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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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HICKS
“It’s my day off, captain,” I said. “Did I really need to come down here today at six-thirty in the morning.”
“I’m afraid so,” Captain Paulson replied. He reached in his drawer and pulled out a plastic bag. My heart sank when I saw there was a bullet in it. I knew what was coming next but had to play out the game.
“What is that?” I asked, as innocently as possible.
“I think you know,” he said. “Two of our CSI agents canvassed the scene of your bust. They found this bullet—same caliber as the bullet from your partner’s service weapon. Would you like to revise your statement about a . . . car backfiring?”
I said nothing, just stared at the bullet, realizing Falco must have shot the bullet straight up into the air. It’s the only way the CSI team could have found it.
Paulson leaned back in his chair and put his fingertips together, touching his nose, “You know, if Falco had just fessed up in the first place to firing a warning shot, then it wouldn’t have been such a horrible thing. After all, it is legal to fire warning shots in Williamson County, where he served in Franklin. He could have gotten off with a minor code violation in his file and a few days of suspension.”
He paused to see if I’d respond. I didn’t. All I was thinking was that I had made matters for my partner worse with the coverup, not better.
“But he lied,” Paulson continued. “He told you it was a warning shot and then tried to cover up the whole thing by using a foreign substance to clean the barrel of the weapon so I could not tell the gun had been recently fired. He falsified a report, Hicks. I can’t let that go.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Don’t look so surprised, Hicks,” he continued. “I was a beat cop myself. I used the same compressed air trick myself once or twice.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“Because the Assistant District Attorney knows about all of it, and now he knows Falco lied on the report. He’s going to wonder, if Falco lied about firing a warning shot, maybe he lied about whether or not you abused your authority with that perp. Someone is going to have to go down for this, Hicks. I’d rather it not be both of you.”
“What are you saying, captain?” I wondered.
“I’m saying, the ADA has spoken to the perp’s lawyer. He is willing to drop the charges against you in exchange for a reduced sentence, which the ADA is willing to do.”
“So, what’s the problem, then?”
“The problem is, I can’t look the other way when a CSI agent brings hard evidence to light that Falco fired a warning shot and then lied about it.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because your report contained a lie about the warning shot, too, Hicks,” Paulson said. “However, you can easily modify your report to read that you were still inside the restaurant when you heard the shot. What you have to say is, when you got outside Falco told you it was a car backfiring and you had no reason not to believe him.”
“Fuck,” I said. “You want me to throw Falco under the bus.”
I was getting nauseous. Falco wanted to fess up. I’m the one who insisted he cover it up. Now, I could save my ass from the excessive force mess, which I did cause, by ratting out my partner for lying on a report, which I also caused. This whole thing was fucked up. If it was true then Falco was screwed either way . . .
“The ADA is giving you a free pass, Hicks,” Paulson said. “Take it. You’re a decorated officer with over six years of service with Metro PD under your belt. He doesn’t want to see you go down for this. If the CSI team hadn’t recovered the bullet, this would all go away, but they did recover it. Falco did fire off a warning shot and he did lie about it. All you need to do is . . .”
“Rat out my partner . . .”
“I was going to say . . . protect yourself,” he said. “Look Hicks, Falco is fucked. He fired the shot, he lied about it on a report he signed. There is no reason for you to go down with him. Now, get out of here. I expect your modified report on my desk by tomorrow morning.”