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Authors: Makenzi Fisk
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unusual? I told you there was absolutely nothing out there."
She remembered seeing Derek the day she took Allie to the bog. With one ass-cheek on the hood of the patrol officer 's car, it didn't look like he was doing much of anything useful. He probably didn't even do his own paperwork.
He leaned close to her face and spoke clearly and slowly, as if talking to a child. "In case you missed it the first time, the case is closed. C-L-O-S-E-D." The hard edge back in his voice, he rolled the papers in his hand and squeezed them in one tight fist. "Leave it alone, Ericsson. It 's my case, and it's done."
He walked out and left Erin alone in the briefing room. She felt dirty somehow, complicit in the murder of Dolores Johnson. Storming from the building, she seated herself in the front of her cruiser and gripped the wheel of the white Dodge Charger. Like a mobile office, it was tricked out police style with lights, siren, augmented suspension and a compact Plexiglas shield for prisoners in the back. Usually she loved to drive it but today she was having trouble appreciating the perks of the job.
Two fender-benders consumed most of her morning. The sheer number of car accidents in this town continually amazed her. How in the world did one manage to hit the only car for blocks, or back up into the only other car in the grocery store parking lot? It was nearly noon by the time she had freed herself from the paperwork, the inevitable tracking down of insurance and licensing information, and the dismayed owner of the parked car. The Big City PDs didn't even bother with this stuff. They merely told the drivers to come in and fill out their own paperwork for the insurance companies to battle out. Not here. We still pride ourselves on service to our community.
Eager to get back to the Johnson property, Erin pulled into the station to grab her lunch first. She stopped abruptly at the entrance to the coffee room. Derek sat polishing off the last of her chicken salad sandwich, the Ziploc bag she had packed it in sitting in silent accusation. Surprised, he brushed crumbs from the table.
She glared at him and opened the fridge where her crumpled lunch bag sat. The only thing left inside was her apple.
"What the hell, Derek?"
"What?" he said innocently. "Ain't no big deal. I was hungry."
"Are you the immature bastard that has been stealing my lunch all summer?" It had been especially infuriating to come in and find her lunch ransacked nearly every week. He never took the fruit, but always ate her sandwich, and the little cheese sticks were the first to go. "Why is it always my lunch you 're stealing?"
"Have you seen what Z-man has in his Tupperware?"
"No!" Unlike him, she did not snoop in others' lunches.
He snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "Anyway, you bring the best stuff."
She wanted to punch him. They gave this man a gun and trusted him to serve and protect. He was a petty lunch thief! And was that her lost ballpoint pen peeking out from his pocket? She snatched it back before he could protest.
"You 've got more money than me," he said. "You can go buy lunch. I have a starving wife and kid at home to feed." He shrugged and attempted a belch but it came out as more of a defiant squeak.
"And a big house and a brand new waterski boat!" she finished. "Unbelievable. You owe me."
"But the bank owns those…"
Stalking out of the coffee room, she stepped around the eavesdropping janitor in the hallway. She felt a modicum of guilt over the dirty looks she 'd been wrongly directing at him. Right now she was too angry to stop and apologize.
Gas pedal to the floor, she drove aggressively over the bumpy road to the Johnson property. Beside her, a plastic wrapped ham sandwich from the Sportsman's Stop 'N Go bounced on the seat. The fizzy burn from a bottle of Coke helped soothe an angry lump in her throat.
At the end of the driveway, she parked and mentally mapped out a grid pattern. Her starting point would be the ominous mound of
She remembered seeing Derek the day she took Allie to the bog. With one ass-cheek on the hood of the patrol officer 's car, it didn't look like he was doing much of anything useful. He probably didn't even do his own paperwork.
He leaned close to her face and spoke clearly and slowly, as if talking to a child. "In case you missed it the first time, the case is closed. C-L-O-S-E-D." The hard edge back in his voice, he rolled the papers in his hand and squeezed them in one tight fist. "Leave it alone, Ericsson. It 's my case, and it's done."
He walked out and left Erin alone in the briefing room. She felt dirty somehow, complicit in the murder of Dolores Johnson. Storming from the building, she seated herself in the front of her cruiser and gripped the wheel of the white Dodge Charger. Like a mobile office, it was tricked out police style with lights, siren, augmented suspension and a compact Plexiglas shield for prisoners in the back. Usually she loved to drive it but today she was having trouble appreciating the perks of the job.
Two fender-benders consumed most of her morning. The sheer number of car accidents in this town continually amazed her. How in the world did one manage to hit the only car for blocks, or back up into the only other car in the grocery store parking lot? It was nearly noon by the time she had freed herself from the paperwork, the inevitable tracking down of insurance and licensing information, and the dismayed owner of the parked car. The Big City PDs didn't even bother with this stuff. They merely told the drivers to come in and fill out their own paperwork for the insurance companies to battle out. Not here. We still pride ourselves on service to our community.
Eager to get back to the Johnson property, Erin pulled into the station to grab her lunch first. She stopped abruptly at the entrance to the coffee room. Derek sat polishing off the last of her chicken salad sandwich, the Ziploc bag she had packed it in sitting in silent accusation. Surprised, he brushed crumbs from the table.
She glared at him and opened the fridge where her crumpled lunch bag sat. The only thing left inside was her apple.
"What the hell, Derek?"
"What?" he said innocently. "Ain't no big deal. I was hungry."
"Are you the immature bastard that has been stealing my lunch all summer?" It had been especially infuriating to come in and find her lunch ransacked nearly every week. He never took the fruit, but always ate her sandwich, and the little cheese sticks were the first to go. "Why is it always my lunch you 're stealing?"
"Have you seen what Z-man has in his Tupperware?"
"No!" Unlike him, she did not snoop in others' lunches.
He snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "Anyway, you bring the best stuff."
She wanted to punch him. They gave this man a gun and trusted him to serve and protect. He was a petty lunch thief! And was that her lost ballpoint pen peeking out from his pocket? She snatched it back before he could protest.
"You 've got more money than me," he said. "You can go buy lunch. I have a starving wife and kid at home to feed." He shrugged and attempted a belch but it came out as more of a defiant squeak.
"And a big house and a brand new waterski boat!" she finished. "Unbelievable. You owe me."
"But the bank owns those…"
Stalking out of the coffee room, she stepped around the eavesdropping janitor in the hallway. She felt a modicum of guilt over the dirty looks she 'd been wrongly directing at him. Right now she was too angry to stop and apologize.
Gas pedal to the floor, she drove aggressively over the bumpy road to the Johnson property. Beside her, a plastic wrapped ham sandwich from the Sportsman's Stop 'N Go bounced on the seat. The fizzy burn from a bottle of Coke helped soothe an angry lump in her throat.
At the end of the driveway, she parked and mentally mapped out a grid pattern. Her starting point would be the ominous mound of
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