"So this isn't new for him." "No," Mackie said. "It's not." He looked down at the table.
"And somebody let it slide. Twice." "Yeah." Darlene was quiet for a moment, studying him the way she always did when she could see him working something out in his head before he said it aloud. "So what does that mean?"
Mackie looked up at her. There was something steady and hard in his eyes now. Something that hadn't been there before he'd opened that file. "It means this isn't just about one bad cop anymore," he said.
"It means somebody in this department has been protecting him. I need to find out who before I decide what to do next." Darlene turned back to the stove. But she didn't pick the knife back up right away.
"Be careful, Mackie. If somebody's been covering for him this long, they're not going to like you digging." "I know," he said quietly. "That's exactly why I have to." The following Monday, Mackie called Officer Sam Bishop into his office.
He kept it simple on the schedule. A routine check-in, the kind every new captain did with officers on his shift. Nothing beside Bishop's name hinted at what Mackie actually wanted to talk about. Bishop knocked twice before stepping inside.
His shoulders were tight. His eyes darted toward the chair across from Mackie's desk like it might be a trap. "Have a seat," Mackie said, gesturing. His voice was easy and professional.
Bishop sat, perched on the edge of the chair like he wasn't planning to stay long. "How long you been on the force?" Mackie asked. "Six years, sir." "You like the work?"
Bishop blinked, clearly thrown by the question. "I— Yes, sir. Most days." Mackie nodded, flipping open a folder on his desk.
He scanned it without any real urgency. "Your reviews are solid. Good marks from your last two supervisors. You've got a clean file." "Thank you, sir."
"I like to know the men and women working under me," Mackie said, looking up now and meeting Bishop's eyes directly. "Not just their file. Who they are. What they're made of."
Bishop shifted in his seat. Mackie watched the movement carefully. Small. Involuntary.
The kind of thing a guilty man couldn't quite stop his body from doing. "I appreciate that, sir," Bishop said, his voice a little too fast. Mackie let a silence sit between them. Unhurried.
Comfortable on his end, even if it clearly wasn't on Bishop's. He wasn't going to bring up the driveway. Not directly. Not yet.
He wanted to see what Bishop would do with the space he was given. "You've got good instincts," Mackie said finally. "I can tell that much just from watching you at roll call." He paused.