The Detroit Police Department had moved from a beautiful old building on Beaumont to the Detroit Public Safe Center. A new, contemporary tower of glass with multiple shards and bevels.
Inside, the lobby was vast and institutional. Civilians waited on hard plastic chairs, their faces a mix of anxiety and boredom. Some fidgeted nervously, while others stared blankly at their phones or the informational posters that lined the walls. The posters, faded and curling at the edges, spoke of crime prevention and community outreach programs.
Eventually, I found my way to the reception desk.
As I approached the front desk, I took in the bulletproof glass and marveled at how thick it was. I wondered what was the highest caliber weapon it could withstand.
Behind the glass, an officer sat, his attention focused on the paperwork before him. He was an older guy with a pair of readers perched on his nose. He peered at me over their clear frames.
"I'm here to see Detective Monroe," I said.
He glanced down at a long sheet with names and times.
“Your name?”
“August High.”
He peered at me over the frames. “Everyone who comes in here seems to be high.”
I smiled out of politeness.
“Okay, driver’s license.”
After handing it to him, he looked up and said, “That really is your name.”
“Yes.”
Without a word, he pushed a sign-in sheet towards me through the small opening at the bottom of the glass partition.
Using a pen attached to the counter by a thin chain, I signed my name on the log.
After signing, the officer handed me a temporary ID badge through the same opening. The plastic was slightly warm, as if it had just been printed. "Third floor," the officer said. He pointed towards the elevator bank on the far side of the lobby.
With the visitor badge now clipped to my jacket I made my way to the elevators. The doors opened with a soft ding, revealing a large interior with scuffed metal walls. Two uniformed officers joined me and the air in the elevator was thick with the officers’ cologne along with the faint smell of gun oil and leather from the officers' gear.
The homicide unit was a large, open area with two rows of cubicles down the middle, and offices on either side. The space was filled with the sounds of ringing phones, hurried conversations, and the constant hum of computer equipment.
Desks were cluttered with case files, photographs, and paperwork. Post-it notes in various colors adorned computer monitors. Coffee cups in various states of emptiness littered the workspaces. There was the occasional Lions mini helmet or Tigers cap, but no sign of Pistons gear. Not surprising, they were terrible this year.
Detective Monroe stepped out of one of the offices and waved me over. As I walked past the cubicles, a few heads popped and watched. I was used to it. Men of my size were rare. Ones with my beat-up face and scarred hands even more so.
Monroe turned and I followed her into the office. Today, she had on a black leather skirt and short suit jacket with a white blouse. She looked good.
“You do attract attention, don’t you?” she asked. Looking around her office, I saw no photos of kids, or a husband. Just some professional citations, a calendar and various index cards of multiple colors with words and numbers that made no sense to me. Reference books were stacked on shelves lining one wall, their spines bearing titles related to forensics, criminal psychology, and law enforcement procedures. A small window would have provided a view but that possibility was prevented by a set of thick venetian blinds.
My gaze returned to her. “Yeah, like an elephant at the circus.”
“More like the strong man,” she said.
I just shrugged my shoulders.
“Let’s talk about Hala Yousef,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Take me through your involvement one more time.”
I did as she asked, my story not changing one molecule from the two times I’d already told it.
As I spoke, Monroe listened but I didn’t think she really cared. That wasn’t why she’d called me down for an interview. No, something else was going on. I just had to let her find her way at her own pace.
She jotted down notes in a small notebook and occasionally she would nod or make a small sound of acknowledgment, encouraging me to continue.
When I finished my account, Monroe looked up from her notes.
“And since that night, have you learned anything about the victim?”
Ah, there we were. She wanted to know if I was snooping around her investigation.
I met her gaze and decided to tell the truth. “I visited her studio, that’s about it.”
Monroe almost flinched but caught it at the last moment.
The cops didn’t know about the studio.
“Do you want the address?” I asked, trying not to sound like a smart ass, but I’m pretty sure that’s how it came off. From her desk I snatched a pen and jotted it down on an index card and pushed it across to her.
She seemed to apprise me differently. “I was expecting you to stonewall.”
“Not my style,” I replied. “Unless someone gives me a reason to, and you haven’t.”
With a nod, she slid the index card into her notebook.
“Are you going to keep nosing around?” she asked.
“Probably not since I don’t have a paying client and the rent is due the first of every month.”
Her looks said she didn’t really believe me and I didn’t expect her to. The truth was, I didn’t know where this thing was going.
“How about you?” I asked. “How’s it going?”
“Not much,” she said. “This is confidential, of course.”
“Okay.”
“About all we’ve learned is that she has a few extended family members in the area and they all said Hala had a drug problem and they always figured someone from that life might do her in.”
Monroe didn’t believe that, and neither did I.
“Do me a favor?” she asked.
I lowered my head, wondering what she was going to ask.
“I haven’t interviewed Jazz Park. She’s working tonight at The Twelve. I’d appreciate if you could join me. She might be more talkative with you there.”
“Hey, any reason to go to a bar is good by me. What time?”
“Eight-ish.”
“Okay.”
She turned back to her computer and I walked through Cubicle Land again where I endured the same gawkers.
Outside, I walked to the Maverick feeling pretty good.
Detective Monroe had just asked me out on a date.