line.” He pointed down the street to his left. “Second building down, the one with the big white pillars. That’s where the tips are being processed. Most are on the phone, but I’m sure someone in there can take your information down and pass it along. I can’t let you in the station, ma’am.”
Alex sighed. She would rather talk to that detective than to a civilian volunteer, but she supposed she wouldn’t get anywhere by putting up a stink. She thanked the man and went in the direction he’d pointed. As she passed the station, she noticed a narrow alley that ran along its left side. She glanced back at the man who’d directed her, but he’d moved on to the next hopeful trying to get into the station.
Alex ducked into the alley, wondering why the press wasn’t all over this crevice.
When she got to the end of the alley, she understood why. Two heavy metal doors bridged the station to the alley, but neither had knobs on the outside, so they were either service exits for the night crew—or the type of alarmed doors only used in emergencies.
Alex walked to the back of the alley, but it didn’t extend around to the back of the structure, instead dead-ending after running the length of the building. With a sigh, Alex turned and headed back in the direction of the street. Just as she reached the two double doors again, one of them opened, and two men walked out. She was walking close to the building, and they turned for the street, not noticing her.
Knowing this was perhaps her only chance to get into the station, Alex ran as quickly and silently as she could, praying the two men wouldn’t turn and see her. She caught the door just before it shut. Its weight slammed heavily against her fingers, and it was all she could do not to cry out. She pulled the door carefully back out and managed to slip inside just as the two men turned onto the street.
Alex found herself at the end of a skinny corridor that had half a dozen personal offices attached on either side. The air-conditioned interior was a relief. Not wanting to speak with any bureaucrats, she hurried past the offices, not even glancing to the side to see which ones were occupied.
Exiting the corridor, she found herself in the lobby of the tiny police station. Despite having been there before, it was hard to recognize the interior of the structure. It had been quiet, sparse, and uncluttered the last time; now it reminded her of the central office of a political campaign.
People in temporary work spaces were packed cheek by jowl, and all of them seemed to be in an inordinate hurry to do something. Phones rang, people ran or power-walked zigzags across the room, others shouted to coworkers who were across the building. There were only enough computers for half the people in the room, and everyone was sharing—a.k.a. fighting—over them.
Amidst the chaos, no one noticed when Alex entered from the corridor. Wondering who to speak to, and understanding why the tip line was necessary, Alex soon located the building’s front desk. It was hidden under papers, boxes of files, messages, and a dozen phones, and surrounded by desks and busy people.
Alex found a void in the smaller desks where she could approach the large one. She thought the short, plump woman behind the desk might have been the same one who had worked the night shift when she filed her report four years ago, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Excuse me, could you—”
“You’ll have to give me a minute, honey.”
The woman, whose nametag read Rose Mitchell, had gathered up an armload of manila file folders and practically ran out from behind her desk with them.
Alex blew out her breath and rested her arms on the counter. Five full minutes passed and Rose still hadn’t returned. Alex didn’t know what to do besides wait. She was sure if she tried to go anywhere, she’d be trampled.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone walk by on the other side of the desk, but didn’t pay any
Alex sighed. She would rather talk to that detective than to a civilian volunteer, but she supposed she wouldn’t get anywhere by putting up a stink. She thanked the man and went in the direction he’d pointed. As she passed the station, she noticed a narrow alley that ran along its left side. She glanced back at the man who’d directed her, but he’d moved on to the next hopeful trying to get into the station.
Alex ducked into the alley, wondering why the press wasn’t all over this crevice.
When she got to the end of the alley, she understood why. Two heavy metal doors bridged the station to the alley, but neither had knobs on the outside, so they were either service exits for the night crew—or the type of alarmed doors only used in emergencies.
Alex walked to the back of the alley, but it didn’t extend around to the back of the structure, instead dead-ending after running the length of the building. With a sigh, Alex turned and headed back in the direction of the street. Just as she reached the two double doors again, one of them opened, and two men walked out. She was walking close to the building, and they turned for the street, not noticing her.
Knowing this was perhaps her only chance to get into the station, Alex ran as quickly and silently as she could, praying the two men wouldn’t turn and see her. She caught the door just before it shut. Its weight slammed heavily against her fingers, and it was all she could do not to cry out. She pulled the door carefully back out and managed to slip inside just as the two men turned onto the street.
Alex found herself at the end of a skinny corridor that had half a dozen personal offices attached on either side. The air-conditioned interior was a relief. Not wanting to speak with any bureaucrats, she hurried past the offices, not even glancing to the side to see which ones were occupied.
Exiting the corridor, she found herself in the lobby of the tiny police station. Despite having been there before, it was hard to recognize the interior of the structure. It had been quiet, sparse, and uncluttered the last time; now it reminded her of the central office of a political campaign.
People in temporary work spaces were packed cheek by jowl, and all of them seemed to be in an inordinate hurry to do something. Phones rang, people ran or power-walked zigzags across the room, others shouted to coworkers who were across the building. There were only enough computers for half the people in the room, and everyone was sharing—a.k.a. fighting—over them.
Amidst the chaos, no one noticed when Alex entered from the corridor. Wondering who to speak to, and understanding why the tip line was necessary, Alex soon located the building’s front desk. It was hidden under papers, boxes of files, messages, and a dozen phones, and surrounded by desks and busy people.
Alex found a void in the smaller desks where she could approach the large one. She thought the short, plump woman behind the desk might have been the same one who had worked the night shift when she filed her report four years ago, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Excuse me, could you—”
“You’ll have to give me a minute, honey.”
The woman, whose nametag read Rose Mitchell, had gathered up an armload of manila file folders and practically ran out from behind her desk with them.
Alex blew out her breath and rested her arms on the counter. Five full minutes passed and Rose still hadn’t returned. Alex didn’t know what to do besides wait. She was sure if she tried to go anywhere, she’d be trampled.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone walk by on the other side of the desk, but didn’t pay any
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