Tuesday Overnight
I was sleeping that night when I heard pounding. It took me almost a full minute to come out of unconsciousness, look at the clock, and process that someone was banging on my front door.
Again.
“What the hell is going on?” I said aloud, sitting up, rubbing my eyes, and beginning to register that there were flashing police lights outside of my window. A dog was barking at a neighbor’s house.
Hurriedly, I threw a robe over my boxers and scurried to the front door. When I opened it, there were two new officers there, a white woman with her hair in a tight bun and a Black guy. Before I could say anything, the Black guy yelled, “Hands up and come out the door.”
Too stunned to argue in any way, I complied. My mind was still trying to wake up. The officer frisked me, put my hands behind my back, and put handcuffs on. I finally found my voice.
“Officer, I haven’t done anything,” The tone didn’t even sound like mine. It was squeaky and reminded me of Alan’s. I shuddered.
“Stop talking,” said the officer, who then turned to his partner. “Take him to the squad car. We’ll look around.”
Two more cop cars came squealing to a stop, and four officers jumped out and started heading for my door.
“There’s nothing here, I didn’t do anything,” I protested, but no one seemed to be hearing me. There was the sound of feet pounding on concrete and the wood floor as they stomped their way in. My beautiful heated wood floor.
The female officer took my arm and steered me toward the car. She said nothing, opening the back door and pushing my head down so I wouldn’t bump it. I guess that was polite.
I sat there, shivering in my robe and underwear, looking back at my house and trying to put pieces together that made absolutely no sense. I was in a state of shock, I knew that, but also not in a state of worry because I knew that this was another misunderstanding. A big, fucking huge one that the chief was going to hear about. These officers would lose their jobs. That thought made me smile. I could sic my I-Team on the story and have them find out why innocent people were getting swatted with fake calls. This was ridiculous, ludicrous actually. The biggest miscarriage of justice I had ever seen.
Neighbors were popping on lights and starting to peer out of windows and around curtains. How awkward. I’d have to tell them about this horrid mistake and reassure them that I was 100 percent innocent and that our police department was a total joke. I yawned and wished I could scratch my eye, but my hands were bound behind me.
Minutes ticked by and more cop cars pulled up; one guy had a notebook, and another had a camera with him. What in the fuck were they looking for? They sure as hell weren’t going to find it.
Seriously, me, a news director, sitting in a cop car with handcuffs on. I should sue the pants off them. Yes, that’s what I’d do. Sue them so hard I could retire early. Maybe this would be a blessing in disguise. I could pay off Katrina so she’d be out of my hair and move to the Bahamas, all on the dime of the Atlanta PD.
The male officer finally walked back with a determined look on his face. I was sure he was about to apologize and I could start my rant against him and the entire department. He opened the door and roughly yanked me to stand up next to the squad car. It lacked the gentle touch the female officer had used when she had protected my head.
“What the hell?” I protested. “Watch it, and undo these cuffs right now.”
“That won’t be happening,” he said sternly, looking me straight in the eye. “Do you want to explain why a woman’s phone, wallet, and jewelry were buried in your backyard?”
“Woman? What woman?” My mind was a blur. Did someone who lived here before me do something nefarious?
The officer took a small notebook out of his breast pocket and opened it.
“Name is Stephanie Monroe. Does that ring a bell for you?”
“Whhaaaaa?” I choked out, and I’m sure my face looked as shocked and confused as I felt.