They want to bury it again. They want to protect the institution, Wilson corrected. And those who served it loyally. The implication hung between them. Protection for those who cooperated.
Consequences for those who didn't. And Simmons? She asked. A disturbed individual acting alone, Wilson replied smoothly. A tragic breakdown unrelated to broader departmental policies.
Laura thought of the threatening text on her phone of the taskforce files detailing years of systematic abuses of her own signature on reports she knew contained fabrications. I need to know where you stand, Laura, Wilson pressed. With the department that's given you everything or with a prosecutor who'll discard you once he's done with the case. She met his gaze. I need time to think.
Time is the one thing we don't have. Wilson stood. Brooks has scheduled a press conference for tomorrow morning. If he presents evidence from those files connecting Simmons to broader departmental policies, careers will end. Pensions will disappear.
People we've both served with for decades will face criminal charges. After Wilson left, Laura poured another bourbon with trembling hands. The right choice had never seemed less clear. To protect her future or her conscience? To shield her colleagues or serve justice?
Every path forward required betraying someone, including, potentially, herself. At the safe house where Jamal was now being kept, Marcus arrived to find him watching news coverage of the Channel 6 incident. "You could have been killed," Marcus said without preamble. "But I wasn't," Jamal countered. "And now everyone sees exactly who Simmons is."
The young man's resilience surprised Marcus yet again. "The interview is obviously postponed. Security concerns." "I figured." Jamal muted the television.
"They're saying he specifically targeted me. That true?" "Yes." "Because I'm the victim or because I'm speaking out?" "Both," Marcus answered honestly.
"You represent everything Derek fears. Accountability, exposure, the end of a system that protected him." Jamal absorbed this. "That reporter, Chen, she called here looking for you. Said something about connecting today's events to past cases."
Marcus tensed. "What did you tell her?" "Nothing. But it got me thinking." Jamal studied Marcus with newfound curiosity.
"This isn't just a case for you, is it? There's something else driving you." The question deserved honesty. "Five years ago I failed a client. A young man very much like you, arrested by Simmons and the task force.
I didn't fight hard enough for him. And now you're fighting for me instead. I'm fighting for what's right, Marcus insisted. But yes, Andre's case haunts me. The evidence I didn't challenge, the plea deal I recommended.
Jamal considered this. Does that make what you're doing now less valid? Fighting harder because you didn't fight hard enough before? The question cut to the heart of Marcus's dilemma. Whether justice pursued for complex personal reasons remained justice nonetheless.
I don't know, he admitted. But I do know this. Derrick Simmons and officers like him have operated without consequences for too long. That ends now, regardless of how we got here. Morning light filtered through the blinds as Marcus examined a document that had been hidden in a false bottom of a task force evidence box.
A detailed operational plan titled Community Impact Initiative. The dry bureaucratic language couldn't disguise its true purpose. Systematic targeting of predominantly black neighborhoods for aggressive enforcement. My God, he whispered, scanning a map with color-coded zones. Red zones, labeled priority enforcement areas, perfectly matched the city's historically black districts.
What is it? Sophia asked, entering with yet another box of files. Smoking gun. Marcus handed her the document. Explicit instructions to concentrate enforcement in minority neighborhoods, complete with arrest quotas broken down by precinct.
Sophia studied the signatures at the bottom. Former Chief Miller, three Deputy chiefs, and Captain Reeves. This goes beyond racial profiling in individual cases, Marcus noted. This is structural, institutionalized targeting. And the results are quantifiable.
He pointed to an accompanying statistical report. Arrest rates in priority areas were eight times higher than in comparable low priority zones, despite similar reported crime rates. Who else has seen this? No one yet. I just found it.
Marcus checked his watch. The press conference is in 3 hours. This changes everything. His phone rang, a restricted number. Marcus answered cautiously.
Mr. Brooks. A male voice, unfamiliar. I understand you're planning a press conference regarding the Simmons investigation. Who is this? Someone concerned about the broader implications of your investigation.
I believe we should meet. I don't take meetings with anonymous callers. Even if I can offer information about Derek Simmons's current location? Marcus paused. I'm listening.
Not over the phone. The Riverside Park Gazebo. 1 hour. Come alone. The line went dead.
Sophia raised an eyebrow. Trap? She asked. Possibly. Marcus gathered the key documents.
But with Simmons still targeting Jamal, we can't ignore any lead. You're not actually going alone. Of course not. Have the tactical team set up discreet surveillance. And get me everything we have on the Community Impact Initiative.
I want to know exactly who authorized it and who knew about it. Across town in a dingy motel room paid for with cash, Derek Simmons paced frantically, the walls closing in. The failed attempt at Channel 6 had shaken him. His face was now on every screen. His tactical advantages evaporating.
"They found the Lakewood house." Ray Donovan reported, entering with supplies. Mercer must have talked. "Mercer's weak." Derek spat.
"Always was." "Everyone's getting nervous, Derek." "Kowalski's gone dark. Won't answer calls." "What about our insurance policy?"