True Detective Stories

Before we begin, I want you to know this is not a pity post. At all. I am posting this story because I wanted to give you a glimpse inside the minds of many – not all – of the people with whom I work.

We were moderately busy yesterday. Twenty jobs in all, including a carjacking and a few domestic assaults. We had three detectives in court – including Diego – and seven detectives on the floor. I was catching up on the previous day’s assignments and doling them out to the squad.

At one point an irate caller kept me on the phone for nearly half an hour claiming that his mother’s death – allegedly of Covid – was a homicide. When I told him that was more of “get a lawyer” than “Call Homicide” – since she died in August – he told me I’m a terrible detective and I hate black people.

It was my last day, so you can see what kind of tour it was from my perspective…

…

When the gentleman slammed the phone on me – after demanding my name and badge – one of the city’s delivery drivers arrived. Since I work the front desk, I have to sign for everything, including supplies. The driver said there were a few boxes downstairs – two flights down – and the supplies need to be brought up to the division. Usually, I’ll mention the supplies are in, and a group of detectives volunteer to help out.

I didn’t ask this time, because when the supplies arrived, many of the detectives were working cases. So, what the hell, I’ll do it. I figured they would eventually see me bringing up the load – there were about fifteen items, most of it printer paper, which is heavy as all get out.

I grabbed the smaller boxes first, and stacked a few up before climbing the two flights. I placed them in the hallway so the captain’s staff can find places for them. Now, you can see the hallway from the division floor, and I know at least a few coworkers saw me dragging these items up… and sadly, seeing me bend over when I was out of breath.

Nothing.

So, I continued. In about fifteen to twenty minutes, I got every box and every bag up the two flights. It took my seven trips, and not one coworker looked at my direction, or asked, “Hey, you need a hand?”

Nothing.

When I was finished, I returned to my desk. Two detectives walked past the desk, and asked, “Why are you sweating?” I thought of saying something I would later regret, so I simply said, “I jogged up the steps a few times.”

You know, I am going to miss a lot of people when I retire. On the other hand, there will also be a lot of people I will never think of again.