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His Sister's Keeper  Chapter 1

by Mandy Rogers
copyright©2005

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Note: This is not a complete story. For the entire story, please join our website here.

“Lt. Roberts,” he answered with his usual clipped cop voice. There was a pause on the line.

“Steve?” the hesitant voice asked. “It’s Sharon… Sharon Reynolds.” 

A hint of a smile caught the corners of his mouth and his voice warmed, “Shar, darlin’ how are you? It’s been too…” but he didn’t get the rest of his sentence out before she cut him off.

“Steve, I think I’m in trouble… big trouble.”

“Shar, as I recall, trouble follows you around, what is it this time?” he chuckled knowing Sharon’s penchant for mischief. The sister of his former partner had managed to get into more unusual fixes than nearly anyone he knew—and that was saying a lot for someone who’d been a cop for more than a dozen years.

“Steve!!” she yelled trying to make him realize this was serious. “Oh God… I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know who to trust. Steve, please you’ve got to come!” Steve sobered at the frantic sound of Sharon’s plea. This was not a woman who asked for help until she was in way over her head. 

“Sharon, calm down. Of course I’ll come to you. Tell me exactly where you are.”

“I’m at the Sunset Motel on Route 8---room 231. Please hurry.”

“The Sunset Motel?!? You’re in Oshkosh? What the hell are you doing out at that dive?”

“Steve… please just come. This is so awful. I need you.” He could hear the fear in her voice. Sharon Reynolds didn’t scare easy. In fact, her brother had always wished she was a little more afraid more often. 

“I’m on my way. Sit tight—I’ll be there in 15 minutes.” The phone went dead. Steve looked at the paperwork on his desk. It would wait. He’d come in on a Saturday night to get caught up after this week’s big weapons bust. He’d been undercover for nearly four months to get this gang of illegal weapons dealers. It was one of the biggest busts ever for the Wisconsin State Police and the ATF. He liked undercover work, and he was good at it, but he was always glad to see a case wrap up. He was due some down time, and wondered, not for the first time, if he was getting too old for this. At 38 he found it a little tougher to deal with the stress of undercover work than he had when he started years ago.

As he headed out to his car his mind drifted to Sharon Reynolds, and inevitably to Mike. How long had it been? Five years since the funeral? That would make her 29 and not just a ‘kid sister’ anymore. Sharon had been 16 when he and Mike first partnered up on patrol. Mike had been the veteran and he was the rookie. Steve had done a stint in the military police after college and decided he liked it enough to go to the state police academy. Mike had been a state cop for seven years and loved it. Mike and Sharon had been orphaned just the year before Steve and Mike had partnered. Mike was Sharon’s guardian, and they were very close despite the dozen years between them. 

Mike couldn’t have been prouder of Sharon if she were his daughter. He used to drag Steve to all her big events like high school and college graduations. She used to tease Mike and say Steve was her second big brother--the cute one! Steve had always enjoyed the family moments he was invited to share with the siblings since he was an only child, and his parents had long since retired to a warmer climate. And he knew he had been a good sounding board for Mike during some of the trying times. Sharon had always been a good kid, but she was independent and high-spirited, and had a bad habit of forging ahead on some new adventure--the consequences be damned. Those consequences usually included a trip over her brother’s knee, but Sharon remained undaunted and undeterred. Mike was likewise determined and despite her claims to the contrary, believed that she was never too old for a good paddling. He had told her that their father spanked their mother, and he fully intended to spank her when she needed it until the day she was married. Then he threatened to make sure her groom knew the value of a firm hand across her bare backside! When Mike had related the conversation to Steve, he had laughed right out loud and told Mike he was flirting with becoming an only child if he said a word about spanking to any of Sharon’s boyfriends. Steve knew Mike had in fact spanked Sharon hard for going off on a dangerous wild hair at work, just weeks before he was killed.

Sharon had gone to college and studied journalism, wanting to be a reporter. After college she had landed her first job back home working for the Green Bay Press-Gazette. She had been working the city desk the night it happened, and was in the newsroom when the call came over the scanner… the code numbers that stood for ‘officer down’. Sharon had been the only reporter available in the newsroom at that hour and so she went to the scene. He would never forget the terror in her eyes when she got out of her car and saw the state police vehicles all shot up. A highway chase had gone wrong and ended with a stand-off. Two thugs armed with automatic weapons had opened fire, and Mike had been shot and killed instantly. 

As soon as Steve had seen her, he headed directly for her, and she could see it written all over his face. Mike was dead. She had collapsed in his arms, and they simply held each other, both crying for what they’d lost. During the blur of the funeral and arrangements, Steve had stayed pretty close to Sharon, as much as a way to hold onto to Mike as to help her. Then when the will was read there was a personal note for Steve. 

Hey Partner, 

I’m leaving my most precious possession in your care. Keep an eye 
on Shar for me. She’s all alone now, and she needs a strong man in her life. Be the 
big brother I can’t anymore. 

Mike

Steve had been deeply touched by his mentor and friend’s request. But he had to admit, he probably hadn’t honored it in the way he should have. Shortly after the funeral, Sharon had an offer from the Chicago Tribune and she had jumped at it. It was a great move up for her, and it was also a way to leave behind some of the pain of her brother’s death. Since she had moved to Chicago she hadn’t been back to the Green Bay area. He called her two or three times a year to catch up and make sure she was okay—and on her birthday he always sent her a special frog for her collection, just as her brother had done. But somehow five years had slipped away since he’d seen her. He’d always planned to go to Chicago to visit, but he moved to the investigation bureau after Mike’s death, and had been spending a lot of time on undercover assignments. From this day forward, I’ll do better Mike, I promise, he thought as he looked to the heavens and hoped Mike wasn’t looking down on him with disappointment.

Steve’s musings on the past were abruptly interrupted as he exited the highway and headed toward the motel, seeing dozens of flashing lights. Cops were crawling all over the place. He pulled into the motel lot and looked for a familiar face among the sea of officers and detectives. There was no sign of Sharon, or the little red sports car he’d teased her about buying. He did see a local captain he knew well coming out of room 231. He flashed his state police badge and headed toward Captain John Stewart. He didn’t have a good feeling about what he was going to hear.

“Steve, I didn’t realize they’d called out the state boys already,” John said as the two men shook hands.

“Actually I was just passing by and saw all the action. Thought I’d see if there was anything I could do to help. What’s going on?”

“I’ve got a dead rookie cop and a lot of circumstances that don’t add up,” John said grimly. Steve winced internally at the words ‘dead cop’ and immediately worried that Sharon was one of the circumstances. She hadn’t begun to know the meaning of ‘big trouble’ with a dead cop. At that moment one of John’s detectives came up.

“Well Cap it looks like our golden boy rookie had a little tarnish on his halo after all… a little hooker action on the side! Too bad this one wanted her cash without the sex.”

“Shut up, Johnston! I better not hear any more trash out of you until you’ve got the evidence to back it up! Now get back to work,” John shouted. Steve was surprised because he knew his friend was usually one of the calmer heads at a hot scene.

“What’s going on John? I know that look. This one’s got you off your game.”

“Walk with me.” The two cops left the immediate scene and walked down into the parking lot and away from the massive force and glare of media that had now gathered at the motel. “Like I said there are too many things that don’t add up. It’s a messy scene up there, Steve. The kid is handcuffed to the bed in his skivvies, with his throat cut. In this no-tell-motel it looks for all the world exactly like Johnston said—a bad hooker trip. But that just doesn’t jive with this officer. All he ever wanted to be was a cop—top of his class at the academy, his father was one of the straightest arrows any department ever had, and he’s newly married with a kid on the way. This rook was living his dream. I’m telling you—there’s no way this guy is out with a hooker!”

“What else, John? There’s something you’re not telling me. We go too far back for you to get away with holding out on me.”

John had to smile at that, “You’re too damned perceptive for your own good! Okay, here’s the thing. I’ve got I-A breathing down my back claiming I got dirty cops in my squad. I can’t believe it—but now my squeaky clean rookie ends up dead, and set-up to look bad… I don’t know what to think!”

“Has Internal Affairs given you any clues about who they think has gone bad or what they’re into?”

“Not a damn thing! So I figured it was just another witch hunt to justify their existence. But now I don’t know.”

“John, you know what you’re saying here?”

“Yeah and it makes me sick to my stomach. Cops killing cops.”

“I don’t want to step on any toes, but I’ve got some time coming. Do you want me to see what I can find out? Maybe give you an outsider’s view without any official channels to run through?”

“Steve, you know I can’t ask you to do that. But man, I’d feel a whole lot better if you did.”

“Consider it done, my friend. It would help if you could feed me whatever the crime scene guys come up with.” Steve felt guilty asking for the inside track, knowing he wanted it more to protect Sharon than to help John. But he also knew he’d do everything possible to find out what was really going on in his friend’s squad. 

“You got it—but Steve, you’ve got to keep this quiet. If I-A or the brass finds out I asked a state cop for help, it’ll probably cost me my bars.”

“No problem. It probably wouldn’t do my career much good either. I’ll be in touch—you better get back before you’re missed. Oh, hey, what’s the rookie’s name?”

“Rick Domino.”

Steve’s reaction was swift and John didn’t miss the expression on his face. “Yeah, Jake Domino’s kid.” John wasn’t kidding about the rookie’s father—straight arrow was a major understatement--Jake Domino had been a legend in the gang wars in Milwaukee and the tri-cities of Green Bay, Appleton and Oshkosh. He’d done more to stop the spread of gang violence from Milwaukee to the northern cities than any single cop in state police history. He was killed when one of the gang leaders he locked behind bars put out a $100,000 contract on him. He had been gunned down in his own yard practically in front of his family. 

Steve’s jaw tightened, “We’ll get to the bottom of this, John, and make sure the kid comes out clean.”

“The kid was clean. Just help me prove it,” John said quietly, and then headed back to the scene. Steve stood there for a moment just trying to clear his head—but the questions came faster than he could process them. And he knew he needed to start with Sharon if he was going to find some answers. 

The pure panic subsided a bit and Sharon finally started to breathe again when she saw the cottage come into view. Her hands were still shaking and waves of nausea continued to roll through her stomach. She’d already thrown up twice in the last hour or so. Had it been an hour? She looked at the clock on the dash. 11:30p.m. More than 90 minutes had passed since she first discovered the body. The horrific image that was tattooed in her mind again threatened to overwhelm her senses. She thought she might have to throw up again as she pulled into the driveway. But she opened her car door and bent over, head between her legs, and took deep breaths of the crisp night air. Get a grip, Shar! she scolded herself. 

It was late October, so she knew the cottage would be empty. No one wanted to rent a cottage in Door County during the late fall and winter. She said a quick thanks to the guardian angel who whispered in her ear to bring the cottage keys with her as she headed up to Oshkosh for a meeting that never happened. Don’t think about it—just get inside, the voice in her head ordered. She fumbled with the keys, her hands too shaky to make it easy. When she finally won her battle with the lock and went inside, she wasn’t surprised to find the rental agent had already covered all the furniture and closed the place up for winter. 

The cottage was a cozy little three bedroom house on the Bay in the vacation community of Little Sturgeon in Door County. Many people thought of Door County as the Martha’s Vineyard of the Midwest. It was a long peninsula at the northeast tip of Wisconsin that was home to about a dozen quaint vacation towns and wineries. It was absolutely beautiful in the Spring and Summer. Sharon and Mike’s parents had bought the cottage when the siblings were kids, and they used to spend most of every summer there growing up. When their parents had been killed, Mike and Sharon decided to keep it because of the wonderful memories they had there. Then when Mike was killed too, Sharon couldn’t bear to sell it, but she also hadn’t been able to come back. So she had contracted with a local rental agent to keep the place maintained and rent it out all summer. It was her second emotional body slam of the night to walk back into the cottage after five years and find it just as it had been the last time she and Mike had spent a weekend here.

She finally could hold back no longer and the tears that threatened to start and never stop came unbidden. She was crying so hard, it was several rings before she realized her cell phone was demanding her attention. Her first inclination was to let it ring, but the caller was persistent, and she hoped that stubborn persistence belonged to Steve. She cleared her throat and swallowed her tears.

“Hello?”

“Shar, where are you?”

“Steve, have you been to the motel? Are the police looking for me?”

“Yes, I’m at the motel now. Sharon, I need to talk to you now. Where are you?”

She cringed at the cold, professionalism in his voice. She didn’t need Steve, the cop, right now, she needed Steve, the friend she thought of as another big brother. “Sharon this is serious! Tell me where you are!”

“Don’t yell at me!” she cried.

There was a pause and a heavy sigh on the other end. “I’m sorry. Shar, honey, a cop’s dead. And, unless I miss my guess, you were either the last to see him alive or the first to find him dead.”

He heard her break down. “Oh Steve… I’m so sorry! I never thought they’d kill him.” 

“Shar, it’s not your fault. But the only way I can help you and protect you is if I know everything. You’ve got to talk to me, and not over the phone. Now tell me where you are,” he pleaded.

“I’m at the cottage.”

He relaxed just a little. He’s completely forgotten about the Door County cottage. At least she was safe for the moment. “Okay, Shar, listen to me. I want you to lock all the doors and windows. Turn on as few lights as possible. And don’t move or let ANY one in until I get there. Do you understand?”

“But Steve, I…”

“Shar, don’t argue with me! Use the time to write down everything you know about what happened to Rick Domino. But do exactly as I say, or I swear, I’ll tan your hide when I get there. Hell, I may do that anyway when I find out how you got mixed up in all this. Stay put, or else!” Steve terminated the call at that point, not giving her a chance to argue. He got behind the wheel and thought about how long the next hour was going to be, driving up to the cottage and worrying every second that Sharon wouldn’t be there by the time he arrived.

Sharon shut off her cell phone and nearly threw it across the floor. But she quickly realized indulging in a brief temper tantrum would only damage her one means of communication and would not in any way make Steve Roberts less of an overbearing, stubborn, cop! At least she could thank him for channeling some of her emotional energy away from fear and sorrow to anger. Anger she could work with. And she couldn’t deny the easing of that knot of fear that had tied up her stomach for the last couple of hours. Whatever else happened, she knew she could trust Steve. Of course he was probably going to blow a gasket when she had to tell him that trust didn’t include revealing her sources or giving up her story. A rookie cop had died for this story, and she was more determined than ever that he not die for nothing. Yes, anger was good. It kept the cold, paralysis of fear at bay just enough to allow her to think and work.

Reporters have an internal mechanism that allows them to work through stories and get the job done before they react emotionally to some of the terrible things they see and experience. It’s the same kind of internal protection most police, fire and rescue workers have. It doesn’t mean they don’t feel the same things other people do, they just tend to have a delayed reaction. Ask any New York or Washington reporter who covered September 11th and they can tell you all about delayed reaction. For some it was a week to 10 days before the enormity of what happened really hit them. Instead, there is an adrenaline rush that kicks in, allowing them to work and do the job that’s more important than ever during big stories or times of crisis. 

Sharon had been so shocked by the horror of what she saw in that hotel room, the adrenaline rush hadn’t been strong enough to overcome her fear and revulsion. But her anger over Steve’s macho cop threats was just enough to break through her state of shock and let that adrenaline flow through her, bringing focus and clarity. She was able to ignore her surroundings and all the mental baggage that went with them, and start to analyze the events of the night in the context of her developing story. Although she’d never admit it to him, Steve’s suggestion that she write everything down was a good one. She needed to record every detail while it was still fresh in her mind, and plot out what happened next.

It was such a beautiful, clear night that she decided she could focus best outside, so she bundled up and took her laptop out to the back porch, not giving Steve’s admonition to stay inside, behind locked doors, a second thought. Very quickly she was absorbed in her story, and looking at the night’s horrendous events with a more detached view. She still felt a chill that had nothing to do with the brisk temperature, but at least she wasn’t paralyzed by shock anymore. She quickly realized without the evidence Rick was supposed to provide her with tonight, she still didn’t have enough information to write a story. But obviously someone was very nervous about what Rick knew. As she reviewed the complete scene in her mind, she realized that the room hadn’t been extensively searched before she got there—nothing was disturbed. So either the killer took the evidence disk, or it was still hidden in the room. If the killer didn’t get it, surely the CSI team would find it when they went over the room. So it would either launch a huge internal investigation or get buried never to see the light of day. If the evidence Rick gathered had disappeared, Sharon didn’t know how she’d ever get the story. Rick’s murder was a message to any other cop who might think about talking. A shiver went up her spine when she thought about Rick’s last words to her as they set up this meeting. 

“Be very careful Sharon. They’ll kill to keep their secret.” She closed her eyes briefly and whispered a prayer for Rick. 

“Aren’t you in enough trouble without disobeying a cop’s request for your own safety?” Sharon jumped in her chair at Steve’s hands on her shoulders and his deep voice rumbling in her ear.

To Be Continued...