Single Best Clue

Sarah walked up the stairs to the office area. Her first destination was the coffee maker. A cup of hot coffee to go with her breakfast sandwich that was probably already cold. She could smell the freshly brewed coffee. The bullpen lights were on, as she expected. Lieutenant Taylor McCuskey was an early bird, just like Sarah. The Lieutenant commanded the patrol units. In essence, she supervised the majority of Devaney PD personnel. Aside from the Police Chief, Lieutenant McCuskey was the face of the police department. In her late forties – maybe early fifties, Taylor had enough years to retire, but she liked her job. Sarah called out, “Good morning, Taylor,” even though she didn't see Taylor's perfectly set dyed blonde hair above the bullpen partitions. Her desire to see those small cubicles turned into offices for the Lieutenants would not become reality until a new police station was built. There was simply not enough room for offices. A new building was not coming anytime soon. Former Police Chief Bill Keck talked about the need for years but was never able to get the Mayor or City Council to consider the expenditure. A disconnected voice replied, “Good morning, Chief. Coffee's ready.” “And it smells good.” Sarah walked to the coffee pot. The path took her past Lieutenant McCuskey's desk on one side and the Situation Room on the other. The lights were on in the Situation Room. Senior Detective Boston Mankowitz was sitting in the room staring at several documents and photographs strewn across a table, undistracted by the world around him. “Good morning, Boston.” She didn't see a coffee cup on the table. The Situation Room, or Sit Room as it was called, held a whiteboard and a corkboard. It was the room where the details of hard cases were laid out for study, where crime solvers tried to make sense of the disjointed details that make up a criminal case. Where they searched for the elusive single best clue that could solve the case. “Do you need a coffee?” Boston glanced up. Without smiling he replied, “Good morning, Boss. Sure. It wasn't ready when I came in.” Taylor approached the doorway and grinned, her face radiant with perfectly applied make-up. She always appeared to be a decade younger than she really was. Her eyes sparkled excitedly whenever she engaged with Boston. She was happily married, but something about Boston's bad boy persona commanded her attention. “If the men in this office would start the coffee maker rather than wait for us women to do it, …” She laughed rather than finish the sentence. Boston made coffee too strong for everyone else. They preferred he didn't make the coffee. “I'll get you a cup, so the Chief doesn't have to do it for you.” “Women!” Boston replied with mock disgust. “I'll get my own. Too much danger of contaminating it with sugar or creamer.” He rose from the table and followed the two women to the coffee maker. Sarah knew the two would wait for her to fill her cup first, a gray cup with pink lettering. The cup was a gift from a detective she met while working on her first solo case. That case provided a major life lesson to novice detective Sarah James. She had to scramble to undo a mistake in her investigation. Detective Daniel Sanders, who worked for a police department several hundred miles from Devaney, had a motto that he shared with Sarah on the gifted cup. The motto was attributed to Davy Crockett. “Make sure you're right then go ahead.” It was fitting that she saw that motto at the beginning of each day. There was no room for mistakes in law enforcement. Aside from the physical dangers, there was the danger of convicting the wrong person. A half-spoon of sugar at the bottom of the cup was roiled by the addition of coffee. If the filling process worked properly, the last sip would be the sweetest. Sarah like it that way. Her cup full, she asked, “What brings you in early, Boston? You seemed intense in the Sit Room.” The dark-eyed Detective scowled and shook his head in disgust. “Idiots.” He took a sip from his coffee. He didn't say anything, but his reaction indicated the coffee was too hot. He needed a shave; an indication that he had gotten out of bed and hurried to work. Abruptly awakened by an emergency of some sort. Sarah didn't take her eyes off Boston, though she wanted to glance questioningly at Taylor. Sergeant Blanchard reported to Taylor. “I didn't see anything on the recap list. What happened?” “Drugs,” Boston replied forcefully. “These damn fool kids can't seem to get the message. I got a call straight from the ER.” The hospital emergency room staff knew Detective Mankowitz was the primary contact for drug overdoses. Sarah felt her heart flutter. Boston took drug use personally. His career was defined by his fight against drug dealers and traffickers, by his own personal demons associated with pain-killer addiction. He usually won when pitted against drugs dealers, but it never seemed to be enough. There was always someone else waiting in the wings. “Did we lose someone?” Boston shook his head. “No. Apparently, she had Narcan. She puked her guts out at the ER, but she'll live … if she learned anything.” “What is her name?” Sarah asked. Attaching a name made the girl a person and not a statistic. Boston needed to see that. Boston grumbled as he checked his notes. “Sasha. Sasha Pierce.” “Did her parents call the ambulance?” Boston didn't give up information automatically. “No. Someone called from a quick stop store.” “Who called?” “The clerk. He went out to smoke and saw her at the side of the building. Didn't know how long she'd been there. She was out. The EMTs said a Narcan box was next to her.” “Apparently, she had ID on her?” “Driver's license. Seventeen. Devaney high school ID. The hospital called the parents.” “Did they offer any information?” “Not really. Concerned but not talking. I think they wanted to hear the girl's story before they said anything to the authorities. I was able to talk to the girl … Sasha … a little bit before they arrived.” “Do we need to send uniforms to talk to them?” “No. I'll try to talk to them after the girl is released. They were hurt. Hurt, angry, and grateful she was alive.” “All the emotions one would expect.” “Did the store have surveillance cameras?” “She was left out of camera range. I did get a picture of two cars approaching and leaving that side of the building. No license plates visible on the video.” Boston toward Taylor. “I'll put something together for a BOLO.” By the time the short update finished, Boston and Sarah were inside the Situation Room. Sarah held her paper sack out to Boston, an offer that he dismissed with a wave and a half-smile. Taylor stood at the doorway and listened. Her lips twitched. Sarah could tell the Lieutenant was upset that her people weren't made aware of the incident. Sarah said, “I suppose we can be happy that our efforts to make Narcan available saved another life.” Boston snorted. “I sometimes think we're encouraging drug use by providing Narcan. The risk takers think it makes them bullet proof.” “I'm sure there is something to that,” Sarah replied. She didn't entirely believe it, but she wanted to encourage generally taciturn Boston to talk. “What have you learned?” “Aside from the fact that we're surrounded by idiots?” Boston tapped a stack of papers on the worktable. “The girl was like a fountain. She not only spewed her stomach contents, but she gave me all kinds of names. I'm sure those cars and the names are connected. Scared to death … or away from it.” Sarah glanced at the papers. She could see Boston's scribbled handwriting. Dark bullet points and stars indicated things he deemed important … or doodling while waiting for answers. Upside down, she couldn't read them well. As bad as his writing was, she doubted she could read them right side up. “Who?” “Other kids who were with her but didn't get sick. The name of their dealer.”