Read Online SK01 - Waist Deep by Frank Zafiro - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frank Zafiro
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Inside my chest, my heart pound ed harder and harder. A flash of white-hot shame shot through me and melted into anger a moment later. I pushed it away. I couldn’t be mad and I couldn’t be sad. Not if I was going to call her.
The receiver sat in its cradle. I could see my shadowy, dull reflection in the hard black plastic. The silver face of the payphone warped my features like a funhouse mirror.
I picked up the phone and dropped in my coins. I didn’t know her direct extension. She’d been promoted a few year s ago . It’d b een four or fiv e years since I’d called her and that had been at her home. The next time I dialed her number, it was disconnected. I wasn’t surprised .
I dialed the front desk of the investigations unit. Glenda picked up the phone on the second ring, her cheery voice almost singing, “Investigations, Glenda .”
“Detective McLeod, please.” I tried to keep my voice as flat as possible. I doubted she would, or could, recognize my voice, but with Glenda , you never know.
“One moment. I’ll transfer you.”
“Thanks. Uh, what’s her direct line?” I asked.
She gave it to me immediately from memory and I repeated it in my head while the line clicked once and then rang. My heart pounded faster and despite the cold, a small trickle of sweat ran down my left armpit. I clamped my elbow down on it.
It connected on the fourth ring . I felt a brief moment of panic and a small catch in my throat at the sound of her voice before I realized it was her voice mail.
“Hello. You’ve reached Detective Katie McLeod of the River City Police Department. I’m unable to take your call right now, but please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. If this is in reference to an active case, please include your case number. Thanks for calling.”
Her voice sounded professional and detached until the end when it lilted almost girlishly during the words “thanks for calling.”
There was a tone and I knew I had four minutes of digital space to leave my message.
“Hi, Katie,” I began. “It’s, uh, it’s Stef.”
I paused, wondering what to say next.
Hey, I know I screwed up as a cop and I know I messed up with us more than once , but hey! I need a favor.
I tried to swallow but my throat was dry. I wished I’d taken a another swig of the soda. No time now. I pressed on before I lost my nerve. “I’m trying to help an old friend find his runaway daughter as a favor. I was wondering…I was wondering if you might be able to help me out a little. With some information.”
I imagined her face while she listened to this message. The image hurt.
No stopping now, I thought. I rattled off Kris Sinderling’s name and birth date , as well as Matt’s. On a whim, I threw in Gary LeMond’s, too. All she could do was say no.
“Anyway, if you can, that’s great. If not, I understand. You can call me back at—“ I looked for the number on the payphone. In the place of a number was a bold message that read, “No Incoming Calls.”
Years ago, pay phones in high drug traffic areas were used to make drug deals so often that the police department and the communities asked the phone company to turn off the function for incoming calls. A few years later, cell phones became so prominent and inexpensive that the practice tapered off, but some phones still had that limitation.
I glanced quickly at the other two phones and saw the same bold message.
“Damn,” I said out loud. When I realized that I said it directly into the phone I almost repeated the word.
“This phone doesn’t take incoming calls. Listen, uh, I’m going to walk over to Polly’s Café. I’ll stay through lunch. If you can make it, you can. If not, like I said, I understand. Maybe I’ll try you back tomorrow or something. ”
I paused again, words sticking in my throat, just like they always did when it came to her. Finally, I said a hurried “thanks” and hung up.
18
Polly’s
Inside my chest, my heart pound ed harder and harder. A flash of white-hot shame shot through me and melted into anger a moment later. I pushed it away. I couldn’t be mad and I couldn’t be sad. Not if I was going to call her.
The receiver sat in its cradle. I could see my shadowy, dull reflection in the hard black plastic. The silver face of the payphone warped my features like a funhouse mirror.
I picked up the phone and dropped in my coins. I didn’t know her direct extension. She’d been promoted a few year s ago . It’d b een four or fiv e years since I’d called her and that had been at her home. The next time I dialed her number, it was disconnected. I wasn’t surprised .
I dialed the front desk of the investigations unit. Glenda picked up the phone on the second ring, her cheery voice almost singing, “Investigations, Glenda .”
“Detective McLeod, please.” I tried to keep my voice as flat as possible. I doubted she would, or could, recognize my voice, but with Glenda , you never know.
“One moment. I’ll transfer you.”
“Thanks. Uh, what’s her direct line?” I asked.
She gave it to me immediately from memory and I repeated it in my head while the line clicked once and then rang. My heart pounded faster and despite the cold, a small trickle of sweat ran down my left armpit. I clamped my elbow down on it.
It connected on the fourth ring . I felt a brief moment of panic and a small catch in my throat at the sound of her voice before I realized it was her voice mail.
“Hello. You’ve reached Detective Katie McLeod of the River City Police Department. I’m unable to take your call right now, but please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. If this is in reference to an active case, please include your case number. Thanks for calling.”
Her voice sounded professional and detached until the end when it lilted almost girlishly during the words “thanks for calling.”
There was a tone and I knew I had four minutes of digital space to leave my message.
“Hi, Katie,” I began. “It’s, uh, it’s Stef.”
I paused, wondering what to say next.
Hey, I know I screwed up as a cop and I know I messed up with us more than once , but hey! I need a favor.
I tried to swallow but my throat was dry. I wished I’d taken a another swig of the soda. No time now. I pressed on before I lost my nerve. “I’m trying to help an old friend find his runaway daughter as a favor. I was wondering…I was wondering if you might be able to help me out a little. With some information.”
I imagined her face while she listened to this message. The image hurt.
No stopping now, I thought. I rattled off Kris Sinderling’s name and birth date , as well as Matt’s. On a whim, I threw in Gary LeMond’s, too. All she could do was say no.
“Anyway, if you can, that’s great. If not, I understand. You can call me back at—“ I looked for the number on the payphone. In the place of a number was a bold message that read, “No Incoming Calls.”
Years ago, pay phones in high drug traffic areas were used to make drug deals so often that the police department and the communities asked the phone company to turn off the function for incoming calls. A few years later, cell phones became so prominent and inexpensive that the practice tapered off, but some phones still had that limitation.
I glanced quickly at the other two phones and saw the same bold message.
“Damn,” I said out loud. When I realized that I said it directly into the phone I almost repeated the word.
“This phone doesn’t take incoming calls. Listen, uh, I’m going to walk over to Polly’s Café. I’ll stay through lunch. If you can make it, you can. If not, like I said, I understand. Maybe I’ll try you back tomorrow or something. ”
I paused again, words sticking in my throat, just like they always did when it came to her. Finally, I said a hurried “thanks” and hung up.
18
Polly’s
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