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A few days later . . .
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Sandra really wasn’t very comfortable. She hadn’t been in a police station before. How anything could simultaneously be so dirty yet sterile was beyond her. The police had actually found some of her stolen items and they wanted her to confirm their identity. They wouldn’t be able to release the items yet as they were evidence in a murder investigation, but Sandra didn’t care. She wanted to put the whole thing behind her as quickly as possible.
The only thing that was keeping her sane was Jasmine’s assurances that an extraordinarily gifted individual was handling the case. Sandra had smiled at that. As a client, Jasmine hadn’t been able to tell her anything about the redheaded cop with a stutter. As a friend, she couldn’t do much more except to say that Sandra should be more patient with the woman should they cross paths again. Apparently, this investigator was worthy of respect. Over lunch the previous day, Jasmine had acknowledged that even SHE hadn’t been able to discern all the woman’s secrets. Sandra had pressed her new friend for more background information, but Jasmine had stonewalled her after that.
Sandra was sitting on a long bench in a hallway in the police station. Across the hall were a series of corkboards with newspaper clippings attached to them. They were stories about police officers. Just to occupy herself while waiting for the detective to come get her, she started browsing through them. Some were about light-hearted matters, such a charity auctions, silly rescues, stupid criminals or rescuing cats from trees with the help of the fire department. Others were more serious. Officers killed in the line of duty, police corruption accusations and . . .
Sandra stopped for a minute. The headline read, ‘Rookie CSI Cop Is Shot During Botched Walkthrough.’ The article described how the officers on the scene in a murder investigation had failed to adequately search and secure the crime scene. As a result, the fact that the murderer was still present went undetected until one Detective Jones accidentally flushed the perpetrator out of the closet he was hiding in. The suspect had been armed with small-caliber handgun and had leveled it at the officer’s head. A rookie CSI cop, without the time to make drawing her own weapon a viable option, had grabbed the suspect’s wrist and attempted to disarm him. In the ensuing struggle, the rescuing officer was shot in the upper chest, but luckily the bullet managed to avoid the heart and lungs. Sandra saw a picture of a pale white face topped off with red hair peaking grotesquely from beneath some artificial breathing apparatus. Sandra looked at that officer’s name.
“That was one of the first cases I ever worked with her. That was about three years ago,” came a soft voice beside her, making Sandra jump out of her skin. It was Detective Jones. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay.”
“Are you ready to view those items now?”
“Yes,” Sandra replied. “Listen . . . Detective Jones, I . . .”
“Call me Bobby,” he said with a non-threatening smile.
She smiled back. “Bobby . . . I wanted to apologize to you and Investigator Reynolds . . . particularly Investigator Reynolds . . . for my behavior the other night. I . . .”
“Don’t worry about it Ms. Lopez. When you’ve done as many of these cases as we have, it’s easy to forget that not everyone else has become quite so desensitized.” He led her into a room where a number of items were laid out on a table, with each item stored in a plastic bag. “Please point out items that you are sure are yours.”
Sandra started looked over the table. “So, do you have any suspects? I guess that’s a bit premature, but . . .”
“Actually, we made an arrest this morning. Obviously I can’t tell you the details at this time, but we’re fairly confident we have our guy.”
Sandra was a bit stunned. “That was fast. So am I going to need to testify or anything?”
“No. Your alibi checked out, and it seems that you only stand to LOSE money in this whole thing. The only thing you would be able to testify to is that you didn’t know the victim or have any idea why he was there. I think we can make our case without that.”
Sandra finished looked over the items. Most of them were hers with a few exceptions. Detective Jones looked pleased, gathered up the items and had another officer take them back to the evidence room. About that time, Sandra saw a flash of red hair wandering by in the hallway. It was Investigator Reynolds. Detective Jones saw her too and went outside to intercept the woman. Sandra couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but both glanced into the room where she was standing. The redhead was looking increasingly nervous and started backing away before Detective Jones placed one hand gently on her shoulder and ushered her into the viewing room, then stood outside and leaned against the doorframe. It was as if he were playing goalie in case Inspector Reynolds attempted to leave the field of play.
The officer glanced first at the floor. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt, sweatpants and that same CSI baseball cap that she had been wearing the other night.
Sandra spoke first. “Officer Reynolds, I wanted to say how sorry I was about my behavior the other night. It was out of line to make fun of your . . .” She tried to think of a polite way of saying it.
“Stuh-… stutter,” the cop filled in for her. “It’s okuh-… okay to use the wuh-… word. And it’s alruh-… alright. I wuh-… was a little fuh-… freaked out the fuh-… first time I saw a buh-… body like that. Actually, I thuh-… threw up.” The woman was smiling a little now, showing two rows of perfect, pearly-white teeth. It was a pretty smile.
“Well, now that I have THAT bit of visual information to deal with,” Sandra said. “Listen, regardless of how bad it was, I’m sorry that I was rude . . . Shannon, was it?” The woman nodded. “Listen, I realize that this probably isn’t the best time to ask, but why don’t you let me make it up to you? Maybe buy you a drink?”
Shannon looked like she had just been caught in the path of an oncoming train. She was glancing around nervously. “I’m suh-… suh-… suh-… sorry, buh-… buh-… but that would buh-… buh-… be unethical cuh-… considering you’re a wuh-… wuh-… witness in a muh-… muh-… murder investigation.”
Was in Sandra’s imagination, or did the woman’s stutter just get a lot worse? “I’m sorry. Detective Jones told me that I wouldn’t be called upon to testify or anything. But I thought that maybe at least after the investigation was over that . . .”
“I’m suh-… suh-… sorry, buh-… but I’ve guh-… guh-… got to guh.-… guh-… go.” She turned on her heels and walked out the door, giving Detective Jones a not-too-gentle punch on the arm as she went past him on her way down the hall. The fairly stocky man came into the room, rubbing the spot where he had been hit.
“She must really be pissed at me,” Sandra said a bit dejectedly. She had hoped that her apology might go over a little better. Things had seemed to be fine at first.
“No, she wasn’t pissed at you,” Bobby said. “She was a little pissed at ME for some reason, but not you.”
“But her stutter got worse. Doesn’t that happen when someone with a stutter gets angry?”
“Sometimes. Depends on the person. Shannon doesn’t stutter more when she’s mad. She stutters more when she’s nervous. Trust me, you DON’T want to see her when she’s mad.”
“Why? Does she shoot dirty looks at people?” Sandra said. She couldn’t imagine what the woman would be like when upset. She could barely finish a sentence when in a good frame of mind.
“Remember the article?” Bobby asked? “Well even after getting shot, she had enough left in her to disarm the suspect and toss all two-hundred-and-fifty pounds of him through a sliding glass door.” Detective Jones held the door open for Sandra, who was more than a bit dumfounded. He noticed the confusion on her face. “The way I understand it, she’s been taking Karate or something like it since she was six years old.”
If Sandra had needed anymore proof of what the Detective had just told her, she was going to be getting it sooner than she expected. They were at the front of the station where Sandra had to fill out some paperwork. Investigator Reynolds appeared suddenly at her side. Sandra stopped and looked into the woman’s eyes. For the second time, she was struck by how genuinely pretty the officer was. It looked like Shannon wanted to say something.
But at that moment, some officers were bringing a large man in, his hands secured behind him. The individual in question reeked of alcohol and various other odors. He had appeared complacent, but he suddenly acted up, letting out a guttural howl as he smashed his six-foot four-inch fat frame into one of the cops, knocking him down. He then head-butted the other officer and kicked a third in the groin, dropping both of them. The man had developed a maniacal look in his eye. Sandra had been around enough musicians to know that alcohol wasn’t the only thing this guy was probably hopped up on. And then he saw Sandra, Shannon and Bobby, and he came charging up towards the desk with the apparent intention of assaulting anyone in his path. Sandra looked for a place to run. Bobby reached for his sidearm. Neither of them needed to bother.
Sandra barely saw Shannon move. The smaller woman stepped forward and planted a straight heel-kick onto the rampaging man’s left kneecap. The sound of something breaking was audible throughout the lobby. Before the man could even collapse, Shannon swung one leg up and hit him with some kind of crescent kick to the side of his face. Sandra was sure she saw a tooth go flying somewhere. Two straight kicks to his ample stomach sent him staggering backward. Then it was something like out of a Jackie Chan movie. Shannon was facing northward when she jumped about three feet in the air, rotating her hips to put all the power she could into a roundhouse kick to the other side of the man’s face. She landed back on the ground facing southward. The man spun around once and dropped like a rock. The other cops quickly moved to check on the man’s condition, and paramedics were called.