For the first time, while driving to work, Josie wondered if she was cut out to be a police officer. It was only her fourth day in the field. It wasn’t the fear of being shot or having to kill someone that had her rethinking her career choice. Her trepidation was the result of her total exhaustion.
No wonder most cops had some kind of caffeinated drink in their hand when they weren’t dealing with suspects.
The night before, she’d had a nightmare that had plagued her since she was a kid. She was riding alone in a car on a windy, mountain road. The car went off the cliff and fell down into a lake. She was trapped inside the vehicle and couldn’t get out. She kicked and pounded on the windows to no avail. At that point in her dream, she usually woke up crying.
She’d gone to a therapist to try to rid herself of the frightening illusion, but it hadn’t worked. However, he did recommend a small device that could easily smash a window. Now, the dream was less frequent, but usually appeared when she was under a lot of stress.
She walked into the locker room and Sergeant Fox and Lolo were there, changing into their uniforms.
Nicky Shaffer was in her uniform and shining the toes of her boots with a nylon stocking.
All three had giant travel coffee tumblers on the bench next to them.
It was apparent that she had interrupted a conversation as the person talking stopped as soon as she opened the door.
“Whoa, Price,” the sergeant said. “You look like hell. Did you have trouble sleeping?”
“It would be understandable,” Lolo agreed, with pursed lips of sympathy while nodding. Then she produced a dramatic sigh. “Poor Dolby.”
Both women moved over to the mirror where they checked their makeup.
Josie couldn’t tell them that she’d gone home, took a shower, and fell into her bed and didn’t wake until her second alarm went off. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about Sinclair’s murder. But the stress of her first week on the job, and the grim events, were overwhelming, and sapped her strength—physically and mentally.
“Such a terrible thing, and it weighs on my mind,” she said, her voice soft.
Fox spoke again. “You know, some people just aren’t cut out to do this work. They see it on TV, and Hollywood makes being a cop appear fun and exciting. It’s a whole different ball game when you’re out on the street and one of your own gets killed.”
Josie made a mental note that if she ever became a sergeant, she wouldn’t be so discouraging to someone so new in their career.
“I didn’t come to the department for excitement. It was to honor my big brother. He told me to make a difference in the world. I became an officer to serve those who needed help.”
The two women at the mirror laughed.
“That’s what everyone says when they’re being interviewed to get hired,” Lolo said. “A few even believe it.”
Nicky Shaffer, done with her boots, slammed her locker shut. “I meant it during my interview when I said I wanted to help people.” She looked at Josie. “Good for you. You’ll find that the best cops are the ones who want to be officers—not folks who couldn’t make it in real estate, or graphic design, or some other career.” She turned toward the door. “See you ladies in roll call.”
Josie opened her locker and, while changing clothes, internally cheered that Nicky had been supportive of her feelings.
“Shaffer is a little touchy this morning,” Amanda said.
“Probably had a fight with her partner at home,” Lolo mumbled.
Uncomfortable with the feeling of awkwardness that filled the room, Josie grasped at something to change the atmosphere. “Is there any more information about the vehicle that hit Officer Sinclair?”
Both women shrugged. “Nothing I’ve heard.”
“I haven’t seen an update,” Amanda said. “If there is anything new, I’m sure the lieutenant will have it in roll call.” She looked at Josie. “And you’d better hurry or you’ll be late.”
They shuffled out of the locker room.
Josie took her seat in the roll call room at 6:28—two minutes early.
Minutes later, Lieutenant Mancuso sat at the desk on a raised platform facing the day watch officers. “We’ll keep this short. Here are your assignments.” He read off the day’s lineup. There were rarely any surprises unless someone called in sick.
“Last night, a red Toyota MR2, similar to the vehicle that struck Sinclair, was reported stolen in Glendale. The owner had parked the car at a friend’s house in the morning. The vehicle was taken between 1100 and 1930 hours.”
Josie’s partner, Bender, scoffed. “The Mall Mob hit Dolby about 1240. That’s a short window of opportunity to steal the Toyota and then get to Porter Ranch.”
Mancuso nodded. “True. But the suspects wouldn’t want to be in the hot ride too long. We don’t even know if it is the suspect vehicle.”
“Yes, we do,” said the watch commander from morning watch as he entered the room. “One of the air ships spotted a red car on a fire break road in Lopez Canyon. Foothill officers went up to check it out, and it is the vehicle stolen in Glendale, and it has damage consistent with the video from the mall.”