Pointe, police headquarters is very clean. The building itself is made of brick that fits nicely into the surrounding architectural style. Inside, the carpet is immaculate, modern desks free of clutter, and a squad room that smells more like a bank than a home to cops.
Every time I came back, which was quite often, I couldn’t help but think of my first day on the force so many years ago. The offices had changed a little, new carpet and paint, different desks, the layout of offices and cubicles had all been changed. But it was the same place. It wasn’t as terrifying to me now as it was back then, when I was a rookie fresh from the Michigan Police Academy on his first assignment. Back then, I was sweating beneath the dark blue uniform, my palms slick with nervousness as I shook hands with my new co-workers. My brothers in blue.
It’s funny in retrospect. How, when you’re nervous, you tell yourself that you’re making too big a deal out of whatever’s causing your anxiety. You imagine a worst-case scenario and then imagine that it will never get that bad.
It’s funny and it’s not. Because looking back, I had no idea just how right my fears would turn out to be. And in fact, I hadn’t been exaggerating. The truth was that at the time I was grossly underestimating just how fucked-up everything would become. I’d lowballed it in a way I could never have conceived.
Now, I walked to the front desk and saw Suzy Wilkins, the receptionist. She was in her mid-forties, a clear, strong face with hair that was shot through with gray. But the steel in her eyes had a way of discouraging any bullshit. Always a good trait in a police department receptionist.
“The Chief in?” I asked.
She nodded, the telephone headset emitting the sound of someone on the other end of the line. She fingered the buzzer beneath the top of her desk and a deep buzzing sounded as the main door into the squad room unlatched. I walked through the metal reinforced doorway and down the hall. There were framed pictures of the department’s officers on the walls, most with commendations for public service, a few for awards. The Chief was pictured in many of the stories and articles, a look of proud stoicism that I knew very well. The Chief wasn’t the Chief when I started on the force. That happened a few years after the murder of a certain young man.
I passed a couple of patrol cops in the hallway. We nodded our hellos. It was always a tad awkward. I used to be one of them, but not anymore. They all knew me, knew my story. The most important being the fact that I had left the force in disgrace. Something they were embarrassed about, and really didn’t want to be associated with. Hey, who could blame them? Certainly not me.
I got to the end of the hallway, in the southwest corner of the building, to the Chief’s office. I peeked in, saw Grosse Pointe’s top cop talking on the phone. The office was big and well ordered. A large oak desk sat along the far wall. A bookshelf ran below the windows facing Jefferson Avenue. Two visitor’s chairs faced the desk. On the wall behind the desk were pictures of the Chief winning awards, honors and even a few marksmanship awards. There was also a picture of the family on a low shelf. Nice family. The happy husband and wife, two young sons and the youngest, a daughter. They were three, five and seven. All spaced sequentially, all products of planned passion. The Chief never did anything half-assed or unorganized. And that applied to procreating.
I sat in one of the chairs and watched the Chief talk on the phone. The voice was always cool and authoritative. Clipped words with precise questions. I had no idea if the conversation was with a convicted felon turned informant, or one of the kids. You could never tell.
Our eyes met, but as usual, the Chief was wearing a game face. No emotions conveyed, not even a recognition of my presence. It’s how it worked in the big office. No quarter offered, none given.
Finally the Chief put down the phone and looked at me.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Does something have to be up for me to drop by?”
“Yes. Now what is it? I’m busy.”
“You can’t talk to me like that.”
She rolled her eyes.
Frankly, I didn’t care that