SEVERAL DAYS EARLIER
THE DOOR OPENED. OFFICER DELBORA GLANCED OVER HER SHOULDER AT THE other policeman as he turned away, murmuring, "Good luck, Officer," over his own shoulder. He shut the door behind him and she turned back and sighed, attempting to control her heartbeat. Since she'd heard the sheriff wanted to see her she'd been growing more and more nervous; it was only her second week on the job, and if she'd screwed up already she was sure she was out. The sheriff was at his desk; he looked up, saw her, and smiled, waving at a chair. [Note--it looks like my character Sheriff Wayne Rhoades was unnamed as of this story, as he only appears as "the sheriff"!] She stepped forward and accepted his hand when he held it out.
"Good morning, Sheriff."
"Good morning, Officer DelBora. [Note--I made up the name "DelBora," in case it sounds funny.] Please have a seat."
She obeyed. She clasped her hands in her lap and started fiddling her fingers, glancing around at the plaques on the walls without realizing what she was doing. The sheriff coughed politely to regain her attention and she immediately gave it to him, flushing.
He smiled slightly. "It's nice to finally meet you in person, Officer DelBora."
"I--I wasn't sure you wanted to, Sheriff."
"Well, most of our new people aren't. But I called you here to ask for your approval for a transfer." He pulled out some official-looking papers; DelBora frowned, uncomprehending. He handed them to her and she stared at them blankly.
"Transfer, Sheriff? I'm afraid I don't understand..."
"Of course you wouldn't, Officer. You are new here. However, this is what you might call a special case." He folded his hands and smiled across at her as if she were a little girl. "Are you familiar with the Minot police force, DelBora?"
"Minot, Sheriff? Yes. I've heard of them. Chief Bowen is in charge there."
"Are you familiar with a Lieutenant Alan Kincaid?"
DelBora frowned again; yes, she'd read his name in the papers, after the "incident" in late 1995; but she didn't know all the details she was sure she should.
[Note--a little spoiler for Minot here.] "Well...yes, Sheriff. A little. Wasn't he involved in Jenner's capture?"
The sheriff's smile deepened. "So you do read the papers. Yes, he was 'involved,' as you put it."
"Didn't that have something to do with a cult?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it; she caught herself too late and glanced at him, biting her lip. She was sure he'd have given her any information he deemed important in his own time; however, he merely continued smiling at her, and finally nodded.
"Yes, you read that part right, at least. Which is what I'm reassigning you for. The Minot police are setting up a ritual crimes unit. I was wondering if there was any chance you'd be interested in joining them."
Her heart sped up again. Ritual crimes unit? It sounded like something out of a movie. She couldn't believe the sheriff was simply going to reassign her, transfer her over to the City police for this kind of thing. It seemed like some kind of weird plot for a novel. Yet as her head whirled he went on.
"Lieutenant Kincaid, so far as I've heard, is going to be in charge of this unit. I thought it would be best if you were to join and keep tabs on what's going on over there."
Something in the tone of his voice caught her. "I... 'Keep tabs,' Sheriff? You want me to--spy on him?"
"Let me just clarify that a little, DelBora. Lieutenant Kincaid has a few problems. You may already know his involvement with cults goes beyond anything he'd find on the job." No, she hadn't known that; yet she kept silent. "Let's just say Lieutenant Kincaid could be a liability. He sees things and hears things no one else can or should."
He'd lost her completely there. "Sees and hears--"
[Note--Minot spoilers here, which however will be edited/changed in a future rewrite.] "He's schizophrenic, DelBora. Schizo and phrenic. Certified. Batty. Loony. A few candles short of a seance. Do I need to clarify further?"
For a few seconds she was struck dumb. She had no way of knowing if he were being literal calling Lieutenant Kincaid "schizophrenic" or not. "N--no, sir. I--I think I'm starting to understand." She kept her doubts to herself.
"Good, then. Now I thought it would be best if you were to just request a position in this unit and keep me up to date on Lieutenant Kincaid's latest conspiracy theories. He has a lot of them, by the way. He always does." The sheriff's smile was deadly. [Note--with the way I write him now, I think all this smiling on the part of Rhoades is rather out of character. He's pretty humorless.] DelBora swallowed but still said nothing. "You don't need to let him know where you're coming from. I'm sure that would only upset him. We don't want him upset. We just want to make sure he's doing his job the right way. As if there is one."
She attempted to press it a little further. "'Right way,' sir?"
"Preferably the right way would be to get rid of Lieutenant Kincaid entirely. I myself said so. But Chief Bowen is obviously too reluctant to let go of one of his 'best men,' despite the fact that his 'best man' has more than a few cobwebs upstairs. So the next best way is to make sure Lieutenant Kincaid keeps at least his feet on the Earth. You come in here. That is, if you choose. If not we'll just call someone else. What's your answer, Officer?"
Everything in what he was saying led her to say no. However, everything he wasn't saying--and the sound of that "ritual crimes unit"--piqued her interest more than the tone of his words. She found herself answering even before she'd thought it over completely.
"Yes, sir. All right. I'll agree to the transfer."
"And insinuate yourself into Lieutenant Kincaid's good graces?"
"And ins--and ask to be allowed onto the ritual crimes unit. Yes, Sheriff."
He smiled, again that too-gracious, deprecatory smile. "Good choice, Officer DelBora. Just sign these and I'll send you right on your way with your new papers."
After DelBora was gone the sheriff got up and left his office. Already he didn't trust her. She was too curious about what was going on. He'd thought maybe she'd enjoy the assignment enough to keep her mouth shut; however, it didn't seem that would be the way things worked out. Still, she could be useful, doing her little job over at the City Police station and thinking everything was all right. Everything would be all right just so long as the sheriff's plan went the way he wanted it to.
He weaved his way between the desks in the station until he reached the one he was looking for. The nameplate DET. MAX KRISTEVA was sitting askew atop a pile of papers in an OUT box. The man sitting at the desk was on the phone, though he looked up at the sheriff as he approached and told the person on the other end he'd get back to them. The sheriff smiled inwardly. Kristeva had been his first choice, before he'd thought of this new idea. The detective had been with them for over four years; and so far, the sheriff knew he could trust him. [Note--I'm unsure if "four years" for Kristeva on the job now fits into the timeline. *shrug*]
"Good morning, Kristeva. I thought maybe I could have a talk with you."
Detective Kristeva stared at him a moment, then got up and followed him to his office. The door shut behind them.
It was about two o'clock by the time Officer DelBora was able to make it to the Minot police station. It wasn't a very big building, considering the size of the city; she supposed that was why they had a State and the County post nearby. She felt her heart speed up again as she approached the building and went inside. So far, so good; she hadn't had to say any painful goodbyes to anybody at the County station as she'd been new there anyway, and her papers were all in order. All she had to do was present them to Chief Bowen. She'd read about both him and Lieutenant Kincaid in the papers after what had happened in the fall of 1995; all of the information hadn't been presented even there, yet she knew it had something to do with a cult that had been--and apparently still was--operating in the area. She hadn't been able to get much information on that herself; hopefully her new post would allow her to obtain more. She assumed the ritual crimes unit was being assembled because of this.
She glanced around as she entered. The place was busy; everyone within sight, patrol officers and detectives alike, was answering phones and walking around with papers. "You'll have to wait. We've already got several calls about that worse than yours," one person nearby said. "We'll be there as soon as we can. It's getting worse not too far from there," another was saying. She guessed what they were talking about; it had been raining incessantly, and the level of the Souris River was getting higher each day. Slight flooding had already been reported in several areas. So far, Minot appeared to be untouched. That didn't mean the police station was unaffected, though.
"Excuse me," she prodded an officer standing nearby, "is Chief Bowen in?"
The cop shook his head. "He's out now. You can talk with Kincaid."
Tha-THUMP. Just here and already going to talk with Lieutenant Kincaid! She still had the papers and wasn't quite sure what to do with them; the sheriff had told her specifically to give them to the chief. Nevertheless, he was out; the other cop moved away and she knew she'd have to take it up with the lieutenant, who'd apparently been left in charge of all this chaos. She glanced around to see if and where she could find him; there were two office doors, one marked CHIEF OF POLICE and the other LT. ALAN KINCAID. They both had windows but the blinds to Kincaid's were drawn. Well, she had to take a shot sometime. She moved over to the door and knocked.
"Come in," a voice inside answered.
She opened the door and peered inside. The person there--she assumed it must be Lieutenant Kincaid--was moving around, appearing to be picking up papers, looking at them, putting them in some kind of order, and moving on again. He cast the briefest of glances in her direction as she entered, shutting the door behind her. He didn't even seem interested; instead he flipped open a folder, saying at the same time in a bland voice, "May I help you?"
So this is him. "I, yes. I'm Officer Christine DelBora. I was just assigned to work here."
He glanced up at her again. His eyes were a sort of dark green and they focused right on hers. "From?"
You don't need to let him know where you're coming from. I'm sure that would only upset him. "I'm just new here," she replied lamely, giving a half smile.
His mouth twitched but he said nothing. She started wondering if he was working on any of his "conspiracy theories," as the sheriff had called them; was he really paranoid? Instead he set down the folder and moved to the other side of his desk, opening a drawer and rummaging through it, as if dismissing her entirely.
"I was supposed to give these to Chief Bowen, but it appears he's out," DelBora went on.
"I'll pass them on to him." He stood up again and held out his hand; she gave him the papers and he put them in the drawer, continuing to hunt through it. "Is that all?"
"Actually, I was wondering if there's any chance I could join this ritual crimes committee of yours."
He quit searching and looked at her again. His face remained impassive but there was a slight something to his eyes that she couldn't quite name. If she absolutely had to give it a name she'd have called it
Paranoia!
suspicion. She blinked herself, trying to keep her thoughts from showing through her own eyes. Lieutenant Kincaid just stared at her a moment more, then stood up again, picking up the folder he'd set down earlier and opening it again. He flipped through it idly.
"Do you have any knowledge of cults, Officer DelBora?" he asked mildly.
She shook her head. "Not really, Lieutenant."
He looked up at her again and this time he smiled slightly. "What makes you think you have anything to contribute to the Ritual Crimes Unit?"
She shrugged slightly. "I heard you could use all the help you can get."
For a while he only continued looking at her. Then his smile grew deeper--she had to force herself not to shudder, there was something creepy about it--and he shut the folder, coming around the desk. She noticed for the first time that he limped slightly; casting her eyes down she saw he wore a brace on his left leg. She wondered if he'd hurt his knee. He approached and handed her the folder; puzzled, she received it. He turned away and went back to his desk, sitting down.
"Read through that," he said, "and then I'll see where we can put you."
She couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face. It felt absolutely stupid, but she couldn't help it; Officer DelBora of the Cult Ritual Crimes Unit! It had such a weird, movie-plot sound to it. "Yes, Lieutenant!" she said, forcing herself not to salute--that would be just plain silly--and turning to leave his office. She shut the door behind her and didn't see him continue to stare at the door after she'd gone.
As DelBora walked through the office to the door a voice behind her called, "Officer?"
She stopped, not sure if the person was calling her or not, and turned. One of the policemen was coming towards her, holding out a hand. She took it when he got close.
"You know me already," she said, half a question, half a statement.
He smiled and shook his head. "I was guessing. Steven Hawthorne."
"Christine DelBora. I'm going to be joining your department, I guess."
"I figured, when you went in to see Kinnie. Did you ask about the CRCU?"
"The C-what?"
"The Ritual Crimes Unit. I'm assuming you've heard about it."
"Oh." He seemed to be a pretty good guesser, or else the door to Kincaid's office didn't offer much privacy. She shoved that
paranoid
thought out of her mind. "Yes, I did. He told me to read this." She held up the folder, and then opened it to see just what it was. It appeared to be newsclippings. She started leafing through them, puzzled.
"What are they, anyway?"
"Oh. That's Kinnie's 'file.' Everybody who comes in here sees it. It's all the news stories we've been able to keep track of so far that pertain to cults in this area."
"Cults?"
"There's one in particular we know of. They're called Four P. They're a splinter of the Process Church of Final Judgement." [Note--a real cult. I think the accurate name however is "Process Church Of THE Final Judgement," but I could be wrong.]
"I've never heard of that," DelBora replied.
"You'll be hearing more of it, that's for sure. And seeing it if you're unlucky. They seem to especially like doing things to German shepherds." He gave another, odd, smile and shrugged. "But that's up for you to read about. Have you been to the Falcon's Nest?"
She shook her head.
"Kinnie will be having you go there, too, if you're really interested in joining the CRCU."
"Yes, I asked about that."
"Then it looks like we'll be working together."
"You're on it too?"
[Note--spoiler paragraph for Minot.] He shrugged. "I was kind of drafted onto it. I don't know much about cults. I'm only 'up' on you because of that file." He nodded at the folder DelBora still held. "But I was there when they got Jenner." She again recognized the name of the rogue officer, originally of their own police force, who had--according to the papers, at least--tried to shoot Lieutenant Kincaid. It was that incident that had blown open the whole "cult" case in Minot. It turned out that Jenner had been sending threats to Kincaid, aimed at his "involvement" (DelBora wasn't sure what that meant) with the cult. Right now Jenner was doing life in the nearest high-security prison. "I suppose they think this makes me fit for their unit. Bowen and Kincaid, I mean," he clarified, when DelBora began to wonder what he meant by "their." "We don't exactly have the greatest pick of all the 'cult experts' in the state, if there are any, so I suppose you take what you can get."
"That's pretty much what I've heard."
"Well, if you do get on it somehow, it'll be good to work with--"
He cut himself off when the door to Kincaid's office opened. DelBora glanced back as the lieutenant came out, looking in their direction. "You've met Officer DelBora, Hawthorne?"
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"Good. She's asked to be on the Unit. You can show her around if you like."
"Yes, Lieutenant."
Kincaid turned to Bowen's office and let himself in, shutting the door behind him. Hawthorne turned back to DelBora and smiled again, shrugging.
"Well," he said. "Looks like he's stuck us together."
DelBora offered her own faint smile. This wasn't what the sheriff would have wanted.
Kincaid scrolled through all the reports that had been coming in on Chief Bowen's computer. The Souris flooding was getting worse, as far as it looked; Bowen had gone out to check up on a few. He supposed that was better than what could be getting worse. It had been quite a while since they'd picked up any reports--serious ones, at least--of "activity." Everyone on the Minot police force was always substituting euphemisms of some sort when he was around. He didn't let it bother him. That was what they felt they had to do, so he'd say nothing about it. He stopped scrolling and did a check with the words ANIMAL MUTILATIONS.
*You're just too curious to leave a thing alone.* [Note--the "voice" is something that may need to be modified or edited out, in a rewrite.]
He ignored the voice and hit ENTER. After a moment or two the reply came back, with twenty-two hits.
Looks like things haven't been quite so quiet. [Note--italicized comments are characters' thoughts, in this case, Alan Kincaid's. The italicized comments with asterisks are the "voice" that Kincaid hears, representing Mark Kincaid.]
*You could've slept better at night not knowing.*
He hit ENTER again to look at the reports. Several of them were from out of state; however, he didn't overlook them. Just because they didn't happen in North Dakota didn't mean there couldn't be some sort of
*Here you're going again, Kinnie; maybe they'd better boost your Clozaril dosage some.* [Note--another thing that will be edited out in a rewrite.]
connection with what was going on here. He merely scanned the ones that seemed to be random, then moved on to the in-state reports. Yes, a few were from Minot and the surrounding area; there were always dead animals to be found, most probably from unconnected people playing copycat pranks, a few
*Now you're just jumping to conclusions, Kinnie.*
with what could be considered deeper roots. He typed PRINT on those ones. So far, no reports from the Falcon's Nest, and he supposed that was at least somewhat good. [Note--this disjointed style of writing--paragraph fragments interspersed with thoughts and especially "thought fragments," like the word "paranoia" used in DelBora's thoughts above--was inspired by Stephen King. I read a book of his once--The Stand, maybe?--that used such a style at times, and I first remember utilizing it in True Believers. I don't use it nearly as much anymore, probably because my writing style is usually so linear and I don't like to experiment much.]
*Ever the optimist.*
Maybe if you'd shut your mouth sometime I'd be more positive.
If his face had betrayed any emotion at that moment he'd have been scowling. He'd done it again--arguing with himself. Or more like with that other. He told himself each time not to give in to that, but when the voice prodded at him like that he couldn't help it. It was annoying, to say the least.
*Now is that any way to talk to your--*
This time he successfully shut it out. He hit the ESCAPE key a little harder than he'd intended to exit the mailbox. [Note--again, recall that I had very little understanding, if any at all, of the Internet back then--if this even is the Internet!] Then he stood, scooped up the printed papers, and turned to leave the office.
Yet it couldn't help getting in a last word edgewise:
*Going to add those to your 'file,' Kinnie? You're going to keep poor DelBora up all night with your required reading.*
He forced down his own thoughts as if they were spoken words, yanking the door open and stepping out.
Later in the day when Hawthorne had gotten off of work he showed DelBora the Falcon's Nest, a kind of tavern not too far from the police station. [Note--the Falcon's Nest was once a real establishment, a known hangout of Satanic-minded troublemakers. I don't think it's around anymore. My version is of course fictionalized.] It seemed to be a popular place; there were other cops there, a few from the City post, a few from the Ward County post. [Note--yes--Minot actually is in Ward County, North Dakota.] They were sitting at the bar and talking with each other and took barely any notice of the two newcomers except to say hi to Hawthorne and ask who his friend was. They met Phil Falcon, the owner (perpetually polishing glasses); Hawthorne showed her the dance area, which was crowded every weekend; then they sat down to eat. [Note--"Phil Falcon" was actually the name of the owner of the Falcon's Nest. Again, I open myself up to potential lawsuit problems...] DelBora just hoped none of the other cops would start considering them a couple. That didn't seem to be a problem, though; the others were paying no attention to them whatsoever.
"Does the lieutenant come here?" she asked absently, spinning her fork in her salad.
"Every morning," Hawthorne replied, as if her question were the most normal in the world. "Phil's told me. He orders the same thing every day."
"He does?"
"Mm-hm. Coffee, black, and a cinnamon roll."
"Doesn't he ever get hungry?"
"Oh, he comes over here for lunch sometimes, too. It's either this or some fast-food place. All the other good restaurants are too far away from the station. At least, too far away to eat and get back in thirty minutes."
"Thirty minutes."
"If anybody's lobbied to get that extended, it's Chief Bowen. How we manage to stuff it all down that fast is beyond me, but we do it, and evidently we've been doing it for years."
"How long have you known Lieutenant Kincaid?"
"Since I came here. That was--jeez, I'm losing my memory--five years, I think. Hold on a minute." He paused, seeming to count to himself. "It's 1997. I came here around the summer of '92. Yeah, almost five years. God, I'm a fossil. When the hell did I stop being a rookie?"
"I just came in from the County post," DelBora confided.
"Yeah, I know that."
She cast him a look. "You do? How?"
"You've got rookie written all over you. But you know your way around a station. You must've been somewhere else first. What, did you not get along with the sheriff?"
"You know him?"
"Just a little. By reputation." He grinned. "He doesn't seem to like us too much at the City post, if you know what I mean."
"There's nothing personal in there," DelBora said, a little defensively. She had no idea why she was coming to the sheriff's aid; she didn't like him that much, either. "He just thought you might have a few too many cases to handle on your own."
"Yeah, okay, okay. I understand." She flushed slightly and backed down. Hawthorne stared at her a minute, then continued eating. "It's true, we do get a lot of weird cases. Weird cases. We should just quit calling the city Minot and start calling it Mental."
"How weird do they get?"
"Well, name it. We've got a serious dog problem, for one thing."
"Strays?"
"No. Dead dogs ending up in people's yards." DelBora frowned. "I suppose it's a curse of some kind. They end up behind this place a whole lot."
"What, this restaurant?"
A nod. "And people paint on the back of the Nest in their blood." She winced this time. "It's not so bad now, after '95. But it still goes on. You can't just clear it all up like that."
"What exactly did happen in '95?" DelBora asked, knowing she was pushing it.
[Note--more spoilers for Minot coming up.] He looked at her again, as if searching for any hidden agenda; then, apparently finding none, shrugged and spoke. "That was when the shit hit the fan, if you'll pardon the expression." She nodded. "You've heard of Chad Jenner, right?"
"Yes. I read about him."
"He was with us on that one. Kind of. Someone was leaving these death threats aimed at Kincaid on the back of the Nest."
"Death threats?" DelBora couldn't believe her ears.
Hawthorne nodded. "It was Jenner who was behind it. He didn't leave the threats himself, of course; there was this kid he got to do it for him. Mitch Barnes, I think his name was. Anyway, he also had Mitch kill this lady for him--some former cultist--I can't remember her name." He shuddered slightly; DelBora was surprised to see he looked slightly sick. "I found the body, by the way. First and only dead body I've ever seen. You know when they show them on TV and it's always like, 'Bag it up.' Well, I'm not ashamed to say, this was nothing like that. I'm only surprised I didn't throw up."
"How bad was it?"
"Oh, not that bad. She was shot in the chest. Just some blood. But jeez, when you just happen across this dead body, it kind of spooks you."
A nod.
"Anyway, Kinnie was the only one who seemed to realize what was going on, or maybe it was just a hunch of his--I have no way of knowing--so he broke into Jenner's house that night right while Jenner was trying to kill this other lady, some out-of-state person, from Michigan, I think; the friend of some others who were here helping on the case. Jenner shot him in the shoulder but we showed up right then and got him."
"Was he crazy or something?"
A crooked smile. "No, not really. He just lay [sic] down the gun and put up his hands. And he was smiling, too. Damn it if I never saw him really upset except for whenever Mitch screwed up. He grinned all the way to jail."
"So how'd Kincaid take it?"
"He was hospitalized for a while."
She bit her lip. Hawthorne went on eating. Should she ask it? The sheriff had called the lieutenant schizophrenic. Now the sheriff may have been what she'd call a jerk, but she doubted he'd name-call like that just for the fun of it.
"Uh...I've heard a couple of things about Lieutenant Kincaid."
He barely glanced up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, kind of...I don't know exactly...I don't know, like he's been under some stress lately." It was the only thing she could think of to say that would call him a nut outright. [Note--I think I meant, "that WOULDN'T call him a nut outright."]
Hawthorne started coughing. She sat up, thinking he must be choking, and wondering if she should try the Heimlich maneuver. However, after a moment he appeared to be gaining control, and wiped his eyes, still coughing slightly.
"Stress," he said, his voice still slightly choked. "Well...maybe."
She didn't say anything. Hawthorne picked up his fork and started eating again. There was a moment's silence.
"I thought maybe your sheriff would have told you a bit more?" She bit her lip again so he went on. "Kinnie's had a little trouble with Four P. He was involved with it for a while."
"Involved? Involved how?"
"He was in it."
Her eyes widened. "He was in it? How long?"
A shrug. "I don't really know. They got--Chief Bowen and Sergeant Kincaid--they got him out around 19--" He broke off, frowning. "19... What was that year? 1979 or '80 or something. I don't know, around there." [Note--1979, according to the D4D timeline.]
"Sergeant Kincaid? Is that Kincaid's dad?"
"Was. Adoptive. He shot himself in the head some years back."
This was just getting weirder and weirder!
"So--what's wrong?"
"Well, you've been in a cult for some years, you've witnessed a suicide probably related to it and now you're getting these death threats aimed at you because you're a 'traitor' to the cause--whatever the hell that's supposed to be--I think maybe you'd be 'stressed out,' too."
Should she tell him? What the sheriff had said? He sees things and hears things no one else can or should. Then he'd know she was "spying" on them for sure.
"By the way, your sheriff must have told you that Kincaid is schizophrenic." She started; it was as if he'd been reading her thoughts. He didn't even bother looking at her, instead continuing eating his own salad. "And that much is true. Undifferentiated schizophrenia."
"He is?"
"Don't be so surprised, Officer. I'm sure he told you."
"He--well--he might have said something--"
"Such as?"
"But I just--I thought he was joking or something. God. Does he hallucinate?"
It just popped out. Immediately she felt her ears burning.
Hawthorne smiled slightly. "Used to. He was when Jenner shot him. But relax, DelBora. He's doing a lot better now. You didn't see him talking to anybody when you went in his office, did you?"
"No, not really."
"See? It's been almost two years. He's done a lot better since then. Even when these cult things keep popping up."
"Why are you telling me this?" She couldn't believe he was doing so, so easily.
He shrugged again. "Because Kincaid told us not to keep it all a secret. It's going to become obvious to those who have to work with him every day, isn't it? He tried to hide it before, and look what happened." [Note--tiny Minot spoiler.] She wasn't sure what he was talking about, and assumed it had to do with Jenner's capture. "Believe me, DelBora, he isn't going to lay out every single little detail of his life, and I'm not going to do it for him. But you may as well know what you have to."
"He won't be mad that I know this."
"Of course not. It's better than you asking him himself! You about finished there?"
She glanced down at the remains of her salad. "Yeah, I guess so."
"I'll pay for it this time. Next time when you've got your salary it's your turn."
She smiled as he stood up, and got up also to follow him.
Detective Kristeva stepped out of his car, slamming the door and glancing upward. The sun was blazing down fearsomely; it stung his eyes and he had to shade them with his hand. He dropped his head to look at the police station. It wasn't very large, as one would have thought for a city the size of Minot. [Note--didn't we go over that already? Jeez.] That didn't bother him though. From what the sheriff had told him he wanted done, there would probably be one less person there in the end--maybe two.
He stepped up to the door and went inside.
"Is the chief in?" he asked one of the passing officers.
A brief nod; the officer paused to look up at him, frowning. "Just got in. Are you new here or something?"
"I'm going to be." He turned away and towards the chief's door, stepping forward and knocking on it at the same time.
"Come in."
He went inside. Chief Bowen was at his desk, frowning over some papers. As the detective drew closer he could see, with his unusually sharp eyesight, that the name DELBORA was on them. When the chief looked up at him his frown deepened.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Good afternoon, Chief Bowen. Detective Kristeva." He pulled out his badge and gave it to the police chief. "I've been assigned to work here."
"Assigned?"
He nodded. "From Ward County."
"You wouldn't happen to know a Christine DelBora, would you?"
He glanced down at the papers as if seeing them for the first time. "No, not really, Chief."
"That's funny. 'Cause she's from the same post as you."
He gave a disarming smile. "I've never really had the chance to get to know everybody I work with, Chief." [Note--Kristeva may appear to be acting out of character here, for anyone who's read any finished stories I have with him in them (which at this point in time should only be "A Crack Of Light" and "Random Scene 3"), but he's not. Kristeva's a...rather complex character. In more ways than one. Literally. If that confuses you, just feel free to contact me and I'll fill you in.]
Chief Bowen continued frowning. He knew an attitude when he saw it. Nevertheless, he'd received the call, and Kristeva was expected.
"Yeah, well." He put down the papers and handed back Kristeva's badge. "Consider yourself one of us now. You're gonna have to be using that badge for a while till we get you a new one. It's not like I had two weeks' notice or anything."
"I understand, Chief."
"Yeah, I'm sure you do. I was told you were supposed to be on the CRCU."
"That's right."
"You've had experience with this kind of thing?"
"Some, yes, back at the County post." [Note--not that Kristeva knows it at the moment, but that's understatement!]
"Well, as soon as Kinnie gets back in you can see him about it. Maybe even get to meet Officer DelBora. Because you two don't seem to know each other that well."
Detective Kristeva smiled again. "It would be nice to get to know the people I'm going to be working with, Chief."
No comments:
Post a Comment