I walked over to my desk with a large cup of coffee, removing the plastic lid the moment I sat down. The steam of the roast hit my face, and I took a long drink of the sweetened mixture. The coffee in our break room tasted like sludge. I’d spent eleven years in this department, and not a goddamn person here, including myself, could make a decent cup.
My desk was covered in paperwork and files, not a spot open to set down the cup. I didn’t know how it’d accumulated so much since I’d left last night, but it seemed that every time I returned, there was always more.
More cases.
More forms to complete.
More witnesses to interview.
More bullshit to tackle, so the captain wouldn’t be all over my ass.
A cycle with no finish line, making it impossible to ever get caught up.
I was taking more folders out of my bag when I heard, “Flynn,” from behind me.
I turned, seeing Rivera walking into the department—a detective I’d worked with since I’d started.
“What the hell dragged you in this early?”
He chuckled as he sat in the desk next to mine. “My wife kicked me out of bed. Said I was snoring. The couch is lumpy as a motherfucker, so I figured I’d come in and get some work done.” He stretched out his feet, balancing them on the edge of his trash can. “Got a busy day today?”
I pointed at the mess. “You tell me.”
He laughed, knowing I wouldn’t get through much of it. Part of our job description was being chronically overdue in almost everything behind the scenes. As long as the files had enough for the district attorney and the sergeant who reviewed them, many of the little things could fall through the cracks.
“How about you meet me for lunch?” he said, taking a drink of his coffee. “It’s been a few weeks; we need to catch up.”
“I’m there as long as I don’t get called into a case.”
He checked his watch. “I’ve got to interview a woman out in Dorchester at around ten. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two. I’ll text you when I’m done, and we can meet up.”
“Anything good?”
He lifted a file into his hands, skimming the first few sheets inside. “Missing daughter. I talked to the mother at the forty-eight-hour mark, but we’re approaching ninety-six hours, and not a goddamn thing has turned up. I need to go talk to the mother again and make sure she doesn’t know anything.” He shook his head. “These cases … you know how I feel about them.”
He showed me a photo of the girl, and I asked, “No other leads?”
“The twenty-year-old left her cell phone at home, no boyfriend, and the best friend hasn’t heard from her. Mom is distraught with four other kids at home, and there’s no dad in sight.” His eyes were heavy, almost weighted down. “Another fucking picture to add to the others.” He nodded toward the wall at the entrance of the department, where we hung printouts of anyone who had gone missing in the borough.
I ground my teeth together. “Every one of those makes me hate Boston a little bit more.”
He stood from his chair, stopping by mine, his hand landing on my shoulder. “Every city has monsters. Ours aren’t any eviler than anywhere else. I’ll see you later, Flynn.”