The Replacement Child - By Christine Barber Page 0,11
Fe High School for drug possession.
She closed the folder. The officer was still watching her.
“Are any of the detectives around? I have a quick question.”
The officer disappeared behind a closed door. When he came back, a tall officer followed him.
“I’m Detective Montoya. Can I help you?” His eyelashes were long and dark, making his eyes look like they were lined with black eyeliner. He could have been a banker in his business shirt and tie. Lucy glanced at his shoes. You can always tell a cop by their shoes. She had expected the usual cowboy boots that the Santa Fe detectives wore, but his were generic men’s dress shoes. Brown. Obviously at least a few months old, but not even scuffed. He was tall, cute, dressed well, and took care of his shoes … and had a wedding band on his left ring finger. Damn.
“I need to ask you about some scanner traffic we picked up last night involving you guys and the OMI and the state police,” Lucy said.
The acne-scarred officer said something quickly in Spanish that Lucy didn’t understand.
“What makes you think she doesn’t know Spanish?” Detective Montoya said to the officer, as he escorted Lucy into the squad room. Lucy smiled to herself. She had lived in Santa Fe for a year and still knew only gracias and cerveza. With that word combination all she could say was “Thanks for the beer.” Which, while useful in certain situations, didn’t help in most.
The detective gestured to the chair next to his desk and took his own chair.
She took her seat and looked around. The police station was designed like the newspaper office, with its fluorescent lights, endless cubicles, and windowless walls. But instead of being painted a sea-foam green it was a not-very-macho baby blue. The office was too new to be grungy, but the desks were cluttered with papers, folders, and computers. Officer Montoya’s desk was one of the only clean ones, its cool gray surface clear of everything but a day planner and a filing basket. No picture of wife and kids. Maybe he’s divorced but still hanging on to the past by wearing the wedding ring?
He was looking at her without unblinking, without curiosity. Without interest. Like she was an interruption to his day that he would tolerate politely but could really have done without. It made her want to poke him. He was neat, calm, professional, clean-cut. And she really wanted to poke him. Really.
Instead, she said, “We got a strange phone call at the newspaper last night. This elderly woman who always calls in tips to the paper said she heard two Santa Fe police officers on the scanner talking about the state police and the OMI. I was just wondering if you knew anything about it.”
Several male officers at the desk next to them started laughing suddenly. At first she thought they were laughing at her question. Hastily, she looked over at them, but they were listening to a young, good-looking officer who was sitting casually on the desk.
“I’m sorry, what was your name?” she heard Detective Montoya say to her. She gave it to him as he typed away on his keyboard.
“Well, Ms. Newroe, I’m looking at the reports from last night and I don’t see anything unusual. About what time was this at?”
“Right around eleven thirty P.M.” She felt him trying to rush her out of the office with his tone and manners. She didn’t like it.
He kept typing at his computer. After a few minutes, he said, “I’m sorry, I still don’t see anything. Can you give me any more information?”
“That’s all I know,” Lucy said.
“Could you call the woman back and ask her about it?”
“I’d love to, but she never gives her name. We just call her Scanner Lady,” Lucy said. She still felt the urge to mess with him somehow. She wanted a reaction from him. She needed one. She had never been good at feeling dismissed, ignored, tolerated. She wanted his acknowledgment. And she was going to get it.
“I’m not sure I can be of any more help, Ms. Newroe. Sorry.” He started to rise from his seat to usher her out.
“So, how is your day going so far, Detective Montoya?” she asked, smiling, leaning back in her seat, making it obvious that she wasn’t about to get up. Montoya stood up and sat on the edge of his desk, not retaking his seat as Lucy had expected. He looked at her, still without curiosity, considering.