The Girl With the Bad Dreams

Chapter 6

This isn't the first time Carlin's seen this Police Station, but it's the first time she's ever stepped inside. It's clean, almost antiseptic. The white tiles and chrome countertops look like a modern hospital. Carlin leans back in an elbowed, cushioned chair. It has the rough dimensions of a cube, better to stack up efficiently with the ones beside it. Carlin looks uncomfortably to her left. An Asian woman dressed in a bathrobe and pajamas, as if she was dragged out of bed, is collapsed beside her, weeping uncontrollably. "Is there..." Carlin offers hesitantly, "...is there anything I can do? Any way I can help?"

But the Asian woman is too caught up in her own emotional pain to even notice Carlin. Suddenly a commanding masculine voice cuts through the waiting area. "Carlin Hanson?"

Carlin looks up to see Detective Jim Warabowski. He's clean-cut and wearing a freshly pressed suit. In his mid-thirties, he could be working at a downtown law firm if it wasn't for the gun strapped to his shoulder. Even though he's clean shaven his dark features almost make him look like he's got a five o'clock shadow. He holds a clipboard which he re-checks. "Is Carlin Hanson still here?"

"That's me!" Carlin announces as she stands, grabbing the handles of the duffel bag she'd stuffed beneath her chair.

Warabowski gives her the once-over before nodding. "Follow me," he directs her, and he turns into the bullpen.

Carlin follows him past a series of chrome-walled cubicles. He stops at a desk beside a window, sits down, and motions to a chair. "Make yourself comfortable."

Carlin nods and sits down, letting the duffel bag drop beside her with a loud "thunk."

Warabowski clicks something on his computer "Sorry," he says, "Give me a second." Then he starts typing, hunt-and-peck style, on his keyboard.

Carlin looks over his shoulder out the window absent-mindedly, and then she begins to look around the police bullpen, at the other desks, the other criminals, informants or victims, each giving quiet statements to other cops. On one wall is a giant whiteboard with words and names in red, black and blue. Carlin notices photographs magnetized to the white board. She notices a photo of the woman who was in the waiting area with her. The woman isn't crying in the photos; she's laughing or smiling, looking happy. She's with a girl in her teens or early twenties. The woman and the girl look alike; the girl might be her daughter.

"Okay, sorry about that, what can I do for you?" Detective Warabowski looks up from his computer.

"I'd...well I'd like to turn these over." Carlin leans over and unzips the duffel bag, revealing the knives.

"What do you mean 'turn them over'?"

"I mean, they're illegal aren't they?"

Detective Warabowski leans over and eyes them. "I don't see any switchblades."

"Well, no, not switchblades...but I mean look at this..." she pulls out the bowie knife. It's huge; practically a machete. "Isn't this illegal?"

Detective Warabowski smiles in sympathy. "I wish it was."

"What about this?" Carlin takes out another knife, the Ka-Bar from her nightmares. "I mean, it's specifically made to kill people."

The Detective nods. "I'd say most of the blades in that bag were specifically made to kill people."

"Then shouldn't they be illegal?"

The Detective shrugs. "Maybe. But they aren't." He leans back and stares at Carlin, considering.