I pushed open the double doors to the Greenwich Police Department but hesitated before crossing the threshold.
Once I did so, I knew that there was no going back.
For me or for Ollie.
“Everything okay?” Ollie asked in my ear.
I turned my head slightly to see that he was standing right behind me.
“No problem,” I said, trying to act cool.
You’re not turning yourself in, so stop acting so guilty, I berated myself.
“Okay, so, you know what your job is, right?” I asked him under my breath for about the fifth time since we’d left my house.
“Yes,” Ollie said, sounding bored by the question. “Do you?”
I snorted at him before walking up to the front desk and waiting for someone to notice us.
“Next.” A good-looking man with skin the color of cocoa motioned for us to step forward. “And how can I help you two?”
“We’re here to see Detective Lorde,” I said.
He turned back to the computer and typed on the keys.
“And what is this in reference to?” he asked.
“Um, it’s in reference to me being his niece?” I said, not sure what else he was looking for.
His eyes left the computer and really looked at me now. He took in the shockingly white hair and raised an eyebrow.
“I know,” I said, almost apologetically. “We’re practically twins, right?”
He didn’t laugh, but he did pick up the phone and punch in a few numbers.
“What’s your name?” he asked as he waited for the call to connect.
“Frankie,” I said. “He’ll know who I am.”
When the man still didn’t laugh at my obvious wit, I turned to Ollie and rolled my eyes.
“Hey,” the officer said into the phone, finally, still eyeing us suspiciously. “Yeah, so I’ve got a kid named Frankie here for you. She says she’s your niece?”
There was a brief pause.
“Uh-huh,” he said before hanging up the phone.
“Wait over there and Detective Lorde will be out in a minute,” the officer said, pointing over to an empty bench near the door. Then he turned his attention away from us. “Next!”
We’d barely sat down when Uncle Scotty appeared through a side door, a worried look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked coming up to us.
I blinked.
“Nothing,” I said, standing up. “Ollie just kept asking to see the inside of a real, live police station. We had nothing else to do. So here we are.”
“Oh,” Uncle Scotty said and let out the breath he’d been holding. “Okay. Don’t freak me out like that.”
“What? You only want me to visit when there’s a crisis?” I asked him with a smirk.
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he eyed my hair.
“It’s just a haircut, people!” I exclaimed. Everyone in the waiting area turned their attention to us. “Geez, don’t get it twisted.”
Uncle Scotty noticed the staring, and waved for Ollie and I to follow him through the door he’d just appeared from.
“You guys can come in, but you have to be invisible, okay?” he said.
“Kinda hard to do when you’re her or me,” Ollie said pointing to both of us.
“Try,” Uncle Scotty just said.
We might’ve raised a few eyebrows outside, but nobody inside the station even looked twice as we were led through the bullpen—the big, open room full of desks and officers. The officers there had seen it all.
Uncle Scotty eventually stopped at a desk and sat down, gesturing for us to do the same at the one across from his. I surveyed Uncle Scotty’s workspace. It was tidy—all the odds and ends had a designated space and his papers were lined up perfectly in his inbox. There were a few action figures in the corner: Wolverine, Cyclops, Rogue, Mystique, and Gambit. Either he was an X-Men fan, or he simply liked to play with toys. My bet was on the former.
My gaze fell on a frame he had on his desktop. It was plain black wood that appeared distressed, though I doubted it was homemade. And it was dusty. It had been there awhile. I was surprised to see the picture that was in it, and leaned forward to take a closer look.
It was of me and Uncle Scotty, sitting together in the back of his truck. I was younger than I am now. By several years. My hair was long. All the way down my back, and the same bright white it was currently. I didn’t have bangs. I was wearing a crooked smile on my face and was leaning against my uncle sheepishly.
I could remember the day clearly.
It was the last time we’d visited Uncle Scotty. Before the whole FBI hunt and everything.
Dad had taken the photo.
It had been a great day.
Uncle Scotty saw me staring at it and cleared his throat.
“We should take another one,” he suggested. “Now that you’ve got your new haircut and all.”
I let out a little smile at the gentle teasing. With adults, you had to dole out the victories sporadically so they didn’t get big heads about things. But Uncle Scotty had been oddly cool about not prying about my visit with Dad. He hadn’t even freaked out when I’d chopped all my hair off.
At least, he hadn’t freaked out on me.
“Speaking of,” Ollie chimed in, and caught my uncle’s eye as subtly as he could muster. This was the hardest part for Ollie, because subtlety was not his strong suit. He leaned over toward Uncle Scotty conspiratorially. “I might have the info you’ve been looking for.”
Then he darted his eyes toward me wildly.
Oh, Ollie.
“Okay,” Uncle Scotty said, not totally sure what was going on.
“Detective?” Ollie then asked loudly. I was pretty sure the whole room could hear him. “Take me to my holding cell.”
“Just call me Scotty, Oliver,” he reminded him with a sigh.
“Only if you call me Ollie,” my friend responded seriously. “My mom’s the only one who calls me Oliver and that’s mostly when I’m in trouble. Now about those jail cells…”
“Uh, sure,” Uncle Scotty said. Then he looked over at me. “You wanna see the cells, too, Frankie?”
“Huh?” I said, acting like I was only just tuning in.
“Your uncle’s gonna lock me up,” Ollie said enthusiastically. “Wanna come?”
“Not even a little bit,” I said dismissively.
“Hey, Uncle Scotty, can I check my email on this computer?” I asked as he started to stand up from his chair. He paused and looked at me curiously. I held up my phone in response. “I don’t have any service in here.”
Uncle Scotty nodded at the computer behind me.
“That’s the intern desk,” he said. “You can use that.”
“Thanks,” I said in response, turning my back to them and starting to type on the keyboard. “You two have fun!”
“Oh, we will,” Ollie said, jumping up giddily.
I waited until I heard them walk away to close out of Google and get to work.
The Greenwich Police Department logo flashed up on the screen as soon as I moved the mouse. Right underneath it were two boxes.
USERNAME:
PASSWORD:
This probably would’ve stopped the average person from going any further, but thankfully I knew a thing or two about breaking into places I wasn’t authorized to be.
And an internal police department database was no different.
Most people kept their usernames and passwords in readily accessible places. For computers, this meant a note of some sort kept near the screen or something scribbled down on a stray paper that was kept in a nearby drawer. Occasionally it would be hidden on the underside of the desk, so that it’s out of sight, but still easily available.
The sign-in info was almost embarrassingly easy to find. And if I was positive I wouldn’t need to break into their system again in the future, I would’ve given Uncle Scotty a heads-up that they needed to be more careful.
My eyes landed on the bright yellow sticky note tacked up on a cork board just to the right of the computer.
USERNAME: Intern7
PASSWORD: 5tb18h!g79
Thank you, Intern7.
I logged in and started my search.
I’d told Ollie to stall as long as he could, but I knew I only had a short amount of time before they came back.
I typed in Christian Miles’s name and clicked on his file. Everything about his arrest was in there. The hidden treasure room. The security tapes of his confessions. The transcriptions of his interviews with the feds. The list of items confiscated from his house.
I scanned the list and found what I’d been looking for.
1 white Bengal tiger, approximately four and a half years of age, 515 pounds. Name is Opulence. In good health, well taken care of. Found living on property. Being sent to animal rescue nearby. More Art37.
I clicked on the link at the end, hoping it would lead to something more.
It did.
I looked up from the screen even though it was turned away from the room and only I could see what was on it.
I clicked on the transcription marked as Article 37.
And then began to smile triumphantly.
Agent Tripe: A white Bengal tiger was found on your property. Were you aware of the existence of this animal?
Christian Miles: I was.
Agent Tripe: And were you aware that it is illegal to own a dangerous cat in Greenwich?
Christian Miles: Opulence isn’t dangerous.
Agent Tripe: Are you aware that it is illegal to own a tiger in Greenwich without a special license?
Christian Miles: Oh, really?
Agent Tripe: Yes.
Christian Miles: Interesting.
Agent Tripe: You might have gleaned this by the level of difficulty it would have taken to obtain him.
Christian Miles: Her. Opulence is a female. And I don’t often trouble myself with trivial information such as where I get my pets.
Agent Tripe: So, you are unaware of who supplied you with the animal?
Christian Miles: Why does it matter?
Agent Tripe: Because catching a criminal embedded in the illegal animal trade business might be of some interest to us.
Christian Miles: How interesting?
Agent Tripe: If you were to give up your dealer, we might be able to work something out. A few luxuries in your cell maybe?
Christian Miles: I’d need it in writing.
Agent Tripe: Of course.
**Paperwork is presented with offer to Christian Miles in exchange for information.**
Agent Tripe: Who provided you with the tiger?
Christian Miles: I believe his name is Sam Brasko.
Agent Tripe: The socialite?
Christian Miles: I don’t pay attention to what people do in their spare time.
Agent Tripe: Did Sam Brasko say where he procured the tiger?
Christian Miles: No.
Agent Tripe: Are you sure?
Christian Miles: Quite. Why should I care where he got her? I pay other people to worry about that stuff. Listen, I’m not going to do all your work for you. If you want to know about the man, do your own homework.
Agent Tripe: Interview suspended at 3:17 p.m.
“Frankie, you have to see this picture!” Ollie practically squealed as he and my uncle walked across the room. “I was like Al Capone all locked up. My mom’s gonna freak when she sees it!”
I glanced briefly at the screen in front of me and then up at them. They’d be by my side in five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
“Still checking email?” Uncle Scotty asked as he turned the corner to peek at my computer screen.
Panic filled Ollie’s eyes.
“Wait!” he exclaimed quickly, trying to distract Uncle Scotty from seeing what I was doing. “Handcuff me! You didn’t handcuff me before. I have to have a picture of that! Let’s go back—”
But Uncle Scotty was already surveying what I’d been doing and he immediately began to frown.
“Solitaire?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’m winning.”
“How did that get on there?” he muttered.
“It’s a computer, I think it comes with it?” I offered. “Either that or it’s been a slow year for whoever sits here.”
“That’s weird, we haven’t had an intern for months,” Uncle Scotty said passively. “I mostly use it as a place to seat people when I bring them in.”
I clicked the game closed and the GPD landing page popped up again. Then I stood up from the chair and shoved my hands into my coat pockets.
“Well, we’ll let you get back to kicking butt and taking names,” I said.
“What are you two up to the rest of the afternoon?” Uncle Scotty asked curiously as we began to walk away.
“Heading to the library,” I answered.
“Work or fun?” he asked, though I could tell his mind was already back on work.
I fingered the piece of paper that I’d slipped into my pocket with a single name on it: Sam Brasko.
“A little bit of both,” I said over my shoulder as we headed out the door.