The Admonition

She didn't say anything more for a while and I was lost in my thoughts. I was still angry with her but not so much the anger of jealousy. However, the thought wasn't lost on me that she allowed this flirtation to grow, with eyes wide open. It hurt my very soul that she had contemplated this betrayal, even if it hadn't come to an emotional fruition. But the rage and contempt I had for this scum bag, a police officer no less, was beyond measurement.

Finally, with no tears left to shed, she looked at me and in a pleading voice, said:

"Mike, I know I don't deserve it but I pray that you can forgive me. I hope I haven't destroyed all the love you had for me."

I stood, walked over to the sofa and extended my hand. Arlene took it tentatively as I guided her upstairs. Tonight, was not a night for recriminations or self-pity. I learned many things in the military and one of the important ones was not to retaliate without a plan and tonight was a night for planning.

Over the next week my wife and I had many conversations and even though we didn't have sexual relations it was mostly due to her inability to forgive herself. I heard so many, "I'm so sorry's and please don't leave me's that I was ready to strangle her.

I asked her if he had approached her since that night and she told me that he hadn't said anything directly but that on occasions when he was in the office he would unlock his drawer and put the camera on his desk and then turn around and look at her and either smirk or wink. From her recounting of the night I seriously doubted that he had any video and that he used that as a ploy to intimidate further cooperation from his victims.

One night we were sitting on the sofa and out of nowhere she began crying and uttering self-recriminations, but I had enough. We still hadn't made love and most nights I awoke to her softly sobbing into her pillow.

I was frustrated and probably, more forcefully than I intended, said:

"Enough Arlene! Okay, you fucked up. We're human and we make mistakes but you have to forgive yourself so we can get our lives back. Sure, I'm still hurt but the hurt won't heal if you don't stop this self-flagellation. You're walking on egg shells and it's not only affecting me, it's affecting the boys. I want my life and my wife back, so no more apologies, okay?

I went on to tell her what I knew about Wellaton but not how I came to know it and I never told her about the day in the park that I had followed her and saw his attempt to get a quickie blow job. It confounded me that she hadn't seen his shallow attempt to get some cheap sexual gratification as a warning sign but I didn't dwell on it.

Without going into specifics, I told her of the marriages and careers Wellaton had ruined and I emphasized the fact that he was a predator and would not stop until someone stopped him. By the way she looked at me I think she realized my inference but did not question it.

We made love that night and although it lacked some of the wild abandon that we sometimes experienced, it was fulfilling and I thought we had turned a page in our lives. It was the first night in weeks that we slept peacefully and in the morning, I saw my old Arlene start to re-emerge.

My problem was that Nick Wellaton was still on the prowl and even though I knew my wife was safe from his predilections, he would continue to make her life uncomfortable before moving on to his next victim— — — —, but, it wouldn't be for long

It had been over two months since the scum bag had been incinerated in his driveway and I had learned from discrete inquires that the investigation into Wellaton's death was at a standstill. Despite the best efforts of the county, city and federal investigators, no link could be found with any of the cases that he had been or was currently involved in. So, I wasn't completely surprised when I received a 10-20 call from the dispatcher while working a day shift. The 10-20 code means report to you command, in the case of patrol deputies that could mean the district office in their patrol area but in my case, it meant headquarters, where all of the special services units had their offices.

When I walked into the building Deputy Doug Monaghan was on the desk keeping watch over the 'inner sanctum'. Mike was a fixture on the desk and I can't imagine there was even one person in the department that didn't enjoy his sunny disposition or the occasional corny Irish joke that he dispensed. He could have retired a decade ago but being widowed at an early age, his two kids grown and gone, the job gave him a reason to get out of bed every morning.

"Morning Doug", I said as I approached his lofty perch through an empty lobby.

He cocked his head and raised a bushy grey eyebrow as he leaned forward and whispered:

"Ya ain't in any trouble are you Mickey, me lad?"

"Why would I be in trouble" I asked flippantly.

"Don't know but I was told to send you up to the Chief Deputy's office when you arrived and he ain't alone. There's some suits I've never seen with guest badges but they stink of being Feds."

We exchanged a few teasing barbs and Doug buzzed me through and I headed up to the second floor. When I entered the Chief's office his secretary looked at my name plate and said nervously:

"Oh, Deputy Foley ————, yes, they———-er, the Chief is waiting for you in the conference room at the end of the hall."

When I entered the spacious room, there were six men seated at the far side of the table and the fact that no one was talking and all eyes were upon me as I opened the door indicated that the secretary had alerted them of my arrival. I recognized two of the men. One was our Deputy Chief Sheriff, Thomas Pendergast and the other was the Fullerton City P.D. Captain who had been in front of the cameras the night of Wellaton's death. As protocol demanded I rendered a casual salute to my chief. He just nodded and asked me to take a seat. Tom had been a lieutenant and my boss when I first joined the department eighteen years ago. He was a distinguished looking man, now in his mid-fifties, with salt and pepper hair and a commanding stature. We had gotten along well and he had been instrumental in getting me assigned to the Emergency Service Division. He was well liked by the men and the county commissioners as well and would likely succeed the current Sheriff when he retired next year.

He introduced me to the men adjourned at the table, starting to his left he identified Capt. Hartwig of the city police department, Det. Sgt. Piccolo, also from the city and agents Meissen and Holmes from the ATF along with Special Agent Lupo of the FBI.

Without further ado the chief began his prepared text:

With a slight wave of his hand towards the others, he said:

These men are part of an investigation into the death of Detective Nicholas Wellaton and I have agreed to allow them to speak to you in the spirit of interdepartmental cooperation. However, as I'm sure you are aware, since this is just an informal fact-finding mission and you are not under oath, you are entitled to refuse to answer any questions or to have a union attorney present. In light of what I have just explained do you wish to employ either of those options?"

"No Sir, not at this time. If there is anything I can do to aid the investigation I'd be more than willing to do so."

"Capt. Hartwig do you have anything you would like to ask the deputy?"

Captain Hartwig was a large black man with droopy eyelids and a face that seemed to be in a constant state of amusement.

In a deep baritone voice, he replied: "Not at this time Chief. I was Wellaton's commanding officer but I haven't been integral part of the investigation".

Agent Meissen, a small man with a prominent nose and beady eyes, jumped in and in a nasally voice, said:

"If you don't mind Chief, I would like to ask Foley a few questions".

Before he could continue, Chief Pendergast said in a condescending voice:

"Agent Meissen, we are all sworn law enforcement officers here and for the purposes of this informal interview I would ask that we all use the titles assigned to us. So, if you would like to ask Deputy Foley any questions please address him as such".

Meissen's face reddened at the rebuff but he quickly recovered and asked:

"Deputy Foley did you know or had you ever met Detective Wellaton"?

"Not that I'm aware of, I said sincerely. Actually, I can't recall having any interaction with any detectives from the Fullerton City P.D".

"What about socially?" Didn't you attend the city's police picnic this past July?

"Yes, I accompanied my wife who is a civilian employee of the department but I was not introduced to any of the detectives assigned to Organized Crime. I spent my time with two of my wife's colleagues and their civilian husbands". Is there a point here Agent Meissen, I asked innocently?

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the FBI agent looked amused at Meissen's growing frustration. As an FBI agent he was probably a lawyer and knew that you don't ask questions that you don't have the answers to.

Even though this was an informal interview Meissen, not being a skilled interrogator, had established that I was a "person of interest" within the first three minutes of the meeting.

He shuffled through some papers in a folder in front of him and looking at me in an accusatory manner, asked:

"Your records indicate that are an Army veteran and served an eighteen-month tour in Iraq as an ordinance technician. Could you elaborate —— — Deputy, as to what the duties of an 'ordinance technician are?"

"Well, I answered with a touch of sarcasm, ordinance is anything from bullets to bombs but my particular training was to destroy or disassemble IED'S. ———, improvised explosive devices."

"Specifically, how did you accomplish those tasks"?

"Well it depended. If it was an IED that didn't pose a threat to people or structures I would just detonate it with a rifle shot. If it was in a building or a market place we would use a robot to ensure that it wasn't booby trapped and then I would go in and determine if it could be deactivated. It wasn't an exact science and some of my fellow soldiers came home in body bags".

Meissen seemed unimpressed as he continued:

So, if you know how to disassemble a bomb, you must know how to make one, yes?"

I chuckled and replied:

"Yeah, just about anyone could. You don't think these Taliban have engineering degrees from MIT, do you? All you need is explosives, a detonator, a 12-volt battery and a container. Listen, Meissen ———, I'm sorry, Agent Meissen, what are you implying here?" Because I and hundreds of other soldiers knew how to assemble an explosive device that I decided to indiscriminately kill a fellow police officer. You can go on your computer right now and find out how to make bombs that are a lot more sophisticated than the ones I had to deal with".

"Meissen smirked and with words dripping with sarcasm, said:

"I didn't say 'indiscriminately, Deputy. Are you aware Foley that there is a rumor that your wife was having an affair with Detective Wellaton".

I stood up and started to run around the table to get my hands on the little weasel but the FBI guy and the city detective had me immobilized before I could punch his lights out.

Meissen had rolled his chair back against the wall and looked like he had pissed his pants. When I had calmed down the FBI agent moved over to Meissen, leaning down inches from his face, he hissed:

"Get out you asshole. Wait outside. As a matter of fact, don't wait outside just go back to your office and I will deal with you later".

Meissen sputtered some objections but eventually left the office.

Obviously, Special Agent Lupo was going to be the "good cop" because he immediately apologized for Meissen and asked me in a conciliatory tone:

"Would you mind, Deputy, if we continued this in a less acrimonious manner.?

I hesitated but finally nodded and took my seat but as he was about to resume speaking, Captain Hartwig interjected with his deep voice:

"I don't think I'm going out on a limb here since Detective Wellaton's personnel file can be obtained via the 'freedom of information' act. However, as of yet, no news agency has requested it and we have chosen not to make it public in order to protect his family".

At this point I noticed Agent Lupo shifting in his chair, apparently uncomfortable with this revelation so early in the inquiry.

"Nicholas Wellaton has been accused on several occasions of having sexual liaisons with married women. Thanks, in large part, to intervention by his uncle, who was the then Lieutenant Governor, only one charge resulted in disciplinary action. But, however distasteful as his moral character may have been, we are not here to judge his character but to find out who was responsible for his murder."

"As a police officer you are aware that a good number of cases are solved based on what started out as a rumor. I'll be honest here, if we questioned every husband or boyfriend involved with Mister Wellaton we'd probably have to double our investigative team"

The detective sergeant sitting to Hartwig's left had to turn his head and cough to stifle a chuckle. It also didn't escape my notice that Hartwig's reference to the victim went from Detective Wellaton to Nicholas Wellaton to Mr. Wellerton.

Police Departments are quasi military organizations and just like combat troops, cops depend on their fellow officers to be there when situations escalate. That need for unequivocal support engenders certain unspoken rules of behavior. One rule is that, whether married or single, you don't bed a fellow officer's wife or girlfriend, even if she is the aggressor. As in any organization, not everyone abides by the rules, but most do.

I got the impression from Captain Hartwig's words and demeanor that his department was taking a back seat in this investigation and allowing the Feds the lead. Almost to confirm my suspicion Agent Lupo resumed:

"As the Captain said, a rumor is just that — — —, a rumor. The rumor that Agent Meissen so inappropriately referred to could have been started with as little as a smile, or his leaning on her desk or a laugh at a joke. Frankly, such a vague rumor would not be getting so much attention if it weren't for the fact of your military background and experience with explosives."

"It is my job, however, to ask about the stability of your relationship with your wife. Have there been any recent difficulties that may give credence to a possibility that your wife and Detective Wellaton may have had a relationship"?

I had to laugh at his poor attempt to avoid the use of the word affair but after a pause I answered:

"You mean friends with benefits", don't you?" Before he could respond I continued:

"I find that question quite intrusive but in an effort to put this issue to bed I will answer.

"I hate to sound sappy but Arlene and I have the best marriage of any other couple I know. I love her unequivocally as she does me and we never fail to express that love. To answer another question that might be in your mind, my wife does not go out on girl's nights, she doesn't belong to any teams or organizations that take her out of the house. We, pretty much, do everything together and when I am working nights she is taking care of our two young sons. Oh yeah and we have sex three to four times a week." I added sarcastically.

The Chief chuckled and I saw a brief smile cross Hartwig's lips, Agent Lupo did not react. In fact, he didn't miss a beat when he continued speaking:

"There is another possibility here Deputy and I mention it only as an opportunity, not an accusation. Your wife and the late detective worked together and as an investigator he was not always in the office. There is — — —, was, an opportunity for them to meet on her lunch hour".

I didn't expect that and I didn't react. I was at a critical juncture here. My buddy Joe's un-named informant may have already been interviewed and admitted to the fact that he saw Arlene and Wellaton leave the property in her car. He or she may have already admitted to being contacted by Joe and it would be an easy task to trace our personal connection. However, either Lupo had the best poker face in the world or he was covering his bases with every possibility of a relationship.

I had no choice but to go with my gut and let the chips fall where they may. So, after some contemplative expressions and a slight nod of my head, I responded:

"First of all, Agent, your original question was regarding the stability of my marital relationship, which I believe I covered. Is there the possibility of my wife, or your wife or of any wife to engage in a quick sexual encounter while they are out to the market, on their way to pick up kids from soccer or running out to get their hair done. Sure! But if remember correctly from my college psychology courses, when most women become involved in an affair, it's emotionally before sexually"

"A guy, or I should say, a certain kind of guy, is often in it for the conquest or the quick sexual release."

Remembering Joe's info and knowing that these people were aware of why Wellaton was finally disciplined, extorting a blow job from a newly married 23-year-old rookie, I took the shot.

"That kind of guy can do it behind a bush, in an alley, in the back seat of a car. We all know of men in power who have used their positions to either overtly or psychologically extort sex from subordinates. Hell, we even know presidents who —— — —"

"Alright Foley, Agent Lupo said heatedly, we get your point but ————

I leaned forward and staring into his eyes, said:

"NO, YOU DON'T LUPO. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AN 'INTERVIEW' AND YOU HAVE TURNED IT INTO A WITCH HUNT". In a more constrained voice, I continued:

"If it was you sitting here in this chair and I was making the demeaning insinuations about your wife, I don't think you would have tolerated it as long as I have. I'm here because you have a philandering dead cop who happens to work in the same building and whose husband served his county in a capacity that may or may not be related to the victim's death."

"Do your job Lupo and stop trying to find an expedient resolution to your case, at my wife's and my expense".

With that I stood and looking at my chief, asked:

"If I'm done here Chief, I'd like to go back to work"

Pendergast nodded to me and said;

"You can go Deputy ————, and thanks for coming I"..

As I walked out of the building I felt pretty good about my projection of indignation but I knew that the FBI was not just going to put its tails between its legs and go back to D.C.

——————————————-

Wednesday, March 5, 1991

It was the day after the, so-called, interview and my regular day off. We would normally arise at 6:30, take our showers and then get the boys their breakfast and have them ready for the school bus pick up at 7:45. However, on my days off I usually postponed my shower until everyone was out of the house in order to make the routine less hectic.

Arlene was still in the shower at 6:45 when I heard the front door bell ring several times followed by a banging on the door. I put my terry cloth robe on and reaching into the night stand slipped my 380 Ruger into my pocket and headed downstairs. I kept my hand in my gun pocket as I opened the door to the length of the safety chain. Looking out I saw Agent Lupo standing there wearing his blue FBI, emblazoned field jacket.

"What do you want, I said annoyed and why are you at my home at this time of the morning?"

He said in a soft voice:

"Mike, I have a search warrant for your house and vehicle". He briefly held up a piece of paper and I was able to make out the words "Search Warrant".

"My wife is in the shower and my children are getting ready for school. You don't.t think this could have waited for a more appropriate time". I growled.