How bad could a game be?
“Good,” he whispered.
She could see that he was shivering, too.
“Very, very good,” he whispered, and then she found out how terrible his game was.
0700 hours
The security guard at the Public Safety Building opened the doors at two minutes before eight o’clock. Officer Will Reiser hadn’t turned the sign for the police front desk to “open” yet and the Senior Volunteer that worked in the information booth was still in the bathroom. All in all, the place was completely unprepared for the man who marched in with a dozen followers.
“I want to see the Chief of Police!” he announced in a booming voice that could only belong to an orator of some kind. In this case, it was Bishop Reginald Hughes who owned the voice and frequently made great use of it decrying the inequities that faced the black community in River City. The source of these inequities, according to the Bishop, was often the doing of the police department.
Will Reiser recognized him and immediately regretted agreeing to work the front desk for Officer Mark Ridgeway that day. Ridgeway was still bitter over his divorce and wasn’t much good at talking to people delicately to begin with. A shift at the front desk was like the gulag for him. The previous time back in January had resulted in three demeanor complaints.
Still, at least Ridgeway probably earned those complaints. What Reiser saw coming at him was bound to be a complaint no matter what he did.
“Did you hear me, sir?” the Bishop said in a voice several decibels higher than necessary. “I wish to meet with the Chief of Police. If he can take the time to talk with a few colored people, that is.”
Reiser bristled at the comment. Say what you want about the Chief, he thought, but the one thing he isn’t is racist. He even goes to your meetings.
He looked at the Bishop. The black man was tall and dressed sharply in a modest suit. The dozen or so people behind, all black except for one white woman, appeared to have been riled up before his grand entrance. Reiser was surprised there weren’t film crews present.
The Bishop’s eyes shifted down to Reiser’s sign. “Are you open for business, officer? Or are you closed to the black man?”
Reiser said nothing, but changed the sign. Then he looked up at the Bishop.
“What can I help you with today, sir?”
“I told you that already,” the Bishop said. “I need to talk to the Chief of Police for the River City Police Department. I desire an audience with him posthaste.”
Reiser considered, then asked, “Regarding what?”
The Bishop looked both shocked and pleased at the same time. “That would be none of your business, officer, but since you went and asked, anyway, I will tell you.” He glanced around at his followers and the nearly empty lobby. A few lawyers and clients were drifting toward their early court appearances. The Bishop returned his gaze to Reiser. “I want to talk to him about how his officers are singling out the black people in this community for harassment and humiliation! That is what I want to talk with him about!”
There were several shouts of agreement from the group behind him.
Reiser asked, “Do you have an appointment?”
“An appointment? An appointment?” The Bishop looked at Reiser with wide eyes, then back at his constituency. “Does justice need an appointment? Does freedom need an appointment?”
The group yelled out in agreement and several of the cries were punctuated with anger. Behind them, a single news reporter burst through the front door with a cameraman scrambling after her. “Roll film, roll film,” she yelled at the cameraman. The security guard tried to contain him and force him to go through the metal detector but the reporter brushed him aside, already talking into her cell phone.
“This is Shawna Matheson,” she snapped into the receiver. “I need to go live, right now!”
The Bishop leaned in toward Reiser. “Or is it just the black man that needs an appointment to see the white Chief of Police?”
Reiser picked up the phone and dialed.
0709 hours
Kopriva sipped his coffee and picked up the next tip sheet. He read through it and sighed. He doubted it would be any good, but he picked up the phone anyway and dialed.
After three rings, a male voice answered. “Hello?”
“Good morning, sir. This is Officer Kopriva, River City PD. I’m calling you about the tip you called in last night.”
“Oh, yeah. Did they find that girl?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Oh. So, is there a reward?”
“For what?”
“A reward,” the man repeated. “Like, if my tip is what helps you guys find the girl, then is there a reward for that?”
Kopriva’s stomach burned. “Other than knowing you saved a little girl’s life and returned her to her parents, you mean?”
“Yeah, other than that,” the man answered, unfazed.
Kopriva shook his head in disgust. “I think they’re still trying to put something together,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Kopriva glanced down at the tip sheet. He was tempted just to hang up on the guy because he was fairly certain he was just a gold digger, but he decided to ask a couple of questions first. “It says on the tip sheet that you saw a little girl in the passenger seat of a blue van on I-90 at about noon yesterday.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you get the license plate?”
“No, I didn’t. I mean, I looked at it, but I didn’t write it down.”
“Do you remember any part of it?”
“No. But if you come across the van and tell me the plate, I know I’ll remember if that was it or not.”
I’ll bet you would, Kopriva thought. He looked at the tip sheet and saw that all the facts listed were generic or directly out of the press release. An idea struck him.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Huh?”
“Your name. What is it?”
There was an uncomfortable silence. “I…I thought that I could just use a code name…”
The code name on the tip sheet was “Reptile.” Kopriva found it appropriate.
“It doesn’t matter,” he told Reptile. “Here’s the thing. When we put out these press releases to the general public, you know that we always hold some stuff back, right?”
“Yeah,” Reptile said.
“Do you know why?”
“So that if, like a crazy dude comes in and says he did it, then if he don’t know that stuff, then you know he’s full of crap, right?”
“Exactly. Now, it sounds to me like you could be an important witness in this case, so I’m going to do something I’m not really supposed to do.”
“What?”
“If I do this, you can’t tell my boss, all right?”
“Sure, brother. I’m cool.”
Kopriva took a breath. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. What is it?” Reptile’s voice was eager.
“Well, we think that this guy that took the little girl had a partner. And we have a description of her. What I want to do-“
“Some babe helped him do it?”
“It looks that way,” Kopriva said. “Now, what I want to do is give you that description and ask you if you saw that woman. Okay?”
“Sure,” Reptile said.
Kopriva looked up at the ceiling. He already knew the guy was a liar and he knew what he was going to say when the description was complete. He should just hang up, but he decided to be sure.
“She was a blonde woman, about twenty-eight years old, with long hair and long nails. And…”
“What?”
“Well, I don’t know how else to say it. She had very large breasts.” Kopriva waited a beat, then asked, “Now, sir, I need to know something. Did you see that woman in any way in connection with that van you saw yesterday?”
There was no hesitation. “I sure did,” Reptile said. “She was the one driving the van.”
Kopriva hung up the phone.
0711 hours
In the lobby of the police department, Lieutenant Alan Hart held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Now, Bishop, there’s no need to speak to the Chief about this.”