The Academy Read online

  “How’d you do on the criminal law test?” Manion asked Tracy.

  “I passed.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “Scores aren’t important. Passing is.”

  “Says the recruit with, what, a ninety-five average?”

  Tracy bent her right leg, brought the sole of her foot against her left inner thigh, and stretched her chin to her knee.

  “I’d be in traction if I did that,” Manion said. “So what do you say we get dinner tonight?”

  “Sure. Who else is going?”

  “I thought just me and you.”

  She lifted her head from her stretch. “I don’t think so, Bob.”

  “One of those ‘don’t shit where you eat’ things? Or do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No. Neither.”

  “Ouch. So much for confidence building.”

  She liked Manion. He was polite, sensitive, and nice to look at. “It’s not personal. I’m just not looking for a relationship.”

  “I didn’t say anything about a relationship. I said dinner.”

  “I think it’d be best if we both get through this without any additional complications, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Burger King,” he said. “How complicated can a Whopper with fries be? We can go dutch.”

  Detective Johnny Nolasco entered the front of the room. “On your feet, recruits. Let’s go, Melendez. Get up, Band-Aid.” Melendez had earned the nickname the hard way. He’d taken a spill on the obstacle course, cut his forehead, and spent the afternoon with a Band-Aid prominently displayed.

  Melendez hurried next to Tracy, who stood in the back line. They and their fellow recruits wore identical light-gray sweatpants and sweatshirts, their last names stenciled across their backs. Class 672 consisted of twenty-seven men and two women. Jennifer Almond was the youngest recruit, having just turned twenty. The oldest was thirty-nine, a retired army officer. Survive nineteen weeks at the Academy, and they would disperse to sixteen law enforcement agencies across the state of Washington.

  “Sleep is like sex,” Nolasco said. “You can learn to do without. For some of you, that will be easier than for others. Isn’t that right, Recruit Costco?”

  Tracy shifted her eyes down the line to where Jenny Almond stood third from the end like a sapling amidst giant sequoias. Nolasco had given Almond the nickname because she’d worked for the big-box company. He’d also spent an inordinate amount of time throwing shit in her direction. He liked to make her run. Despite her small frame, Almond had substantial breasts that not even a sports bra could successfully keep under wraps.

  “Yes, sir,” Almond said.

  “Today you will learn how to do a proper pat down of a suspect for weapons and contraband. I know each of you is itching to get your gun and start shooting, but I assure you that mastering today’s lesson will do more to increase your chances of staying alive. Therefore, I want you to pay close attention. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” they answered in unison.

  “Good. Recruit Costco, front and center. Thank you for volunteering.”

  Tracy got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Almond stepped forward and faced her fellow recruits. At six feet, Nolasco was a foot taller than her and likely outweighed her by 120 pounds. He kept himself in good shape and liked to show it off in the weight room by wearing one of those muscle-head sweatshirts with the sleeves cut off.

  “In this demonstration we are going to assume the suspect is compliant. You will be compliant, won’t you, Costco?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Therefore, we are not worried about handcuffing Recruit Costco. You will begin by asking the suspect to face away from you with her feet spread wider than her shoulders. Spread your legs, Almond.” Nolasco grinned at the male recruits in the front row.

  Bob Manion shot Tracy a concerned glance.

  “Hands on your head. Interlace your fingers.”

  Almond complied.

  “This creates a pocket between the back of the suspect’s head and her hands. That is where you grip.” Nolasco grabbed Almond’s hands and she winced. “Once you do, you are going to step to the side so that your right foot is just inside the suspect’s left foot. You then put your right knee into the back of the suspect’s left knee to force her to lean back. This puts you in a superior physical position. Something you can relate to, Costco?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jenny said, though her voice had become tentative.

  “You will pat down the suspect’s left side by grabbing the clothing, pulling it away from the body, and squeezing.”

  Nolasco grabbed at Almond.

  “In the field we do not discriminate,” Nolasco said. “A woman is just as likely to conceal a weapon as a man.” He cupped Almond’s left breast. “We are equal-opportunity screeners. We check the chest and we check the groin.”

  Almond had flushed red. She looked to be fighting tears. Nolasco bent and firmly grabbed her crotch. Tracy’s teeth clenched. Her hands had balled into fists. Manion gave her another worried look. Some of the recruits shut their eyes or looked down.

  Nolasco stepped to Almond’s right and repeated his groping. Almond, looking more and more upset, had closed her eyes, as if to forget a bad nightmare. Her jaw began to undulate.

  “Don’t you do it,” Tracy said under her breath. “Don’t you cry. Don’t you dare give that asshole the satisfaction.”

  “Let’s assume you have been advised the suspect is armed and dangerous. In that instance, you will run your hands inside his or her undergarments.”

  Nolasco reached underneath Almond’s sweatshirt and ran his hand between her breasts. “You are feeling for any possible weapon, usually a small blade.” He removed his hand. “If the suspect were to make an aggressive move toward you, you step to the side and simply spin them.”

  Nolasco spun Almond, causing her to fall face-first at the feet of her fellow recruits.

  “Get up,” Tracy said to herself. “Get up.”

  Almond slowly rose and returned to her place in line.

  “Now,” Nolasco said. “In the event that a suspect is not compliant—”

  “I’ll volunteer,” Tracy said.

  Heads snapped in her direction. Nolasco looked momentarily caught off guard. “We have an eager beaver,” he said. “Oops. Sorry, politically incorrect statement. Step forward, Professor.”

  Tracy stepped in front of Nolasco. They were nearly the same height.

  “Have you ever been handcuffed, Professor?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, then, this is your lucky day. Face forward.”

  Before turning her back, Tracy said, “Noncompliant. Am I right, sir?”

  “That’s right. Noncompliant. I’ll try not to hurt you.” Nolasco faced the recruits. “You will repeat the initial process. Hands atop your head and interlace your fingers, Professor.” Tracy complied. “Reach with your right hand and grip the interlaced fingers.”

  Nolasco squeezed her fingers, applying more pressure than needed.

  “Step to the side and place your right foot inside the suspect’s left foot. Drive your knee into the back of the suspect’s knee and force her back, then begin your pat down.”

  Tracy let her weight fall back. Nolasco grabbed her breast.

  “Now, if the suspect becomes noncompliant—”

  As Nolasco reached for his handcuffs with his free hand, Tracy threw her left elbow into his face, spun, and drove her knee into his groin. Nolasco dropped like a laundry bag, rolling into a fetal position, blood flowing from both nostrils.

  CHAPTER 4

  Tracy got called into the principal’s office. Joseph Gordon, lead instructor for Class 672, had assumed what had been the principal’s office at the converted junior high school. Gordon was a twenty-five-year veteran of the force and looked it, with his crew cut, square jaw, and penetrating hazel eyes. This morning, however, Gordon had abdicated the chair behind his desk to a man wearing
a gray business suit that indicated he must be someone official. Gordon sat to the man’s right. His tactical officer, George Decker, sat in the chair to the suit’s left, closest to the windows that looked out on the front lawn and the courtyard leading to the parking lot. Tall and lean, Decker wore blue sweatpants and a white T-shirt with the words “Class 672” and “Defend and Protect” over his left pectoral.

  Detective Johnny Nolasco sat in one of two chairs in front of the desk, the other chair obviously being reserved for Tracy. Nolasco looked like a raccoon, his eyes already turning nasty shades of purple and black. She couldn’t see his nuts, though she’d seen him walking the halls gingerly, as if he had a bad stomachache.

  Nolasco did not bother to stand.

  The suit invited Tracy to take the seat beside Nolasco.

  “Recruit Crosswhite, my name is Bernie Regis. I’m the executive director of the Criminal Justice Training Commission that runs this Academy and oversees the training of our recruits. Do you understand why you are here?”

  Regis looked to be in his midfifties, with salt-and-pepper hair that he molded with the aid of some gel product and a thick mustache. Though not overweight, he was not in fighting shape. The collar of his shirt and the knot of his red-and-blue-striped tie pinched his skin. He’d been sitting behind a desk for at least several years.

  “I assume it has to do with the mock demonstration on the proper technique for performing a pat down on a suspect,” Tracy said.

  “Okay. Now, before we go further, I want to advise everyone in the room that we’re going to tape record these proceedings.” Regis pressed a button on a machine on the desk, leaned forward to determine if the cassette tape was spinning, then sat back and noted those present in the room. “Detective Nolasco, one of your training officers and the instructor demonstrating the proper pat down procedure, is seated to your left.”

  Tracy looked to Nolasco. He did not return her glance.

  “Recruit Crosswhite, we’d like to hear your version of what happened in the gymnasium.”

  “Is Detective Nolasco going to provide his version?” she asked.

  Regis placed his palms on a document stapled in the upper left-hand corner. “We have a written report from Detective Nolasco.”

  “Will I have an opportunity to read it?”

  “If that becomes necessary,” Regis said.

  Tracy didn’t like starting without knowing Nolasco’s version of the events, but she also didn’t have much choice. “The class began with Detective Nolasco requesting that Recruit Almond submit to a pat down.”

  “Recruit Almond did not volunteer?” Regis asked.

  “She did not.”

  “Continue.”

  “I watched that demonstration, after which Detective Nolasco advised that he would demonstrate the proper pat down technique on a noncompliant suspect. I volunteered. I confirmed with Detective Nolasco that I was to be noncompliant. Detective Nolasco began the demonstration as he had with Recruit Almond, asking me to spread my legs and interlace my fingers behind my head.”

  “Did Detective Nolasco make any inappropriate comments to you about spreading your legs, Recruit Crosswhite?” Regis asked.

  “Inappropriate? No.”

  “Proceed.”

  “Detective Nolasco gripped my fingers with his right hand and used his left hand to perform the pat down. When he grabbed my breast, I—”

  Regis sat forward. “Let me interrupt, Recruit Crosswhite. Could you be more specific?”

  “He placed his hand on my breast and squeezed it.”

  “He did not brush the back of his hand over your chest?” Regis asked.

  “He couldn’t squeeze my breast if he used the back of his hand,” Tracy said.

  Regis looked to Nolasco. “I didn’t squeeze it,” Nolasco said.

  “Did you use the back of your hand?”

  “I believe I did.”

  “You believe you did?”

  “I did.”

  “Continue, Recruit Crosswhite.”

  “When Detective Nolasco squeezed my breast and said the word ‘noncompliant,’ I interpreted that to be my cue. I employed one of the tactics we learned during combat training.”

  “You elbowed the detective in the bridge of his nose.”

  “And kneed him in the balls,” she added.

  “Right,” Regis said. “And kneed him in the balls.”

  Decker sat with a hand covering his mouth. Gordon’s lips were pinched.

  “So your position is that you understood this to be part of the training exercise?”

  “Yes, sir. I fully expected Detective Nolasco to demonstrate the proper technique to subdue a noncompliant suspect. We were instructed to make these mock simulations as close to reality as possible, and Detective Nolasco had gone so far as to say he’d try not to hurt me. I was surprised he was not prepared to defend himself and was so easily disarmed.”

  “I wasn’t disarmed,” Nolasco said. “If I’d been prepared I would have taken you down in a heartbeat. You sucker punched me because . . .” Nolasco looked to the front of the room.

  Regis waited for him to finish. “In response to what, Detective Nolasco?”

  Nolasco audibly exhaled. “It was an attack.”

  “Why would Recruit Crosswhite attack you?”

  Nolasco grimaced when he sat up. “I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t like men.”

  Regis gave Nolasco a hard stare before returning his attention to Tracy. “Is there anything else you would like to add, Recruit Crosswhite?”

  She turned to Nolasco. “I do apologize, Detective. Had I known you were unprepared, I would not have broken your nose or kneed you in the balls. I hope everything is still functioning properly.”

  Nolasco ignored her, sitting like a petulant grade-school student.

  Regis stood. Decker and Gordon stood with him. Nolasco did not.

  “You’re dismissed, Recruit Crosswhite,” Regis said.

  Tracy rose, stood at attention, and left the room.

  After Crosswhite had left the room, Regis shut off the recorder and picked up Nolasco’s report. Decker watched intently. Gordon had sat back from the desk, his arms folded across his chest.

  “You may want to amend your statement before it becomes part of her official file,” Regis said, handing the multipage document across the desk.

  “What?” Nolasco said, taking back his report.

  “Specifically, you should reconsider the part where you state that you used the back of your hand to perform your pat down,” Regis said.

  “Why, did Recruit Almond file a complaint?”

  “Why would Recruit Almond file a complaint?”

  “To stand up for her. You know they’re going to stick together.”

  “Do we need to speak with Recruit Almond as well?”

  Nolasco simmered.

  “Redo your report,” Regis said. “Better yet, you might want to consider not filing it at all.”

  Nolasco started for the door.

  “Detective Nolasco,” Regis said.

  Nolasco turned back. He looked to be fighting a headache, which was entirely possible.

  “Let me make something perfectly clear. I very much want both Recruit Almond and Recruit Crosswhite to complete this Academy. More to the point, the mayor and the chief of police have expressed their sincere desire to the entire commission that they want them to complete this Academy. I trust you will do everything within your power to support each recruit in doing so.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nolasco said.

  After Nolasco shut the door, Regis turned to Gordon. “Make sure there is another instructor present anytime he is in contact with either Almond or Crosswhite.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gordon said.

  “How is she doing?”

  “Top of her class,” Decker said. “She aced the classroom instruction. And you just had a visual illustration that she has both the physical ability and the temperament to defend herself.”

  “
And Almond?”

  “Not as well. She’s struggling with the physical conditioning and the shooting. At this rate, she won’t pass.”

  Tracy crossed the parking lot, gym bag in hand, walking in the direction of her car.

  “Tracy? Tracy.” Jenny Almond jogged across the courtyard. “Hey, I was hoping to catch you. Did everything go all right?”

  Tracy looked to the administration office windows facing the parking lot. “You got time for dinner?”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s a place I’ve found on 152nd and 10th called the Tin Room. Meet me there.”

  Tracy took a bar stool at a raised table at the back of the restaurant. The waitress brought her a Pabst Blue Ribbon. She nursed it while waiting for Almond. The Tin Room had become her home away from home—or home away from apartment, in this case. When the school semester at Cedar Grove High had ended in June, Tracy had said her good-byes, sold or given away most of her belongings, packed up her truck, and moved to Burien. She’d taken a six-month lease on her apartment, her only criteria being that it was close to the Academy. Her furnishings consisted of a mattress, sofa, and a table and two chairs from a local thrift store. For entertainment, she’d bought a twenty-two-inch television and brought a crate of novels and a lamp to read them by.

  She’d found the bar and restaurant when she’d taken a study break and gone for a walk. Tracy appreciated its eclectic decor. According to the history of the building, which was printed inside the menu, it had been a metal-and-tin shop for decades. A local entrepreneur had bought the building and renovated it, but honored its history. The sign that had hung for decades on the exterior of the building now hung over the bar. Work benches from the tool shop had been cut and made into tables. Sheet-metal tools and tin snips hung on the walls near an abstract painting of Rolling Stones legend Mick Jagger. Near the entrance to the kitchen dangled a fireman’s bell. Fail to resist the urge to ring it, and you bought a round of drinks for the bar.

  Tracy sipped her beer and reconsidered what had transpired. She’d let her temper get the better of her, something she’d been working to keep in check. Since Sarah’s disappearance, she sometimes had bursts of anger, particularly if she felt someone was being picked on. And Johnny Nolasco had been picking on Almond. Tracy knew that had been a part of the reason she’d lost her temper, but not the whole reason. Jenny reminded Tracy a lot of Sarah. Almond was just twenty, about the same age as Sarah had been when she had disappeared. Sarah had been outwardly confident, but inside, she’d had a lot of self-doubt—her looks, her intelligence, even her shooting skills. It was the younger-sister syndrome. Sarah had seen herself as never being able to measure up to Tracy. Jenny was struggling at the Academy in almost every area—the physical demands, the classroom rigor, and especially the shooting. She had skill. Tracy could see it. What Jenny lacked was confidence. Jenny didn’t believe she belonged with the other recruits. Until she did, improvement would be glacial.