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Stacy went to her loft apartment in the Warehouse District of Cleveland and managed a quick shower and clothes change before heading to the Cleveland Police Department’s headquarters.
She changed from her sweat-logged SWAT uniform into a black pair of slacks with a green blouse and a buckskin-colored jacket that hung loosely below her hips. A pair of black heeled boots completed her outfit, and she had snapped her Cleveland Police Department Lieutenant shield onto the front of her belt while her standard Glock 22 was holstered on the other side. The long jacket would cover up the gun, per department regulations, and show respect inside headquarters and interactions with the public.
It was just past six a.m., and the typically thick bands of traffic had not clotted the downtown roads and highways yet.
Stacy pulled her Toyota Camry into the parking lot of the Cleveland Police Department headquarters. The square, street-front building, with rows of narrow slits of glass windows covering the building, made a strong impression on the block. From the parking lot, it looked as though the building was propped up in thin air with angular concrete sticks that rose from the sidewalk. Dark stucco covered the wall space between the main lobby entrance area and the first-floor offices and interview rooms.
Stacy walked to the front of the building, weaving her way around small pockets of people exiting the station. The foot traffic would grow steadily throughout the morning, and from ten a.m. until late into the night, the department’s building would be bustling with activity.
Stacy traversed the open lobby and smiled and waved to Marty, the desk sergeant. Marty prided himself in controlling the front lobby and did so by putting up with little nonsense from the public. Yet, he always took a moment, no matter how busy, to smile and wave to Stacy as she passed by.
By the time Stacy had stepped into the elevator and made her way to the Robbery/Homicide Special Operations Unit on the third floor, Austin came walking down the narrow corridor of office cubicles along the far-left wall carrying a cup of coffee. Before Stacy could turn the corner, Austin slipped into his cubicle area, ignoring her.
Stacy weaved her way into the space, making eye contact with the rich-colored, round pupils of her partner while he lifted the receiver on the black office phone and began punching buttons. Even though it was early, Austin had already removed his gray suit jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. He had loosened the red tie knot around his shirt collar, and his light blue shirt already looked rumpled.
Stacy sat down at her desk across from him. The cheap, tan-colored plastic partition that divided their desks from the rest of those in the Robbery/Homicide Detective Bureau wobbled as Stacy grazed it with her arm while sitting down.
Austin cradled the receiver against his shoulder and began scribbling notes on a legal pad.
“Look, I’m sorry.”
Austin kept writing, more feverishly this time. Stacy always thought his handwriting was terrible, and the speed at which he scribbled information was the likely cause.
“I’m sorry, Austin. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt and difficult back at that safe house.”
Austin tossed the phone receiver into the cradle, and it rattled before clicking into the well. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.
His dark skin always had a pinkish hue, and his wavy black hair was trim and glossy where it rested nicely on his head. He had a slight nose bump and a prominent chin, which he stroked with his long, tanned fingers.
“It was much more than abrupt and difficult,” he said, his baritone voice always smooth and precise. “You were a bitch!”
A slight smirk crossed her face. “I agree. Comment deserved.”
“And nearly reckless,” he added. “Had I not shown up, you might’ve killed Deerfield right there.”
Stacy scoffed. “I needed some leverage.”
Austin shook his head. “Leverage for Chance.” He sighed. “We all want to know what happened to Chance, and we will find out.” He leaned over the desk, nostrils flared. “Brandon Deerfield is our best chance. If he starts squalling that we used excessive force against him...”
Stacy looked away. “His head hit that wall pretty hard. I’m not too sure he knew what was happening to him.” Stacy rested her arms on her desk and leaned onto them. “Deerfield is a dirty cop, and he knows something. Chance saw or heard something, and that’s why he’s gone underground.” She paused and lifted a hand, waving a finger. “I suspect Deerfield learned Chance was my brother, and he said something to him. Threatened him. Hell, the truck that collided with the police cruiser could’ve been a hit on Chance set up by Deerfield, or someone settling a score with him.” Stacy caught herself and paused. Her face flushed red with embarrassment. She caught Austin glaring at her with pity. She sounded like a deranged conspiracy theorist.
“I don’t know, Austin. I really don’t. I haven’t heard from Chance in months, and I’m starting to wonder if I ever will again.”
Austin reached a hand forward and rested it on her arm. "We are going to find him. I promise." Stacy looked down at Austin's hand, touched by his tender gesture. "Still. Please be careful. And apology accepted."
Austin’s ability to put tough situations in the past and not hold a grudge was one of the traits Stacy loved about him the most.
Sergeant Austin Cerrera was a junior detective on the homicide team of the Investigative Unit of the Cleveland Police Department. He and Stacy had worked nearly one hundred homicide investigations together over the last eleven years. Stacy met Austin when she’d been reassigned to the Homicide Unit. Austin spent seven years working domestic violence cases for the department before being assigned to work homicides.
What made Austin a great cop was not just his compassion and a way of understanding people. Austin also had an indomitable presence that demanded respect under challenging situations, often without saying a word.
Stacy was hoping for a change of subject. That was when the figure of Diana Bannister filled the space between them.
“I just called the Cleveland Clinic and checked on Mike O’Neill. He’s got some pretty serious burns on his hands, face, arms, and a few broken ribs. He’s critical but stable, and they think he’s going to be okay.”
Captain Diana Bannister rested a hand against one of the partition poles’ round surfaces and slightly leaned on it. She was pert and trim, her brown hair cropped short, and lips pursed. Diana had copper eyes that always shone when she spoke. An alert demeanor, hardened by years of experience and an understanding of the repulsive nature present in people, always animated her face. The navy pantsuit and white blouse top she wore emphasized everything in detail.
Stacy sat up straighter in her chair. “Do we know what detonated out there?”
“The techs are out there now taking a look and collecting fragments from the explosive. It appears to be something big. Brandon Deerfield was prepared to blow that whole damn place up.”
Stacy and Austin exchanged glances. Diana took a step forward.
“I’m glad you are both okay.”
Stacy stood up. “Where’s Deerfield now?”
"We're booking him," the captain replied curtly. "I can't believe we're doing that to one of our own." She shook off the remark. "No surprise that he's asking for a lawyer."
Austin scoffed. “He knows how this works.”
“Speaking of work, I need your reports typed and filed ASAP. The media is already calling, wanting to know what happened out there last night, and the chief wants to be fully briefed so we’re not all caught with our pants around our ankles when the questions start.”
“On it, Cap,” Austin quipped.
“Also, I already called Gavin Knox in the prosecutor’s office and told him what was up. I expect he’ll be over here to talk to the both of you later.”
The captain regarded them both for a moment, then spun on a heel, and stalked off. Stacy took an uncomfortable swallow and coughed as she plopped down in her desk chair and began to wheeze. Austin bolted up from his chair and reached over to her.
Stacy held up a hand. “Give me a second,” she said through strangled breaths. She coughed violently again, trying to get the air in her lungs. The blood rushing to her head felt like a hammer slamming into her skull.
After a few more seconds, the sensation subsided, and Stacy was able to breathe normally again. During her breathing attack, she didn’t see Austin step outside of the cubicle and return with a glass of water. He held it out in front of her.
“Thanks.”
She took a sip as Austin glanced at her with a mixed expression of worry and pity. Stacy took in a few deep breaths and glanced over at the clock on her phone.
“I need to go,” she said, setting down the cup.
“Go home and rest for a bit. I’ll call you if anything changes or when Knox shows up.”
“I have an appointment,” Stacy blurted out. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
Austin arched an eyebrow. “Sounds mysterious. What type of appointment?”
Stacy walked around the desk and peered down at her partner. “It’s a female appointment. You wouldn’t understand.”
Austin grinned. “No, I wouldn’t, and I don’t care to.”
Stacy collected herself and marched down the corridor to the elevators. It was nearing eight a.m., and the day shift team of officers was checking in.
Officer Charlie Harris was pushing through the gathering swarm. His boyish good looks always stood out in a crowd, and his devotion and idealism were endearing.
“Lieutenant.” (This line needs to be moved up the line next to Lieutenant.)Charlie sucked in two deep breaths. “Don’t leave yet.”
“I need to, Charlie. I have an appointment in a little while.”
His face was ashen, and he slowly locked eyes with Stacy.
“There’s a hysterical woman downstairs that says she needs to speak to you right now. Marty tried to calm her down, and then he called me. She’s out of control and threatening to tear up the lobby if she doesn’t see you.”
Stacy knew people often used those ploys to get law enforcement’s attention, especially detectives who were working active investigations. When the family member or friend of a victim felt the police were not giving their situation enough attention, they came to headquarters and created a public stir to get the attention.
“What’s her name?”
“Monica DeVito. She said her son is missing and that the two of you are old friends and college classmates.”