THE ROOKIE
Officer Ted Grundy grumbled
as he adjusted the seat and mirrors, eased the clutch and threw the stick
shift into gear. As the 14th Precinct's newest rookie, he was always given
the gofer jobs, like this one-- take the
hit-and-run car from the roadside
spot where it had been abandoned and drive it to impound.
After Grundy parked in the lot and filled out the vehicle
paperwork, he wandered upstairs to the bullpen of desks and offices. "Hey,
Grundy," shouted the familiar, gruff voice of Captain Miller. "Come
over to line-up. They found a
witness to the hit-and-run and we need an
extra body."
"Yes, sir," Officer Grundy sighed and made his way to the
line-up. Three suspects were waiting by the door to the long, well-lit room
with the one-way mirror and the height bars marked on the wall. "What's the
story?" he whispered to Sergeant Preston.
Preston glanced up from his clipboard and for a second seemed
to be wondering if the rookie deserved to share in the case at all. "Okay,"
he finally said. "Listen up. The bicyclist is in the morgue, so he can't
identify the jerk who ran him over. But the car you drove in must be the
right vehicle. Paint scrapes on the right front
fender match the paint on
the bike's frame.
"Anyway, as you know, the perp abandoned it on Grove Street
and ran." "It shouldn't be hard to find him," ventured Grundy. "Easton
Plumbing is printed right on the doors, as big as life."
"Good work, Sherlock," growled Preston. "Did you also know
that Easton Plumbing is just three blocks from Grove Street? And did you
know that the owner and his two employees were at the shop when we arrived?
All three claim that they were on the premises for the past hour, and they
all support each other's alibi. Dusting the car for prints won't do any
good, since all three men have used the car in the past."
Grundy
shrugged. "Well, maybe it's true. Maybe someone stole the car from their lot
and went for a joy ride. It's possible."
"Yeah," laughed Preston. "And maybe they're just protecting
the guilty party and trying to keep Easton Plumbing out of some nasty legal
problems. That's also possible."
"Right," Grundy said with a blush. "So, what's the deal with
the line-up?"
"We got a witness," answered Preston. "A woman carrying
groceries on Grove Street saw a man jump out of the car and run up the
alley. She didn't get a good look, but it's worth a shot. You're the right
size, Rookie. Put these on and join the line-up."
Grundy
did as he was told, then joined the three suspects in the hallway just
outside the line-up room.
The woman had described the driver as wearing tan overalls.
Since all three Easton workers had been found in identical tan overalls,
this wasn't much help. When Preston brought the suspects to the precinct
house, he had the foresight to ask them to bring an extra pair. It was one
of these that Grundy had changed into. He was the same height and build as
the youngest suspect and the overalls fit perfectly.
"Okay," Preston's voice said over the intercom. "We're all
set in the witness room. Send the suspects into the box."
A uniformed officer opened a door and motioned for Grundy and
the other three to walk to their marks and face the mirror. "And no
talking," he added for the third time.
Grundy
did his best not to look like a cop, slouching like the others and looking
just as uncomfortable. As they were ordered to turn right, Grundy got his
first good look at the three.
The guy in position one was older than the others and short
like a fireplug. His right arm was in a plaster cast from his shoulder to
his fingers, the result of a car accident three weeks ago. He'd been written
up for reckless endangerment; that's what the uniformed officer had said.
Grundy pegged him as Easton Plumbing's owner.
The guy in position two was about five inches taller,
Grundy's own height. He was the youngest of the bunch, blond and
innocent-looking, if you ignored the angry tattoo that started on his neck
and seemed to go all the way to his right wrist. Grundy looked closely and
could make out at least one skull and two daggers.
The
guy right next to Grundy was the tallest, maybe six foot five. As far as age
went, he was in the middle, in his mid-thirties, with a dark
crewcut. Grundy
noticed a bruise on the man's upper collarbone, a black and blue mark. Or
could it be a hickey?
The
four men turned every direction and each stepped forward and back several
times.
"That's it," came a voice on the intercom. "Please walk off
to your right."
"Well?" Officer Grundy asked his sergeant a few minutes
later.
"She picked you," Preston said with a scowl. "Obviously, she
couldn't remember anything about the guy except the uniform. We pressed her
about height and size and age and she couldn't give us anything."
"What else do you know about these guys?" asked the rookie,
trying to sound like an old pro.
"Well, the short guy's the owner, Phil Easton. He had a
DUI
conviction eight years ago, plus various speeding tickets and a recent one
for reckless endangerment. I'd hate to see his insurance premiums. He says
he was in his private office all afternoon.
"The young guy with the tattoos is Phil's son, Eddy. He rides
a Harley but uses the company car when he makes a house call or picks up
supplies. Eddy is still listed as an apprentice, but I think they're pretty
loose about letting him work alone on jobs. He says he was in the back room
today doing inventory.
"The tall guy is Brent Black, a master plumber. He's a great
worker but a bit of a ladies' man. That's what the neighbors say. Brent says
he had a late night last night and was taking a nap in his van, the Lovemobile, as he calls it. Charming, huh?"
"Yeah," Grundy
said, then turned and walked away. He was trying to hide his excitement. It
had just occurred to him that two of the suspects were automatically
eliminated. "This is my chance to prove myself," he thought and almost ran
back up to Captain Miller's office.
