Archive for August, 2012

(Another addition to the crime novel being written as you read…for the beginning to the story, click into the Archives section on the July 16th post, They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1), and take off on the ride from there…Thanks for stopping by.  Enjoy, and let me know what you think in the Comments.)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( xxix )
     TERRANCE AND BECKER ESCORTED PETE up to the detective squad room on the third floor and met with sketch artist Pamela Adams. The room was otherwise unoccupied. She sat on the corner of Becker’s desk, and flipped through pages of the N Y C Bulletin.
     “Pam,” Becker stuttered, “haven’t seen you in some time. How did you get so lucky to pull a Saturday?”
     “It has been a while, Mason. I’ve stayed pretty busy, but your Captain Berry approved the time. Sounds like he wants this case over and done fast.”
     She handed the newspaper to Becker, with the back page facing him.
     “MADAM GOES MAD AT MARQUIS” blared across the sheet in white block letters. Behind the words, a full- page picture of the hotel, the crowd and the vehicle lights flashing.
     “Yellow- shit journalism,” Terrance grumbled. “Maybe they can tell us who the victim is and who did it. Save us a whole lot of time.”
     “The Marquis people have political ties. The Captain’s getting heat from upstairs.” Becker explained. He tapped Pete on the shoulder. “This gentleman is going to fill in some gaps.”
     “Let’s go to my room upstairs and we’ll start with a computer rendering,” Pam said, leading the way.
     As they headed up the staircase, Pete leaned toward Terrance.
     “She’s a babe,” he whispered.
     “She’s very talented at her job. You just keep remembering,” Terrance said, then realized Pete’s low vantage point, with Pam already past the landing and climbing the second set of steps, “and keep those eyes down.”
     Once on the fourth floor, Pam opened the door to an office across from the staircase and turned on her computer. It sat on a counter which ran along one wall of her office, perpendicular to her desk. She sat in front of the keyboard and pulled a chair to the left side of hers, then offered it to Pete. She clicked an icon for a program having a split screen, both sides blank. She typed in ‘female’ in the top field and outlines of various faceless heads, running in rows, filled the right side of the screen.
     “We’ll start with the basic contours of the head and face, and fill in the details like a puzzle, Pete,” she said, scrolling through the images on her computer monitor, “after that, we’ll print out the rendering and I’ll make the subtle nuances by hand, based on what you tell me,” she explained, then turned to the detectives standing behind her, “this will take a little while, if you’ve got other things to check on guys,” she said, then added, “I’ll call you when we’re done. Your phone number still the same Mason?”
     “OK, lets get to work, Pete.”
     Becker and Terrance left the office and headed back down a flight to their desks, that were butted together, facing each other in the middle of the squad room. Becker dialed the phone for Missing Persons and was put on hold.
(A crime mystery novel, for you to follow along, a day at a time.  The beginning of the tale is on the July 16th posting, which is easily found in the Archives section in the left column, They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1).  And if you’re up to speed with the story, we go forward.  Thanks.)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( xxviii )



          Marcia- haven’t talked in a long, long while. Are you keeping busy? New stuff for me to check out in the shoppe? I need a new top,     something to make me dazzle! LOL

     pixiedust123: Plenty, Jill. I’m already thinking about a couple for you to try on right now! How are the kids? Did Mike get the promotion?

     1momintheburbs: The kids are great. I’m back to ‘normal’ crazy, now that they’ve been back to school for several weeks 🙂 Mike got it, the promotion I mean, but he’s putting in a lot more hours. He says it will get better soon. The money’s better, I can tell you that 🙂

You got the invite, are you going?

     pixiedust123: Already sent back the RSVP. Same day I got it. You?

     1momintheburbs: Ditto for me. I was surprised it’s paid for. It’s going to cost a mint! Mike’s company had a conference at the Bradley Hotel. He was involved with the setup, since New York is the home office, so he saw all the invoices. They dropped thousands for one day. This reunion includes the banquet, an overnight, and brunch!

     pixiedust123: Did you hear who’s footing the bill? Rumor is Trent Bayberry! Can you believe it?

     1momintheburbs: He can afford it, I’m sure. I’m surprised, really. In school he always acted like everybody owed him. He and his entourage thought they were the Second Coming!

     pixiedust123: Well, they were the state football champs senior year. It was pretty wild.

     1momintheburbs: You went out with one of them, didn’t you?

     pixiedust123: yeah, Tony,something. OMG He was a hottie!

     1momintheburbs: And how long did that last?

     pixiedust123: I know where this is going.

     1momintheburbs: Until he got in your pants.

     pixiedust123: I prefer to remember it as me getting into his pants.

Nice ass 😉

     1momintheburbs: They were all asses! Like they were above everybody, especially the girls. The ringleader was Bayberry. What was their motto?

     pixiedust123: fuck ’em and chuck ’em

     1momintheburbs: Exactly. You ask me, Bayberry is putting this on to make his own showcase. Try to rub it in faces, now that he’s pro and all. He probably expects that classmates will line up for autographs. He’ll probably charge for them too, try to get some of his money back.

     pixiedust123: Now that you know this, you still going?

     1momintheburbs: Of course, because I want to see all the peeps I liked and care about. Like you, girlfriend! And now I really plan on partying, on Bayberry’s dime! LMAO

pixiedust123: You know it! Do you think Brock will show?

1momintheburbs: Brock?

     pixiedust123: Brock Ellington. You think he’ll feel comfortable enough after all this time has passed?

     1momintheburbs: OMG I remember him as “Beebs”! I don’t believe I totally blanked on his real name.

I don’t know, it was so horrible for him. Can you imagine? Hanging there all night. I still think it was some of the football players did it.

      pixiedust123: Nothing got proved. Brock didn’t identify anyone. I really liked Brock in the school plays. He was fun and fun to be around. I cried a long time. He was never the same guy after that, right through graduation. Just fell of the face of the earth 😦

     1momintheburbs: Could you blame him? Those pictures showing up all over school? Salt in the wound, you know?

     pixiedust123: I remember, “Touchdown Jesus”. I hope he comes. I’ll be the first to give him a big hug. Maybe he’ll come in disguise. Remember when he made himself up as a substitute teacher for a week and nobody guessed it? He took it off at the pep rally on stage. He was a riot!

     1momintheburbs: He had to have help with that getup and the makeup. Maybe the guy who always hung around with him. Do you remember his name? Beebs was sooooo real! I remember I actually handed in an assignment he made everybody do during a study hall. He graded them and gave them back to us by the end of the week before he took the disguise off. Remember? He took it off like a striptease.

A lot of football players were pissed because it was their rally and their stage and here’s this little gay guy getting all the cheers. That’s why I think they did it. But I do hope he shows up too.

I’d get in line to give him a hug.

     pixiedust123: Well, it’s just one week away. October 14. I’ve been dieting since the invite came in the mail. Baby girl, I gotta run, customers are waiting.

     1momintheburbs: I’ll drop in on Monday. Have those tops ready for me. Maybe I’ll get a new dress for the “Bayberry Show”. Mike just got a raise, right? 😉 TTFN

(This first draft crime novel continues, and if you’re new, go into the Archives on the left and bring up the July 16th post, They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1), where it all began.  Each posting is numbered, you can’t lose your place.  If you’re following along, thanks, drop a comment, and let’s proceed with today’s entry.  Thanks for stopping by.)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( xxvii ) continues…
     Becker looked at the paper, “Peter Sheffield, 1395,” he read. “I called him this morning. He said he’d wait at the corner of 96th and 11th.”
     Peter was standing on the southeast corner. His eyes were clearer than the night before, and they now widened, as the car pulled to the curb. His expectation was of a more conservative ride to the station house. Terrance let him into the back seat.
     “How you feeling today Mr. Sheffield?” Terrance asked as they pulled out onto the street.
     “Better. Sorry about last night. Please, call me Pete.” he replied.
     “How’s the memory, Pete?” Becker asked.
     “Owen,” Pete blurted.
     “You just said ‘Pete‘.”
     “Owen was the name, on the envelope,” Pete said, moving up on the edge of the backseat, poking his head between the two front buckets.
     “That’s good man, real good,” chimed Terrance, pulling out his notepad.
     “Still no last name?” asked Becker.
     “No. Just Owen,” Pete confirmed.
     “All right, do you remember more about the woman?”
     “Yeah, the redhead.”
     “Right. Think you can describe her?”
     “She was about five- foot nine or ten. Decent bod,” Pete said.
     “We’ll need something a little more specific, Pete,” Terrance added.
     “Right, right. Sorry. She was fit, looked like she worked out,” Pete said, as the picture formed in his mind. “She was in a business suit with a skirt. Well defined calves, you know, like a runner. She carried herself nicely in those heels. Wait, she had high heels on, so she was shorter,” Pete corrected.
     “I’ll make a note of it,” Terrance continued to jot down the description.
     Traffic was light the rest of the way, people out of town for the weekend. Becker parked by the station house.
     “OK, Pete,” Becker said, and turned toward the backseat, “we’re going to hook you up with a sketch artist to get a make- up of her face.”
     “Yeah, lots of makeup,” Pete agreed.
     “No, no. A make- up, a rendition of the face,” Becker clarified.
     “No sir. I’m saying this woman was wearing a ton of makeup. Real Glamour type, you know?”
     Terrance opened his door and got out of the car, then pulled his bucket seat forward and Pete followed.
     “Just keep remembering,” Terrance said.
(This blog is dedicated to the writing and telling of a crime novel, bit by bit, to fit the readers’ busy schedule.  The opening chapter is located on the July 16th post, They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1), easily navigated to in the Archive section, on the left-hand column.  If you’re up to speed, through all the proceeding sequential postings, we begin a new chapter below.)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( xxvii )
     The group of teen-aged boys headed east on 96th Street towards Central Park. A nucleus of only five players near Riverside Drive, they grew in number with each block traveled.
     “I’m open!” one yelled, as he darted out between parked cars onto the asphalt in a sprint. The football spiraled high overhead and well in front of him. His arm stretched forward in full extension. The strain on his shoulder socket caused his long guttural groan in response to the burning pain, while still in full gallop. His knuckles were white; fingers fully spread open.
     With one last thrust of his arm, he pulled in the single- handed grab on a dead run. He held the ball up high and proceeded to celebrate with a dance that was a combination Michael Jackson moonwalk, and the Funky Chicken. This brought trash talk from the others, and horns from traffic on this main thoroughfare.
     The group had an unspoken but rigidly kept protocol, which included a rotation in duties. This allowed them to warm up for the game while traveling; like a band of helter- skelter nomads, as they progressed to the green fields of the Park. The player with the ball was the quarterback, and would launch the next missile into the street. One was a lookout, checking for gaps in traffic. The others blindly placed their lives in his hands, as he would yell ‘OK’, and signal a chance for the them to sprint down the pavement; all eyes skyward, as they searched for a spiraling pigskin, oblivious to the tons of motorized vehicles that sped their way in both directions. Whoever caught the ball became the next passer, while the last QB became the spotter.
     “Oh!” the current ball keeper shouted, as he took on the role of his own sportscaster, “Bayberry fades back to the twenty- five yard line, looking down the field!”
     “OK,” yelled the former QB, now in his spotter role, having checked the street both ways.
     This gave cue to the others, who sprinted down the street with arms raised for the pass. The boy let the ball loose. Four would- be receivers collided in midair. The ball deflected off their hands and plopped into the chest of another player, outside the fray of intermingled bodies. Once again, the obligatory gyrations were performed, as everyone dashed to the safety of the sidewalks, responding to the blaring horns and cursing drivers.
     This ritual continued down the street as the number of participants grew to over twenty. 96th came alive through the adolescent energy radiating from them. Locals on the lower floors of the apartment towers stared from open windows, as if watching a human pinball machine on steroids. They responded with whistles and applause to the extraordinary feats of skill, while silently praying the ball wouldn’t end up on the hoods of their cars.
     Every Saturday afternoon the scenario repeated. Over the years, the only change was younger brothers replacing their older siblings, now retired from the pickup game.
     Becker steered onto 96th Street. He turned to Terrance in the passenger seat; his partner ever- trying to get comfortable.
     “You never mentioned how Parker’s practice went,” he said.
     “What’s this guy’s address?” Terrance asked.
     Becker started to fumble for the paper in his jacket side pocket.
     “Well?” Becker pressed.
     Terrance smiled, “Very positive outlook,” he said, “he can only get better.”
     They both started laughing and Becker looked down at his right side. He started adjusting his seat belt to free up the bottom of his jacket to get to the pocket, which was pinned between his leg and the belt.
     There was a sudden thud at the front of the car and Becker slammed on the brakes. Looking forward the pair saw the group, no longer hyperactive. They stood scattered and motionless, like remnant tree trunks of a burnt forest.
     “I’ll handle it,” Terrance said. He flung open the door and exited.
     Becker watched as all heads rose skyward in unison; jaws dropped, faces showed a mixture of awe and fear. Terrance walked to the front of the car and bent down to look underneath. The ball was wedged between the bumper’s skirt and the street. He yanked it free, then stood up.
     “Who’s ball is this?” he roared, doing his best Voice of God imitation. The boys reciprocated, and became pillars of salt.
     Two cars were now behind the Cobra and started to beep. Becker rolled down his side window, took his shield out of his shirt pocket, then held the gold badge straight out in his left hand, facing the cars.
     “Well?!” Terrance’s bark reverberated down the street.
      Damn T, you’re scaring me now, Becker thought.
     “It’s mine, sir,” came a feeble reply.
     Terrance saw the boy slowly raise his hand. The youth was smaller than his cohorts, and Terrance got the notion that ownership of the game ball played a large part for his inclusion in the group.
     “I’m real sorry,” came the mousy whisper.
     Dead Silence.
     “Huh!” Terrance finally grunted.
     “Jesus, they’re gonna be pissing themselves in a minute,” Becker said, loud enough for Terrance’s ears.
     Terrance struck the quarterback pose, arm cocked with the ball at the side of his head.
     “Well go long, big man,” he shouted.
     The boy took off down the street, his companions giving way. Terrance heaved the ball and it fluttered into the boy’s waiting arms. Cheers came from the windows of the onlookers, and honks came from the cars of rubber- necks, who had slowed down on the other side of the boulevard, wondering what the fuss was all about.. Terrance got back into the Shelby.
     “Well…how’s that?” he asked. Becker smiled, shifting back into first gear and easing up on the clutch.
     “Seeing that pass,” Becker said, “I now know why you were a defensive lineman.”
     “Funny, Mase. Oh, before I forget, Lana asked you come for dinner tomorrow.”
     “What’s she making?”
     “She’s not cooking, it’s on me.”
     “So…pizza or Chinese?”
     “I beg your pardon. I’ll be serving chicken Cordon Bleu with asparagus tips and a mild hollandaise. What’s the address on this guy?”
(You’ve dropped into the 1st draft of a crime novel, being posted for your entertainment and feeding my passion, bit by daily bit.  Please click in the Archives section and then to the July 16th post, They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1), where it all begins.  Those who have been following along and are ready for another dose, thanks so much, let me know what you think, and let’s get to it!)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( xxvi ) continues…
     She entered the master bedroom, set the mugs on top of her dresser and proceeded to part the front window draperies, letting in light and heat on her face and the surroundings. She turned and stopped, then glanced at her husband; a copy of what she saw at the other end of the house, only a magnified version. She grinned, and wondered if the warmth she felt was only from the sun. She went over and tapped lightly on the sole of an exposed foot.
     “Terry,” she said, “I brought your coffee. Shake a leg. You wanted to see Parker practice.”
     “OK,” he groaned and drew his arms and legs inward, ending up on his knees and elbows in the middle of the bed; a bear breaking out of hibernation. He rolled to one side and propped up in a sitting position against the headboard, rubbing his face with both hands. Lana sat next to him on the edge of the mattress, and offered the mug. He took it from her and downed half its contents in one gulp.
     “I saw the news last night about the Marquis,” she said, rubbing his chest, “it looked crazy.”
     He nodded, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “It’s always messy with crowds…we don’t even know who the victim is yet. How soon before Park has to be there?” he took another swig.
     “You’ve got about an hour,” she answered, “There was a woman involved?”
     Terrance’s back stiffened off the headboard.
      “Who said that?!” he choked on the liquid and spilled some from the cup.
     “The reporter,” she answered, grabbed some tissue sheets from the box on the nightstand, then dabbed off his chest with them.
     “Who was being interviewed?” he asked.
     “Nobody, he just gave the usual ‘sources say’ line. Your captain was on later.  It’s Berry, right? He said it was too early in the investigation to confirm or deny, but the reporter kept bringing it up.” She eased Terrance back into the pillows.
     “Dammit,” he set his cup down on the stand.
     “Relax, Terry. Are you seeing Mason today?” she massaged his shoulders.
     “We’re meeting with the desk clerk who might be able to identify who paid for the room. Paid, and is long gone. This case is already three- days cold…Shit.”
     Lana got up and took the damp tissues into the bathroom, then threw them into the wastebasket, while Terrance swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched his arms over his head. She leaned against the bathroom door jamb.
     “Forget about it this morning, please, and enjoy time with your son.”
     He yawned, “You woke Park up, right?”
     “Only once,” she said.
     “Parker!” Terrance bellowed.
     They both heard the distant thump of feet hitting the floor and pounding across hardwood, followed by dresser drawers sliding open and slamming shut.
     “He’s your little man,” she smiled.
     Terrance went towards the bathroom for a shower. Lana picked up the mugs and headed for the bedroom door, but Terrance suddenly  turned and locked his arms around her waist, squeezing her body tightly to his own. He kissed her. She fumbled to set the mugs back on a dresser, then she put her arms around his neck and pulled hard, wishing her robe would disappear between them. She could feel her husband’s hands making the wish come true.
     “Mom, where are my cleats?” Parker called from his bedroom.
     Both their bodies relaxed and Lana readjusted the front of her robe.
     “We pick this up later?” he asked, as she picked up the mugs and then opened the door.
     “Make no mistake,” she said, exiting the room.
     “Terry,” she called over her shoulder.
     “Yeah,” came the reply, echoing off the ceramic tiles; loud enough to hear over the shower’s running water.
     “Ask Mason if he wants to come to dinner tomorrow. You’ve talked about him long enough. It’s about time we all get together.”
     She met with Parker at the top of the staircase, as he finished pulling a T- shirt over his head.
     “What are we having to eat tomorrow?” Parker asked.
     “Anything your father wants to cook,” she smiled, grabbed both mugs by their handles with her left hand and put her right arm over his shoulders, “this is my weekend off.”
     Parker leaned into the plush warmth of his mother’s robe and they went down the steps.
(The beginning of another chapter in this crime novel, with Detectives Becker and Marshall of the NYPD.  If this is your first stop here, please click back to the July 16th post, They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1)...easiest way is through the Archive section, in the left-hand column, where you’ll pick up the story from the first chapter.  Each post takes a couple of minutes to read, easy to catch up.  And for those who are set, we continue below.  Thanks for stopping by, and enjoy.)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( xxvi )
     LANA MARSHALL CLIMBED the staircase. She loved scrunching the toes of her bare feet into the lush carpet treads on the steps, and she made every effort to keep her balance while carrying two full mugs upwards to the bedrooms. The sun brought a hazy light to the second floor through the arched window above the large oak front door opposite the staircase. The downstairs was still dim due to the shade of neighborhood houses across the street.
     The aroma of freshly ground beans lifted the fog from her head. She stopped midway on the landing, trying to remember if she closed the top of the machine in the basement, then heard the gears engage, and the rhythmic chunka- chunka- chunck of the water, as the load of laundry churned. She continued up the second flight wrapped in her ‘kick- back’ robe, a plush terry cloth. This was her weekend- morning cocoon, the antithesis to her workday garb of silk blouses, tailored suits and skirts. As administrator of a large metropolitan hospital, she welcomed the challenges presented to her on a regular basis. Her acumen and professional fairness gave credence to a sterling reputation in the medical community. Contract negotiations had finally reached a compromise with which both labor and management agreed. This was her first Saturday off in two months and she intended to use it and Sunday doing what gave her the most inner joy; being a wife, mother, and lady of the house. No tensions here, she always won her boys’ votes.
     Lana took a left at the top of the stairs and breezed along the open walkway, to the furthest bedroom, pushing the door open enough to poke her head inside. She found her son as he slept face down and sideways on his bed. His legs dangled, and half of the covers were on the floor.
     “Parker?” she sang.
     “Mmff,” came from underneath the pillow.
     “Practice time, baby,” she said and waited.
     “Daddy’s taking you,” she added.
     His entire body sprung, turned over and sat up on the edge of the mattress in one snap motion. The cobwebs of sleep regained their hold. He sat, shoulders slumped, eyes still shut. She watched his muscles relax in a wave, from head to toe, ready to snooze once again.
     “Parker Anthony…” she said, no tune this time.
     “I’m up. I’m up.” he said, opening one eye to see if she was still there. She hadn’t moved. He opened both eyes wide.
     “I’m awake mom,” issuing more of a complaint than a statement.
     She turned and headed for the master bedroom at the opposite end of the walkway. Parker’s eyelids dropped shut once more and his upper body flopped back down on the bed, feet still anchored to the New York Stallions– logo throw rug, spread underneath them.
(New day, new post, new chapter…if this is your first time here, you can start this crime novel in progress by clicking Archives for the July 16th post, They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1)…each posting only takes a couple of minutes to read, and they’re sequentially numbered so you can’t lose your place…If you’ve been following already, thank you, and let’s continue.)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( xxv )
     BECKER KNOCKED ON THE MANAGER’S OFFICE DOOR and opened it to find the young day- clerk seated, as he told Terrance about the check- in on Wednesday. Terrance entered notes to his reporter’s pad and looked up to see Becker.
     “We’ve got a woman involved, Mase. An ‘E. Genver’, from California. She left an envelope at the desk for our vic,” Terrance reported.
     Becker introduced himself to the clerk. “What was the woman’s first name?” Becker asked. This drew a blank stare from the clerk.
     “How do you know she was from California?” Becker continued.
     The clerk replied, “I saw the driver’s license, but only for a second.”
     The manager stood up from his desk, “You didn’t make a copy?”
     The clerk looked at his shoes, “I saw all those Franklins, let her sign the register, and gave her the keycard.”
     Becker motioned to the manager to sit back down.
     He turned back to the witness, “Let’s try something else. Any idea what was in the envelope?” he asked.
     The clerk chewed on his fingernail, “The extra keycard to the room, and she wanted some paper to write a message. I let her use a hotel notepad. She tipped me ten bucks!” he stated, “That’s all I remember her putting into it.”
     “What was the name on the envelope?” Becker queried.
     “Huh?” the clerk replied.
     “The name of the guy picking it up,” Becker’s said, “it was on the envelope, right? What was it?”
     The clerk gave him a glazed-over stare.
      This kid’s weekend has already begun. He’s half in the bag, Becker concluded starting to pace.
     “It started with an ‘O’, maybe Omar?” the clerk replied halfheartedly.
     Terrance broke in, noticing Becker’s dark circles under the eyes and pasty coloring from lack of sleep.
     “How about the second name on the envelope?”
     The clerk looked forward in strained thought, “Wasn’t any,” he finally blurted.
     “All right,” Terrance continued, “are you sure about the first name, being ‘Omar’?”
     The clerk shook his head, “could have been Oliver. I can’t really remember right now.”
     Impatience and fatigue got the better of Becker.
     “Did you drive here?” he asked.
     “Uh-huh,” the clerk replied.
     Becker put his hand on the young man’s shoulder, “Well, one of the officers will be taking you home,” he said, “but I’ll be there at noon tomorrow to pick you up. We’re going to have a chat about envelopes and we’ll see if you can describe the woman to one of our artists, understand?” he asked. The clerk shook his head vigorously, and started to think he might get busted for being under the influence. Becker went to the lobby and called in a uniformed officer to get the incapacitated man home safely.
     The manager told Terrance that the clerk was training at the desk, and due to sickness and call-outs from experienced staff on Wednesday, the man was left alone at times during his shift.
     Becker reentered the office, rubbing his eyes.
     Terrance reasoned, “We’ve got copies made of the surveillance, and can look into forensics in the morning, Mase,” It’s time to get some shuteye, buddy.”
     Becker countered, “Right after garbage patrol.”
     They went out the front door and found Becker’s car sitting cockeyed in the middle of the street, strobes still flashing, the other official vehicles gone, save CSU. They walked past Captain Berry, who was being interviewed by the local TV stations and print reporters, then got into Becker’s car. The Captain gave a quick ‘we need to talk’ glance their way, as Becker maneuvered around a double- parked green Chevy, eased up to the curb, then shut off the dashboard strobe lights. Becker picked up the plastic- topped paper cup leaning against the stick shift, and took a swallow from his four- hour old coffee.
     “This is going to hit the fan,” he sighed.
     Terrance turned to his partner, “make no mistake.”
     They sat and waited.