“That’s all right. I sat around and got to know Theresa and Henry. I met Marlene and little Peter as well. We’re all going to be one big happy family.”
He laughed at that one, and then took a long look at me. “You’re really a cop?”
And there it was, right out of the gate. I nodded. “I really am. I carry a gun, and they gave me a badge, and once in a while I get to drive the police car with the lights on.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that you look so—young.”
“It’s okay, I get that all the time. But then again, so do you, I bet.” I threw that in to try to level the playing field a little. He wasn’t exactly an old-timer himself, even if he was the chief.
“Is there anything special I should know about your family?” I asked, running my hand through my flattened hair, trying to smooth it out a little. It tended to frizz up as the day went on. That was the Irish in me.
He seemed to think on that for a moment, like he wasn’t sure how much he had to reveal. “I came here as a patrol officer about ten years ago from Utica, so no one here knows too much about my family life. I told everyone you were from Buffalo, but I suppose you should be aware of the Utica connection.”
“I lived there as a small child, but we moved when I was very young, so I barely remember it. My parents were Jim and Katie Anderson,” I said, trying to remember all my lies.
He nodded. “Jim and Katie.”
“Just recently died in a car accident. Katie was your older sister. I have no other family.”
“Yep, that’s about it.”
“So,” I said, sitting down on my bed. I was still in my T-shirt and shorts. “Do you really have a sister named Katie?”
“I do, alive and well in California with instructions not to call, text, email, FaceTime, or write. Your FBI friends even made up a fake Buffalo News with her obituary in it.”
“Those were real. They submitted a fake death certificate to the paper. Just a precaution.”
“You people really go all out.”
“Don’t call them my people. I work for the Buffalo Police Department. I’m on loan.”
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head with a laugh. “I really can’t picture you as a cop. Especially not a cop in Buffalo.”
Wow. That was funny to him? I’d seen more action in three years in Buffalo than he’d see in Kelly’s Falls in his whole career.
“Why do you think they brought me here?” I shot back, trying to control my temper. I dug my nails into the palm of my hand. Stupid, misogynistic, sexist hick. I could make first-impression labels, too.
With that, he clapped his hands together, realizing he had just insulted the shit out of me. “Why don’t you get dressed and meet me at the police station after breakfast?”
I mustered up my best fake smile. “Sure.”
“We’ll talk more in my office later.”
“Okay, Chief. I’ll see you there.” He left without another word. I took a few deep breaths to exhale my anger. I wasn’t used to him and he wasn’t used to me, but we’d have to work together. I knew things between us would smooth out. He’d see that I wasn’t useless and I’d realize that he wasn’t a dick. At least, that’s what I hoped for.
I took a shower and changed into a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt. It was a cold day despite all the sunshine. By the time I made it downstairs, everyone was already eating. Young Peter Martin, not even ten, loudly slurped the milk from his cereal bowl. His mom, a thirty-something divorcée with a high-pitched voice, told everyone about the continuing troubles she was having with her boss down at the convenience store.
I ate my breakfast, carefully listening to everyone’s conversation for some talk of the missing girls, but it didn’t come up. I scraped my egg residue in the garbage, put my plate in the sink, and informed everyone I was going over to the police station. “Make sure you tell that uncle of yours I said hello,” Marlene told me.
“Will do,” I said with a cheerful fake smile, making my exit.
Outside, the snow was melting and you could feel spring starting to slowly creep up. Purple crocuses had broken through the thin frost that crusted the front flower beds. I crossed the street to the police station and walked in.
“Hello,” I said to the officer hunched over an ancient computer on top of an even older desk. “I’m looking for Chief Bishop.”
“Hello there. You must be his niece. He’s right in there; that’s his office,” the cop at the desk said eagerly, as if he didn’t get to see too many people. The station itself wasn’t much. It was probably built in the fifties and hadn’t had a lot of updating. The main office had a few empty desks and a couple of random computers sitting on a long table against the back wall. Above the table, wooden shelves stacked on top of each other were overstuffed with paperwork. A brand-new copy machine sat in the corner, looking out of place in the vintage office. Missing posters were plastered everywhere. It was the perfect police station for a town where nothing much ever happened, except when it did, and then it was much too small.
I gave the cop a pleasant nod, walked over to Chief Bishop’s door, and knocked.
“Come on in.” He was sitting behind his desk in his little office. On the walls were framed newspaper clippings, various awards, and a picture of him holding up a huge fish he must have caught somewhere. An old-fashioned coat rack was propped in the corner, weighed down by police jackets for every occasion and season. I noticed he had a cot with an old army blanket against the back wall, which I thought odd, because he lived practically next door. I sat down in one of the two chairs he had set up in front of his desk.
“So here we are,” I said, smiling, but now he wasn’t smiling back. Not even out of politeness.
“Look, I didn’t want to say anything at Mrs. Parker’s house, but I’ll say it now. I don’t want you here. I don’t approve of you spying on my friends and neighbors, and I don’t see what you could possibly find out that we don’t already know. I also don’t like being forced into some crazy charade about you being my niece. My cooperation in this matter is being given under protest.”
Here we go, I thought. Game on.
“We’re only doing this to help those girls,” I told him, trying to tame my tone.
“You people don’t give a shit about those girls. You just want to clear this case. You don’t care if they’re dead or alive. The Feds just want to wrap this all up in a neat little package labeled clues, suspect, arrest, conviction.”
“I’m not a Fed,” I pointed out. “I care about finding those girls. I didn’t have to come here.”
“Why do I get the feeling you are not as selfless as you pretend to be?” he asked bluntly.
“Whatever the reasons, the fact remains that I’m here, and you’ll have to get used to it and work with me on this. You know as well as I do that three college-age girls do not just up and disappear together without so much as taking their cell phones. Someone knows something.”
We sat facing each other for a moment. It was over before it started, I thought, as he drank me in with his eyes. I knew that look. Then the chief sighed, stood, and said, “Well, now that that’s over with, I’ll show you around the town and let you in on some things.”