"We got a lot more than him, " James replied. He looked at Donovan. Get a search warrant for Captain Mitchell's office desk immediately. Wake up Judge Harper. Tell her it's a matter of departmental integrity.
I want that desk torn apart before Mitchell arrives for his morning shift at 7 a. m. Donovan nodded, already pulling out his encrypted cell phone. And Perry? Perry just bought himself out of federal lockup, but he's still going to state prison. James said coldly.
Prepare the resignation paperwork, but I want Mitchell in handcuffs before the sun clears the horizon. At 6:30 a. m., the first rays of morning light broke through the heavy cloud cover, casting a pale, bruised glow over the city of Fairview. Inside the fourth precinct, the atmosphere was electric with suppressed tension. The night shift officers were kept on lockdown, unable to leave, while heavily armed internal affairs detectives stood guard at the doors. In Captain Robert Mitchell's office, Donovan and his team were meticulously dismantling the heavy oak desk.
Armed with the emergency warrant signed by a furious municipal judge just 20 minutes prior, they pulled out the bottom drawer. Donovan took a crowbar to the wooden base. With a sharp crack, the false bottom splintered, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside sat a small black moleskin notebook, exactly as Perry had described. Donovan flipped through the pages.
It was a masterpiece of arrogance. Mitchell had meticulously logged dates, badge numbers, amounts of seized cash, and payouts to dispatchers. It was an airtight, undeniable map of a criminal enterprise operating under the banner of the Fairview Police Department. "Checkmate, " Donovan whispered. At 6:55 a. m., the front doors of the precinct swung open.
Captain Robert Mitchell, a boisterous, silver-haired man who had treated the Southside like his personal thief for 5 years, walked into his lobby. He was holding a large coffee from a local bakery, completely oblivious to the massacre that had occurred in his house overnight. Morning, Sergeant. Mitchell boomed toward the booking desk, expecting the usual chorus of respectful greetings. Instead of a greeting, Mitchell was met by the sight of Chief Dimitar James standing in the center of the room.
Behind him stood Captain Donovan, holding the black Moleskin notebook in a plastic evidence bag. To Mitchell's right, four IIA detectives stepped out of the shadows, their hands resting on their duty weapons. Mitchell froze, his eyes locked onto the black notebook. The coffee cup slipped from his fingers, hitting the linoleum floor and splashing brown liquid across his polished shoes. "Captain Robert Mitchell, " Donovan announced, his voice ringing out with absolute authority.
You are under arrest for racketeering, extortion, conspiracy to commit fraud, and corruption of public officials. Turn around and place your hands behind your back. Mitchell didn't fight. He didn't argue. He knew the notebook was a death sentence.
The color drained from his face as the detectives moved in, ratcheting the steel handcuffs around the wrists of the precinct commander. As Mitchell was frog marched out of his own lobby, the remaining night shift officers watched in stunned, terrified silence. The untouchable regime of the fourth precinct had been decapitated in a matter of seconds. Back in the interrogation room, Donovan placed a single piece of paper in front of Bernard Perry along with a cheap plastic pen. This is your official resignation from the Fairview Police Department. effective immediately.