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VICKY MCDERMOTT TAPPED on Gordon’s door jamb seconds later. “Chief? You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Come in. Should only take a minute.”
McDermott took a seat. “Is it about Mrs. Volmer? Did the autopsy show anything?”
“Too soon. Ed’s still there. I wanted to discuss Rafe Perez’s occasional ventures into a—let’s call it creative—approach to his calls and reports.”
Her back stiffened. “Is there a problem?”
“No, not at all. In fact, from my standpoint, they’re a refreshing change. However, given what’s going on with Mrs. Volmer, worst-case scenario, her case might end up in a courtroom.”
“Ah, and since they’d subpoena every last shred of everything connected to the case, Rafe’s reports would be part of the package.”
“I looked over the report he filed on the call to the lodge yesterday, and it looks fine. I had a feeling your hand was in there somewhere.”
McDermott’s lips tightened. “I checked it, as per protocol for a trainee. I might have made a couple of suggestions.”
“Also per protocol.” Tempted as Gordon was to call Rafe into his office and speak to the rookie himself, Gordon knew McDermott, as Rafe’s training officer, should handle things. Going over her head wouldn’t go over well. She knew her job.
He folded his hands, rested them on his desk. “I suggest you review things with Rafe, stressing the importance of considering where the reports he writes can end up. Most of our cases in Mapleton are minor misdemeanors and never leave the department, but any time there’s a chance a report could go public, we need to make doubly sure it’s handled in a dignified and professional manner. Remind him that under no circumstances do opinions belong in reports.”
“Understood. I’ll talk to him. Anything else?”
“Not unless you think I need to know more about how Rafe’s doing.”
“No, sir. I think being on scene with the Volmer case rubbed off a little of his green shine.”
“Speaking of the Volmer case. Asel expressed concern that Rafe’s reaction to a relatively clean death scene might pose future problems. He didn’t go into detail. What’s your take?”
Vicky took a moment before she spoke. “Death affects everyone differently, Sir, as I’m sure you know. Dead bodies look ... dead, and that likely triggered Rafe’s reaction. According to Asel, he didn’t pass out or puke. Just needed to sit down. It takes a while to get used to dealing with bodies—and I’m not sure you ever get used to it. You cope.”
“Agreed, and thank you.” Gordon toyed with his pen. “Another thing. Connie mentioned a call out Rafe handled this morning, thought it might be ... interesting. If you feel it needs editing, fine, but I’d like to see his original wording, too.”
“I didn’t look at this one first. His reports have been improving, so I thought I’d let him run solo.”
“Glad to know he’s turning into a good officer,” Gordon said.
“Yes, sir. He’s coming along. I don’t want to break his spirit.”
“One more thing,” Gordon said before McDermott reached the door. “What’s your take on body cameras?”
Her eyes widened. “Do you think we need them, sir? As I understand things, they’re primarily used to prove officers are behaving according to the rules. Do you think we’re taking liberties with what’s expected of us?”
“No, I don’t.” Gordon paused, seeking a way to phrase things that wouldn’t bring up the mayor’s request. No point in word getting around that the mayor wanted to implement them. Rumors got out of hand far too easily. “I was asked to draft a report for body cam use in small-town forces, and I wanted to get input from my officers. I appreciate your views.”
“Do you want me to ask around the department?”
Gordon shook his head. “No. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t bring it up.” He smiled. “If I need more input, I know where to ask.”
McDermott returned his smile. “If you’re looking for civilian opinions, might I suggest Finnegan’s?”
“Definitely.”
McDermott left, and Gordon paused before looking at the last article in the mayor’s folder. Was he finally accepting that being chief didn’t mean doing everything himself? Angie had pushed him into realizing there was a hierarchy in place at work, much like the one at Daily Bread, and although Gordon sat at the police department’s head, delegating tasks to others showed he trusted them. He thought of Mayor McKenna’s tendency to micromanage, and definitely didn’t want to get sucked down that path.
Gordon closed the folder and listened to Angie’s voicemail again. Feeling centered, he stuck the paperwork into his inbox to deal with on Monday. He buzzed Laurie. “Anything pressing?”
“No, Chief. I hate to say it for fear of jinxing it, but it’s been quiet all day.”
“Then, you can leave. Take your time getting Channing settled in. Enjoy your weekend.”
“Are you sure?”
“Better get going before I change my mind. See you Monday.”
“Thanks.”
Gordon ran through a mental checklist. Other than awaiting Solomon’s report on Mrs. Volmer’s autopsy, he’d finished his Chief Stuff for the day.
Shift change and roll call would be getting underway in the briefing room. His presence would be a disruption, everyone worrying about why the chief was listening in. No, he had good people working under him. Let them do their jobs.
He couldn’t justify packing up and leaving yet, so he logged into the system to look at the morning shift’s reports, curious to see if Rafe had filed his, and what Connie had hinted at.
Rafe’s report was there, and Gordon clicked it open. He skimmed the requisite entries covering date, time, weather, and went to the body of the form.
Responded to a call to 583 Hidden Pines Road. Citizen, Vera Fritz, reported a crook was driving down the street stealing mail from curbside mailboxes. I didn’t see any vehicles on the street. Questioned Ms. Fritz, an old lady, living alone. I refused her offer of coffee and cookies, but most reluctantly.
Fritz described the vehicle as a white van with red-and-blue markings. I drove to the next block and found the so-called crook’s vehicle was an official USPS van. The driver, Bob Yancy, confessed he was taking letters from boxes with raised flags, claiming they were outgoing mail. He also confessed that he stopped at any house whether the flag was up or not, if he had mail to deliver.
I confirmed he was indeed an employee of the USPS and released him to continue his route. He told me Old Lady Fritz had left three letters in her box, and she frequently neglected to wear her glasses.
I then returned to Ms. Fritz—whose eyewear was on top of her head—and told her I had a stern talk with the suspect, and thanked her for her diligence. I suggested she wear her glasses the next time in order to provide a better description of anyone tampering with the mail.
I think Ms. Fritz is lonely. I suggested she hit the Senior Center where she could spread her suspicions with other people like herself.
Gordon grimaced. He printed the report and called McDermott back to his office.
She arrived, and Gordon motioned her inside and showed her Rafe’s report.
Vicky perused the printout. A flush colored her cheeks. “Ouch. I’ll have him revise this, and resubmit it, Chief. I am so sorry. His recent reports have only needed minor tweaking. I’ll talk to him right away.” She tromped out of the office.