Our squad is split in half – and early end, which begins at 7am, and a late end, which starts at 8am. Since I run the front desk, I am always early, but with three detectives on vacation and one on military leave, I was the only detective in the building for the first hour.
Naturally, we were busy.
A domestic assault arrest was waiting for me, and while I have to interview the victim – she was bloody and beaten by her asshole boyfriend – I also had to check the teletype printer, answer the phones, and tend to the front window. Plus, the cops who made the arrest had dozens of interrupting questions. By time I finished the interview, took photos of the victim’s injuries, and completed the arrest paperwork, it was nearly 9am. Two hours into my shift, and I hadn’t even begun my daily jobs.
A few hours later, I was sitting at my desk – surly, waiting for the end of my shift – a patrol sergeant calls. He tells me they have an arson at a playground, and they have stopped two pre-teen thugs. (We can’t catch shooters, but teen hijinks are a breeze.) The sergeant wants to know if we want to hold the crime scene. I begin to say, “Actually…” and he cuts me off. He then continues to describe said crime scene, and when he stops, I try again. “Actually…” Nope, the sergeant keeps flapping his gums.
When this idiot finally shuts his dick trap, I respond. “Actually sergeant, we do not handle arson cases.” Perplexed with these facts, he interrogates me, as if I would purposely lie to a supervisor. “Yes, the Fire Marshal handles every aspect of an arson case, which is not actually an arson until the Fire Marshal makes that determination.”
“But the kids lit the slide on fire…”
“I’m sure they did, but again, the Fire Marshal has full control of the scene and the investigation. Further, if he determines the case is an arson, he still must file his report before any arrests can be made. So he’ll make the arrests after filing a warrant.”
“Okay, thanks.” The sergeant hung up.
Annoyed beyond repair, I tell my sergeant about the conversation, and head to the bathroom to pee and maybe retch.
I come back a few minutes later and a patrol sergeant is talking to my sergeant, asking about the arson case. The sergeant tells him exactly what I did, and the patrol sergeant leaves. The motherf**ker apparently didn’t believe me, and wanted to come to the division to double-check. Because, you know, why would a nearly twenty-five year veteran with almost fourteen years as a detective know what he was talking about?
You know, I still like my job, but I despise my department.