For the briefest of moments Worden forgot that he was a Homicide detective and walked to the body. Cox was there, which wasn't a huge shock given the importance of the victim. The victim was lying face down on the ground.

"Could you move the victims face?" Worden asked, feeling like he was in a trance.

Cox considered this for a moment. "Do you know the victim?"

"Maybe."

Cox was even more professional than Pembleton was, but she had a way of being able to read people. She nodded to her assistant, who moved the officer's face.

"Damn it. Fuck," Worden told him. "I knew this guy. He had just started to work foot patrol before I got promoted to QRT. He came out of the Western."

Cox had the ability to be more sensitive than most of the other professional. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"How many shots?" Craig said slowly.

"Two in the chest, looks like a .38."

"Hey, hey." Pembleton had caught up to them, and he was seriously pissed. "What are you doing moving the body?"

The mask was back for both of them. "I was just telling Detective Worden that Officer Haybert was shot twice."

"What about his service weapon?" Pembleton demanded. "He doesn't seem to be wearing it."

"It's still in his car," By now, Howard and Munch had caught up with them, and completed their own minor reconnaissance. "Keys were still in the car, too."

"Was he still on patrol?" Craig had managed to shake himself out of his stupor.

"His shift ended as of an hour ago," Munch told him. "Watch commander didn't know what had happened to keep him away from the station."

Worden looked around. "Well, here are what looks to be three shell casings," he said, kneeling and pulling out an evidence bag. "I suppose it would've been asking too much for us to have any witnesses to what happened here."

"Units have been canvassing for thirty minutes." Howard replied. "So far they've got squat."

"Well, let's spread out the search grid." Pembleton told them. "See if we can find any clue as to what the hell Officer Haybert was doing out here at this hour."

Worden looked around. "Come on, Frank. This is an open air drug market. People in this neighborhood would be less likely to talk, even if a cop hadn't been killed here."

"What are you said, Detective?" Pembleton put a slur on that word. Maybe it was just an after effect of the stroke. Maybe. "That we should go home? Hope the killer has a guilty conscience and decides to turn himself in?"

"I knew James Haybert, Detective Pembleton," A definite slur came from Craig on the word 'detective'. "I want his killer brought to justice as badly as you do. But we all know that, short of bamboo under the fingernails, we're not going to get anything out of the people at the windows. Now, I'll go through with because he's a cop, but I'm not going to be expecting miracles. And neither should you."

"I don't believe in miracles. Just hard work."

The next half-hour was extremely frustrating, though Craig didn't know whether it was because he knew the victim, because he was working with Frank Pembleton, or because he turned out to be right. He interviewed half a dozen passerby, none of whom would admit to seeing or hearing anything unusual. An hour into the investigation, they had no more evidence than when they'd gotten started with.

And just to make matters worse, the press had gotten wind of it, and had started to harangue the officers on scene. Pembleton had already shoved off Dawn Daniels and Matt Besser, and he had no doubt the other affiliates would be moments behind. Not for the first time, Worden was glad that Pembleton was the primary. He wanted to get Haybert's name in black as much as anybody, but Frank could more than handle the vultures that were circling.

"Detective Pembleton." Worden looked up, and was, for the briefest of moments, taken aback. A beautiful, thirtyish, Asian woman in an overcoat was standing just a few feet away.

"I'm Elizabeth Wu, police reporter with the Sun," And Craig immediately deflated. Another vulture, albeit a more attractive one. Frank was, if anything, more pissed than before, and told her to get the hell of his crime scene.

Then Wu immediately recited Haybert's name, the beat he walked, the weapon he'd been shot with, and the fact that his service piece had discharged two bullets. Despite himself, Craig was impressed. It took a lot of work and teeth pulling to get that far in their investigation, and that was while flashing a badge.

Giardello, surprisingly, was able to handle her with a bit more tact. Then again, considering how long the Lieutenant had been able to serve as a buffer between Homicide and the press, maybe it shouldn't have come as much of a shock.

Wu walked off, satisfied for the moment. "How long has she been working here?" Worden found himself asking.

"Not that long," Munch told him. "Just a few weeks."

"I ought to lock her up," Pembleton was never going to be won over.

"Given how good a job she did and getting information, maybe you should consider changing your approach." Craig couldn't help but say. "You know what they say about trapping more flies with honey than with vinegar."

Pembleton just snarled. "All right. We've gotten everything we can with the canvas. Might as well head back in, see what the ME can find out."

Given that this was a red ball, nobody slept that night. Both Gaffney and Barnfather made visits to the scene, gave the traditional speeches expresses that James Haybert was a fine officer and that they would catch his killer, and then told Giardello to do more, and to make sure that the media didn't get any more hooks into the scene than they already did.

When they finally got back to the squadroom around dawn, Craig finally had the time to think about the fact that a cop he had known was dead. He hadn't known James Haybert that well - he'd been promoted to QRT about a month after the cop had joined the Western - but he was still someone that he'd had a beer with a couple of times, and had even been to the occasional barbecue with. It was still something of a shock - he'd been working at Homicide for just over four months, and only now was he beginning to realize the real significance of the fact that it meant a person died.

However, it soon became clear that the Haybert case was going to have far more ramification than even the ripples of a cop being shot. They started when Munch told them that when they searched his car, they had found four vials of blacktop heroin. Admittedly, there was a possibility that Haybert hadn't yet logged this into evidence control, but even the newest cop in Homicide - which Craig was - knew that they'd have to proceed under the possibility that this killing might be drug-related in quite another way.

Unfortunately, Craig then encountered Bayliss in the coffee room, where he was reading the piece on James Haybert's murder. The one that had Elizabeth Wu's name as a byline. Admittedly, it was a very good piece - it painted James the way Craig had remembered him, an officer still trying to talk dealers out of their jobs, who didn't like getting into gunfights, and who had ended up another victim of the drug war.

"I'll admit, she's a hell of a writer," Worden told Bayliss and Munch. "Let's just hope the front desk puts her on to another murder."

Munch was good enough to fill Tim in on what they'd found.

"How sure are you of this?" Bayliss asked.

"Frank's running down to the ME trying to get Cox to rush the toxicology," Craig admitted. "I'm really hoping she doesn't find anything."

"How well did you know him?"

"You know, I really wish people would stop talking as if we had gone to grade school together," Craig's frustration was finally starting to boil over. "We spoke maybe a half dozen times before I joined QRT, I hadn't spoken to him since I joined Homicide." He paused. "I kinda wish I'd called to tell him that. All he could think of was getting his shield."

"No one wants to think the worst of their fellow officers," Bayliss told him. "But the truth is, there is the occasional bad apple. I really hope Haybert isn't one of them."

Soon, however, it became clear that things were going to get worse. For one thing, Elizabeth Wu showed up again, and now she had even more pointed questions. Frank's reaction was not much different than his first one - he told Wu to get the hell out. Giardello handled with more equipoise, and invited all of them - Craig, Pembleton, Howard, and Wu into his office for a private conversation.

"A few hours ago, I got a call who told me that James Haybert bought four vials of blacktop heroin from a dealer. An hour later, he comes back, screaming that the drugs are bad. He fires two shots, and the dealers shoots back in self-defense."

"Who was your source?" Pembleton demanded.

"The press shield laws exist for a reason, Detective." Wu fired back.

It took a brave person to stare Pembleton down, especially because he never seemed to flinch. He didn't do it now, saying he was going to get a court order from Danvers.

Once again, Gee used his velvet touch to smooth things over. By convincing Wu to go on deep background, he managed to tell her that the story about the heroin vials was true.

Wu seemed a little stunned at this, realizing that she was actually talking to a witness of the murder. Then came the realization that they had known this since last night, and that the story that had been in the paper was complete bullshit.

"We didn't know whether the vials hadn't yet been logged into evidence control," Craig had told her reluctantly

"Doesn't change the fact that I wrote a story on a hero who was actually a heroin addict," Wu seemed more pissed at herself rather than at them.

"If your source calls us again with any further information, do the right thing." Pembleton told her. "Pass it along to us."

"I'm not here to do you're job for you, Detective," Wu's ferocious manner was back. "Seems to me, you're not doing a great job yourself."

"Maybe I will get that subpoena."

"All we're asking," Giardello said, without his voice changing at all, "is that if your source calls us again, you consider whether justice outweighs the public right to know."

Wu got up. "I'll see you around, Lieutenant."

The second she left the office, Howard went " Well."

"I still think I should've locked her up," Pembleton snapped.

"Of course you don't like her, Frank." Worden found himself saying. "She's you."

"What?"

"Oh, I grant you, she's a woman, and she's Chinese, which may make her a little harder to recognize. Doesn't change the fact she's you. And considering how hard it is for the rest of us to get along with you, I'm not surprised that you can't either."

"Who's you?" Howard asked, just as playfully.

"Wu."

"I don't have to take this," Frank said, and stormed out of Gee's office.

"I'm just saying, maybe you should consider a makeover, Frank," Worden knew it was dangerous to tease the dragon, but he couldn't help himself. "Just think how many more suspects would be willing to get in the box with you."

"I've changed my mind," Pembleton said, as he put on his coat and the gray fedora he wore. "You're even more annoying than Meldrick."

"Where the fuck are you going, Pembleton?" Craig demanded, suddenly serious again. "Like it or not, I'm still the secondary on this case. And unless you've got any valid idea how to chase down this anonymous source, we are still nowhere when it comes to finding who killed Haybert."

"I'm going to see Danvers. Find out what we need to do to force this hyena to reveal her source to us."

"She did make it very clear that she took her first amendment rights very seriously," Howard reminded him. "So I think you need to pursue this case by regular means."

'Meaning what exactly?' Craig asked.

"Do another canvas. See if the arrival of daylight has gotten anybody to refresh their memories." Howard told her. "I know it seems like we're beating a dead horse here, but we have to at least try police work before we rip apart the Constitution."

For a moment, it looked like Pembleton was going to push this. Then he gritted his teeth. "Fine. But that means everybody comes. Munch, Bayliss, you too."

Tim looked a little surprised, and Craig was too. This was practically the first time that Pembleton had acknowledged his former partner's existence since the two had broken up their partnership more than a month earlier.

Nevertheless, it seemed a fellow cops death trumped their current squabble. Bayliss got up, and they headed out.

Usually follow up canvasses were nearly as fruitless. But on this occasion, they managed to catch a break. A grandmother type had been roused from a troubled rest, and said that before Haybert had been shot, she had spotted one of the local corner boys, a Matthew Nyerere about ten minutes from before Haybert had been shot.. Nyerere was in the system for dealing.

Unfortunately, it was becoming increasingly clear that the Sun seemed determined to undermine them. The paper had gone forward with the story that Haybert had bought four vials of blacktop heroin before being shot, and now it was becoming increasingly clear, even after Cox's quick toxicology revealed the bad news, that Haybert was at least using, and possibly dealing.

Despite everything that had happened over the past twelve hours, it seemed very clear that the department was, at least for now, standing by its fallen officer. But the bosses, unable to turn on the dead, were raging against the living. Barnfather had been in the office, and had made it very clear to Gee, that if the lieutenant didn't do something about Elizabeth Wu, he would do so.

Then, about thirty minutes after that, Craig received a call from Captain Gaffney. "This is turning into a colossal clusterfuck for the department," he told him in his typical crude manner.

"You don't think I know that?" Craig asked. "Look, we're closing in on a suspect. It's going to be just a matter of time before he's in custody, and you can go back to giving Haybert a departmental funeral."

"Really? What about this reporter, this Elizabeth Wu?"" Gaffney demanded. "The Deputy Commissioner wants her covering the wedding beat."

"You really want to get into a pissing contest with the Sun? I've read the way they cover the department; there's no way we can outmaneuver them."

Gaffney actually seemed to be considering this for a moment "How long until the suspect is in custody?"

"It's a matter of time." Just then, Craig recognized a familiar face. "I might be able to find a way to handle this. But right now, you and the Colonel need to hold back."

He managed to get rid of Gaffney after a few more minutes, then walked over to Elizabeth Wu, who was currently being admonished by Bayliss for the follow-up that had been in the Sun's morning edition.

"Excuse me, Miss Wu?" Craig walked up to her. "I'm Detective Worden. We met at the crime scene. I'm the secondary on the Haybert shooting."

'Really? Have there been any updates?" Wu seemed to be putting her reporter hat back on.

This was not going to be easy. "Could I, uh, buy you a cup of coffee?"

"I feel that I have to apologize for my partner," he said about five minutes later as they were coming out of the Daily Grind. "On his best day, he's an officious prick. A brilliant detective, but an officious prick."

"I'm a reporter, Detective Worden," Wu reminded him. "I've got a thick skin. Add to that the fact that he's in the middle of a red ball, I wasn't exactly expecting to be treated with kid gloves."

"I kind of figured we might be able to talk more on an equal footing." Craig said slowly. "You just got assigned to cover Homicide. And I'm still the new guy. I've only been in Homicide five months, and I got to tell you, morale hasn't exactly been a picnic before the shooting. That said, I think there's got to be a way that we can help each other."

"How's that?"

Here goes nothing. "Miss Wu -"

"Elizabeth. If we're going to be talking personally, we might as well use first names."

"All right, Elizabeth. I knew James Haybert. At least, I thought I did. He was a decent man, and a good cop. What you printed in your first story sounded like the man I knew." He hesitated. "Then I learned about the heroin, and from what your source told us, its sounding like I didn't know the man at all. Maybe I never did."

For a moment, he wondered how Wu would respond. "I didn't want to run the story," she finally said. "I thought that there were some parts missing, and I didn't think it painted a fair picture of what might have had happened. But my editor, he said we print what we know, and we worry about whether its the truth the next day. Now I'm beginning to feel that I may have written myself into a corner."

"Meaning what?"

"My source called me again three hours ago. He told me that he's worried about what's going to happen. He's afraid that the minute he reappears he's going to end up getting shot."

This was a very legitimate concern. The Baltimore PD was long past the days where if you dreamed about shooting a cop, you walked into a station and apologized. But Craig couldn't help but be reminded of what happened to a skell named Kenny Damon almost a year. He'd garroted a retired cop in a graveyard, and had been arrested a few days later. But due to jury indifference, he'd been acquitted. A week after that, his body had been found with a bullet in his head. The cop's son had killed him. There were more than a few old timers who thought that Jake Rodzinski should've walked away from what had happened. Craig hadn't been one of them, but he did think there had been an injustice to it all. Similarly, he wouldn't have minded if Nyerere did something funny while in custody, and ended up being found dead in his cell.

"I won't pretend that's not a possibility," Craig said slowly. "But I have to tell you, the longer he stays out there, the more likely it is that's gonna happen. Do you think that your source is the shooter?"

"I didn't want to believe it at first," Wu said slowly. "But this guy knows too much about what happened. I think he has to be."

Craig knew he was going down a slippery slope. It was one thing for the Lieutenant to have a relationship with the Sun. The bosses might not like it, but as long as he danced the dance, there was no way they could really punish him for it. It was quite another thing for an ordinary detective to even have a nodding relationship with someone in the press. Frank Pembleton might be the most outspoken about it, but he knew that even someone as laid back as Munch probably had the same issue - the media was as much the enemy as the bosses could be.

It was even more risky for someone like Craig. He was the new guy in the department, and it had taken him all this time to win even a modicum of trust with his fellow detectives. (Never mind that some of them would probably cut him off cold if they knew about his relationship with Gaffney.) If he were to even try to play the same kind of game, and get found out, he might get isolated, not just from Homicide, but maybe from the entire department. Considering how hard he had worked to get his detective shield, the idea of ending his career before it began was decidedly unappealing.

All of this ran against one hard fact: James Haybert had been murdered, and had been his friend. The fact that Haybert may have been no better than the junkies he had locked up did not change that fact. Pembleton wanted his death avenged. So did Worden. This was probably the cleanest way to get it.

"A witness came forward on the re-canvas," he told Wu. "We have a pretty good idea who did, and a warrant is about to be issued for his arrest. If this suspect is your source, the best chance he has of staying alive is turning himself in."

Wu considered this for a few moments. "And you can guarantee he'll stay alive?" she asked.

"Pembleton will. Like I said, he's a prick, but he will do everything in his considerable power to make sure your source gets due process." Now was not the time to mention the fact that for Frank, 'due process' would probably only mean until he managed to trick Nyerere into confessing. Besides, Elizabeth Wu clearly wasn't born yesterday. She had to expect that was coming.

Wu contemplated this for a few more moments. 'I'll tell him what you said," she finally told Craig. "And I'll do it quickly."

As he was walking away, she looked at him. "You're a lot easier to deal with, Detective Worden."

"Don't thank me yet," he said slowly.

The moment he walked back into the station, he found Deutsch and told him to get as many radio cars as he could find. Then he ran upstairs and found Howard.

"How well is our budget fixed for surveillance?" he asked.

The sergeant looked at him as if he'd gone a little crazy. "I figure we can afford maybe two or three cops and an unmarked car. "

"Get one to the Sun. Tell them to follow Elizabeth Wu," he said. "I have it on good authority that she's about to make contact with Matthew Nyerere."

"What kind of authority?"

"Very reliable." Craig said. "You might also want to rouse Pembleton, and ask if he has any interest in making the collar."

Kay Howard graced him with a crooked smile that she gave only when a big case was about to go down. "Elizabeth Wu was in the squadroom half an hour ago. You wouldn't happen to have talked to her about this?"

Craig couldn't help but smile a little himself. "I can neither confirm nor deny that, Sergeant."

Within one hour of talking to Elizabeth Wu, Baltimore PD had Matthew Nyerere in custody. The fact that Wu had her meeting interrupted by what seemed to be every uniform in the Western District was something that probably would've overwhelmed a lesser reporter, but she had enough steel in her spine to only appear mildly shocked.

Two hours after that, Nyerere had confessed to James Haybert's shooting. It had taken a little less of an effort than Worden had anticipated, but considering that there was a pretty good chance even without his confession that he'd end up with a needle in his arm, Nyerere clearly considered that this was his best option. Frank looked a little disappointed. Or maybe he'd spent all his energy gloating at Wu when he'd made the arrest.

The squad had gone to the Waterfront to celebrate the end of the red ball, and Craig had been more than willing to go and drink a little, but after two rounds, the general dismay he had with the entire situation began to simmer. He excused himself, and started walking.

About five minutes later, whether by happenstance or just some kind of memory, he ended up at Alphonse's, a slightly higher class establishment than the Waterfront, but generally avoided by the police because it was known as a bar where reporters gathered. He had a feeling who he was going to find, and he wasn't wrong. Elizabeth Wu was drowning her troubles in a Scotch and water.

Now that he'd found her, Craig had no idea what or even if he was going to say anything. But Wu's instincts apparently hadn't been dulled by her drinking. "If you've come to wallow in my disgrace, please don't."

"Actually, I came to apologize," he told her.

"Why? For doing what any real cop would've done in that situation?" Elizabeth said. "Honestly, I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't tried to use me."

Craig was a little stunned. "You're taking this a lot better than I thought."

"Maybe I'm wallowing a little myself," she told him. "I've only been a police reporter for a couple of months, but I sure as hell shit a brick here. My first major story, I write a puff piece about a good cop who turns out to be a drug addict. My second major story, I try to protect a witness who turns out to be the shooter. You'd think I couldn't track a bleeding elephant in the snow."

"How do you think I feel?" Worden replied. "I'm called in to investigate the murder of a cop who I always figured was a solid citizen, and it turns out he's an addict who got himself killed. Maybe my fellow detectives are right that I'm not ready for Homicide."

Wu actually looked at him with sympathy. "I wouldn't go that far. You managed to do a pretty good job of getting the bad guy, and protecting him from being killed while surrendering. That's pretty solid policework in my book." She turned back to her drink. "For what it's worth from me."

"How badly did your editor hose you?" Worden asked.

"Honestly, I think he was more pissed that I didn't wrestle Nyerere down, and bring back to the copy desk to tell his story than the fact that a cop killer was arrested." Wu shook her head. "But I guess bosses are alike everywhere."

Indeed. In his statement to the media, Barnfather had pretty much refused to comment on any story about Haybert being an addict, but he hadn't gone out of his way to sing his praises either. Somehow, though, he doubted that Haybert would be getting full benefits when it came time to help his widow. Then again, maybe this was why Worden wasn't a political animal. Or was he?

"Has your editor decided to throw you to the wolves?" he asked.

"He made noises about sending me to Frederick to cover the traffic beat there." Wu shook her head. "But I'm guessing if I can find another decent story in the next week, he'll be all smiles again."

"That is the undisputable truth about Baltimore," Worden found himself saying. "There's always another dead body around the corner."

"I guess nothing ever changes in this city, and nothing ever will."

The idea that had been floating around his head for the last few days finally catalyzed. "What if they could?" he found himself saying.

Wu just looked at him.

"Oh, I know we can't stop junkies from killing other junkies, or the drug war, or even the bosses from being the bosses, but at the least, we can make life irritating for them."

"Are you drunk, Detective?'

"A little," Craig admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that the bosses deserve to be made to feel as shitty as the rest of us. I got my position essentially because one of them wanted to make life shitty for the rest of the department. What goes around comes around."

Wu put her drink down. "Go on, Detective Worden."

"We're about to become friends, Elizabeth." Worden said. "I think now you can start calling me Craig."