Page 22 of Demo
“Drowning.”
“Drowning?” I look at the date. “Oh yeah, the fisherman. What’s a 10-59?”
“Security check.”
“What’s a 10—”
“Seriously? You gonna ask me for every incident in there?”
I put my hands up, conceding. “Sorry,” I mutter.
Henderson pulls up another chair and plops down beside me.
I notice the 10-54 in August, which was the body of the runaway they found in an abandoned house. There are a couple of 10-71s and 10-72s, not surprising. But what I am really looking for is missing.
“How come I don’t see any drug arrests in here?” I ask.
“Different database.”
“Huh?”
Henderson sighs. “When we make a minor drug arrest, anything less than, say, half an ounce, depending on the substance, we don’t have to make a call out for backup, so it doesn’t get logged here. Instead, the report gets written up and filed in a different system.”
He pushes himself away from the desk and swivels over to a different computer. From behind, I get a glimpse of the rolls at the back of his head. “Here’s where we keep the drug reports,” he says.
“What about larger drug busts?” I ask as I get up, walk over to Henderson.
“Depends. Some of those reports you’ll find in here. Others, which may still be active, depending on undercover officers, or any insiders who may be collaborating with us, those are confidential.”
He types in some passwords and navigates to a screen similar to the one I was at before. “What’cha looking for, specifically?” he asks, looking up at me.
“The last two years, drug activity, or lack thereof.”
He types in some codes and scrolls down a bit. Then raises his eyebrows. “Wow, looks like we’ve had quite a year.”
“How so?” I lean in.
“This is the list of closed out cases. Some may have convictions pending, but the investigation and charges are settled.” He points to a substantial list of cases on the screen.
“And these,” he moves on to another folder, “are ongoing cases.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.” Henderson rubs his chin. “It’s all the chief’s doing. He’s really been pushing his drug task force. Trying to get drugs off the street.”
“Can I look at these cases?”
“Not these ones, but you can look at the closed cases.” He goes back into the previous folder.
“Can we print some of these reports out, so I don’t have to look over your shoulder all day?” I look down my nose at the sergeant and give him a shy smile. I see his glance dart to my chest so briefly, I’m not even sure it happened. But it causes me to straighten up.
“My pleasure,” he says and punches in a few more keys. “Should be spitting out in the printer in the main office.”
“Thanks!” I give a salute and stand.
“You just remember this,” he says. “Next time you get an unflattering photo of me, I want you to have Monty doctor me up.”
“When have we ever run an unflattering photo of you?”
