The Upside of Death

The Cop Station. Part 6

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A solitary butterball in uniform eyed Zach as he approached the reception counter. A tired and forlorn-looking couple sat on a bench, waiting for something or somebody. They looked drained of expectations.

“I’m Zachary Bones from the Chicago Post,” Zach said. “I want to report a missing person.”

The cop gave him the thirty-second stare before he replied. “Zachary Bones?”

Zach nodded.

“From the Chicago Post?”

“Is the police department hiring the hard-of-hearing now?” Zach snapped, but it was a mistake to identify himself as a journalist. Cops could add up—journalist plus pesky guy—and notice that Zach fitted the description like a familiar itch.

The cop leaned back and yelled to someone out of sight, “There’s a guy here you might want to meet, Sarge. A guy called Zachary Bones.”

A thin, pinched face appeared around the corner followed by a cop uniform draped over a skeletal frame. The eyes locked on Zach as the sergeant advanced to the counter until his face was a crocodile snap away.

“You the guy who wrote that stuff about those guys in the 19th?”

“Those nice guys who shook down a few hookers and pimps? A disgrace to the department? Yep, that was me.” The story at least six months gone, but cops had long memories. They would tug his chain for a few minutes, but it was all they could do. 

“You ruined the careers of a few good men,” Sarge said. “Your name’s mentioned around these parts pretty often.” He fixed Zach with his best death stare.

“Anyone take up a collection for me?” Zach asked. “You know, to buy a gift for the man who shook a few weasels out of your tree?”

Sarge inspected him as if looking at a disgusting piece of evidence. “What fresh crap you pulling now?” he asked. “You come to investigate an illegal casino in our back room, some parking-fine violations somebody overlooked for trips to the Caribbean? You fucking worm.”

“I’ve come to report a missing person.”

“Obviously it’s not you. What a shame.” Sarge folded his arms; the desk guy smirked.

Zach pulled a notebook out of his jacket. He wrote slowly while saying the words aloud. “I informed the sergeant that I wished to report a missing person. He called me a fucking worm.” He stopped and looked up.

Sarge’s lips could crush walnuts. “Name of the missing person?” He gestured to the desk guy to take notes. Desk Guy slid a pad over to himself and waited with poised pen.

“Keera Miles.” He could taste every syllable of her name.

Desk Guy scribbled something. “Miles as in highways? K-E-I-R-A?”

“Two Es, no I.” Desk Guy crossed out something and wrote something else.

“What relation is this person to you?” Sarge asked. “Or are you doing a story, a public execution on an unfortunate woman?”

“She’s a friend.”

A gleeful smile broke across Sarge’s face. “Your girlfriend took a hike, and you want us to find her?”

“She was due to meet me for a meal. She didn’t call, not at work, not at home. Her handbag is there but not her and it’s not like her to go missing.”

“Your girlfriend has dumped you for someone else, and you want a Chicago police officer, who wouldn’t use you for an ass wipe, to help you get her back?” Sarge’s face shone with delight.

“Ms. Miles left home unexpectedly. That much is clear. She doesn’t have her cell switched on, nor did she contact me, which is unusual. Her handbag is at home, for Chrissakes, the contents scattered over the coffee table. Nothing is right about her absence. I have strong reasons to believe something’s happened to her.”

“Like we give a rat’s ass.”

“You will give a rat’s ass tomorrow.” Zach bent over his notebook and scribbled again. “I hope you enjoy your morning paper.”

Sarge chewed on something unpalatable before he turned to Desk Guy. “Norman still around?” he asked. Desk Guy nodded. “Call him out. Give him this worm.” Sarge pushed off the counter and went through a door without a backward glance.

Desk Guy picked up a phone. “Norman? Sarge wants you to deal with a missing person report.” He hung up and said to Zach, “We’ll try our hardest to find this person for you, sir.”

Norman ambled out into reception with the air of an untroubled country boy. Wearing street clothes, his squared-off frame fit between Sarge’s starving-horse shape and the rounded desk cop. The department was ready to present matched personnel in the annual march this year.

Desk Guy pointed his head in Zach’s direction with a look that Norman ignored. “I’m Detective Norman Horn, sir. How can I help you?” 

“Which we can’t,” Desk Guy sniggered.

Zach needed cooperation from this guy, and he was being offered a fresh start. He suppressed the inner rancor the Sarge had activated and repeated his statement about Keera being missing. Horn listened, then said, “A little advice. Most of these cases sort themselves out. Especially with adults. Did you have an argument with your friend recently?”

Zach relaxed his fist to keep his hand steady. The detective was being professional but he still wanted to hit him. “We did not have an argument. She’s just missing.”

Horn said, “Why don’t we start with the obvious. Let’s see if Miss Miles arrives home tonight.” Desk Guy grinned. “You could call around to her friends in the meantime, find out if she’s with one of them. If she’s still missing tomorrow, we’ll send someone over to ask the neighbors questions.” 

Our police at work. Plodding though procedures that had remained in place for a hundred years. Keera could be dead and buried before the first piece of paperwork was completed. But if he wanted their help it was going to be their way.

Horn had another thought to share. “Those cops you had busted, they weren’t truly evil. They were ordinary guys faced with easy temptations. It could happen to anybody. Might happen to you one day.”

“Yeah, right.” As if.

Horn didn’t bother to expand his philosophy further. Must have figured his audience was unresponsive. “Well, I’m sure Ms. Miles is going to turn up safe and sound. A simple miscommunication between you is probably all it is.” He pulled out a tin can from under the counter. “Would you like to make a donation to the Police Orphans Fund?” The can was covered in dollar graphics, the kind you got at the 99 Cent store. Nothing else on it to give it any official status.

Zach pulled a bill from his jeans and stuffed it in the can. “Thanks, appreciate your help.” Kept his voice even. Walked back to the front door.

“Wow, a whole dollar,” Desk Guy said to Horn.

If Horn replied, Zach didn’t hear as the glass doors swished shut behind him.

END OF CHAPTER

There are over 50 parts to this completed novel. If you can't wait, you can buy The Upside of Death on Amazon Kindle, iBooks or Kobo now

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