He stood from his desk and retrieved a sport jacket from a coat rack. He was a fit man with a cop's build. He also had a cop's mustache. He would have looked better without the mustache, but it wasn't was my place to suggest so. Besides, who better to wear a cop mustache than a cop?
"Now it's time to go watch my son screw up the game of basketball," he said.
"Maybe basketball's not his game."
"And playing with girls is?"
"It's not a bad alternative," I said, then added. "You think there's a chance you're reading a little too much into all of this with your son?"
"I'm a cop. I read too much into everything." He paused and locked his office door, which I found oddly amusing and ironic since his office was located in the heart of a police station. "Take you, for instance."
I didn't want to take me for instance. I changed the subject. "I'm sure you're a very good officer. How long have you been on the force?"
He ignored my question. "I wondered why you insisted on meeting me in the evening." As he spoke, he placed his hand lightly at the small of my back and steered me through the row of cluttered desks. His hand was unwavering and firm. "When I asked you on the phone the reason behind the late meeting you had mentioned something about being busy with other clients. But when I called your office later that day to tell you that I was going to be delayed, you picked up the phone immediately." He paused and opened a clear glass door. On the door was etched FPD. "Perhaps you were meeting your clients in the office. Or perhaps you were in-between clients. But when I asked if you had a few minutes you sounded unharried and pleasant. Sure, you said, how can I help you?"
"Well, I pride myself on customer service," I said.
He was behind me, and I didn't see him smile. But I sensed that he had done so. In fact, I knew he had smiled. Call it a side effect.
He said, "Now that I see you, I see you have a skin disorder of some type."
"Why, lieutenant, you certainly know how to make a girl feel warm and fuzzy."
"And that's the other thing. When I shook your hand, it felt anything but warm and fuzzy," he said.
"So what are you getting at?" I asked. We had reached the front offices. We were standing behind the main reception desk. The room was quiet for the time being. Outside the smoky gray doors, I could see Commonwealth Avenue, and across that, Amerige City Park, which sported a nice little league field.
He shrugged and smirked at me. "If I had two guesses, I would say that you were either a vampire, or, like I said, you had a skin condition."