Page 21 of Demo
Carl would absolutely advise against it. He would be sweating bullets just knowing how close we are. And yet we just stand here in silence, as the elevator slowly dings with each floor we pass.
And then we reach the ground floor, the doors open, and she steps out and is gone. I must have been frozen in place because the doors almost close again before I stop them and step out. I catch up to Carl and Cherice on the sidewalk outside the building, wanting to pick my editor’s brain and ask her what in holy hell is going on.
“Cherice, I—”
“Not now. Not here.” She stops me in my tracks. “Let’s just digest all this and talk about it later.”
Carl throws his hands up in the air. “Oh, now we’d all like to take a moment to think before we speak. Well, do me a favor and let me know when you’ve got it all figured out. Until then, I’ll be back at my office dealing with my other cases—people who actually listen to the advice I have to give.” He storms off down the sidewalk.
“Don’t blow a gasket, Carl,” Cherice shouts after him. “It’s a good way to an early grave.”
She puts her hands on her hips and looks back at me. “Listen, you and I have to talk, but just the two of us. Put our heads together. But I’ve got appointments today so we’ll have to meet later. What have you got on your plate today?”
“Um ...” I run my hand through my hair, trying to quell the static that caught from the silky lining of my jacket. “I have to stop at the police station. I want to check the arrest log, compare numbers for the past couple of years, see if there’s a pattern.”
“You think you smell something?” Cherice holds a hand up to her forehead to block the sun from her eyes.
“Not exactly. I’m just reaching for strings at this point.”
She nods. “Well, do what you gotta do. I’ll see you back at the office.”
***
At the police station, as I wait for Sgt. Henderson to finish taking a complaint over the phone, I spend quality time shooting the shit with a couple of the officers. While there are only certain members of the department who can give me an official quote, I have a good rapport with most of the cops.
I sit on top of a desk, my legs swinging over the side, as Deputy Cook tells an inappropriate joke to me and some of the officers who are enjoying a coffee break. Cook is a hefty fellow with a boyish face whose beer gut overflows from his belt.
“So then, the chick clamps down and says—”
“Slow day, have we, boys?” Chief Scott’s voice booms over Cook’s, and all the guys straighten. I slowly slide off the desk. “I don’t imagine we’d be telling dirty jokes in the presence of a lady, would we?”
The guys all mumble and scatter.
“Ms. Mitchell.” Scott extends his hand to me. “What can we do for you today?”
“Thanks for calling me a lady,” I joke as we shake hands, but he doesn’t laugh. I clear my throat. “Chief, I was just waiting for the sergeant here to help me with some arrest records.”
“Anything in particular you’re interested in?”
“Just looking at some trends, is all.”
There is a brief moment when the chief gives me a look, and then he concedes. “Well, I’m sure Sgt. Henderson here will be of help as soon as he’s off the phone. Let me know if you need any more information, OK?”
“Will do. Thanks.”
Henderson hangs up the phone moments after the chief leaves. Spinning around in his chair and crossing his arms behind his big, bald head, he asks, “Miss Lyzbeth, long time no see. What do you need?”
The short sleeves of his department-issued polo shirt look like they are going to rip right open as his giant biceps, one of which is wrapped in some sort of tribal tattoo, flex beneath it.
“I’m looking for arrest records. DWIs, drugs, assault …”
“That, I can do. Come with me.”
I follow him down the hall to a small room packed with boxes. The sergeant tells me all the records from 2001 to the current day are on the computer, with anything prior to that in paper files. I am only interested in the past year or two, so I sit at the computer as he leans over me and explains the system so I can navigate it.
I scroll through the reports from two summers ago and realize this is all in police code. I know a lot of the big ones, but not all of them.
“What’s a 901b?” I ask.
