Unknown Victim, Kay Hadashi [inspirational books for students txt] 📗

was fine. It was the oldest trick in the book, to pretend to look innocent when a cop was right next to you. It never worked.

Even though Gina had graduated from the police academy, and was currently training with her Field Training Officer on the street, half of everything she’d learned about police work had come from the real law and order mentor in her life, her Cleveland Police Detective father. How to guess what someone might be thinking from the expression on their face, what sort of weapon might be hidden in their clothes, reading body language, basic interrogation techniques, and behaviors while driving were all drummed into her and her sister while growing up. In her thinking, she’d already had twenty years of field training, just not in uniform.

“If we follow this guy much farther, we’ll have to turn him over to Akron PD,” she said, growing tired of their simple pursuit.

“This thing never has worked.” Butch poked his finger on the screen of the on-board computer several times. “Dispatch will get back to us before this thing ever comes to life.”

Gina tapped the brakes when she was cut off by the other driver making a sudden lane change without using a turn signal.

“Okay, that’s a real, live traffic violation,” she said.

“Let’s light him up.” Butch leaned forward and flipped on the lights. Hitting a siren switch, he gave a couple of short whooping blasts. “Offer Christmas Eve greetings from the mayor of our fine town.”

One thing that Gina had come to enjoy during her first month of patrolling the streets, it was using the loud speaker to tell a driver to pull over. Grabbing the mike, she hit the switch and prepared to use her commanding tone of voice.

Beating her to it was their radio coming to life with a new call from dispatch. It wasn’t about the plates on the Lexus, but announcing another emergency.

“Unit Eight-Seven, Unit Eight-Seven. Be advised. Prowler reported at Saint Benedictine Church, Fairview and Murray Hill Road,” the nasally female voice said.

Gina grabbed the dashboard mike to respond. “Ten-four the prowler. Unit Eight-Seven, out.” When Butch turned off the lights, she asked him, “Now what should we do?”

“What’s priority? Prowler at a church or a dude that can’t drive in a straight line?”

“Focus on the more serious crime. That said, the stoned dude might cause an accident, but the prowler might be a late-night jogger.”

“Take your pick,” he said.

“Unit Eight-Seven, Unit Eight-Seven. Please respond. Break in at Saint Benedictine Church, rear door. Meet the priest in the parking lot. Break in at Saint Benedictine, Fairview and Murray Hill. Please respond. Code Two.”

“Forget this guy. Let Akron PD deal with him,” Gina said. She made a sudden U-turn with the squad car. Once she had the squad car straightened out and had her foot pressing on the gas pedal, she turned on her collar mike to respond to the emergency call. “Unit Eight-Seven enroute, Code Two. ETA, five minutes.”

While she made the call, Butch had turned on the emergency lights. “Cross traffic coming, hit the horn.”

Gina blared the horn as the sped through intersections. She knew these streets like the back of her hand, having lived her entire life in Cleveland’s Little Italy. As far as her mother was concerned, all routes led to St. Benedictine Catholic Church, Sundays or otherwise. With some clever maneuvering, Gina got to her family church in record time. Instead of going straight to the back parking lot where the priest was waiting for them, they took a slow lap around the block looking for anyone dressed in dark clothes and might be carrying something stolen. While they watched, their flashing emergency lights reflected off surrounding houses and buildings. The wet street in front of them glowed like a light show.

“See anything?” she asked, shining a spotlight between houses as they turned back to the church.

“Nothing,” Butch said. “Not even lights on in windows. These guys go to bed early around here.”

“Careful what you say about my old stomping grounds.” She pulled the squad car into the church parking lot, leaving the lights on. “See Father Romano?”

“Not him, but I see a door hanging open. Call it in. I’ll take a look.”

Butch left Gina in the car to call in the open door at the side of the church and request backup to their location. Once she finished the call, she got her flashlight and unclasped her holster.

When she got out of the squad car, the bitter cold of the winter night air hit her face and heavy steam came with each exhale. She knew from life experience that a frigid front was coming from the lake, bringing its famous ‘lake effect’ snow with it. For the next few days, crime committed in public would be at a yearly low, but responding to calls would be difficult on icy streets. As much as she had enjoyed snowy days as a kid, she hated going on patrol in hard driving conditions.

In her left hand, Gina held the flashlight over her shoulder aiming it forward, and kept her right hand on her sidearm. Shining the strong beam of light in front of her, she approached the rear door from an angle, remaining in shadows and near cover. It was becoming a habit, to control her breathing in tense situations, but what she couldn’t control was her escalating heart rate. She also couldn’t control the actions of her partner, who had disappeared.

“Sergeant!”

She got no response. The cloud of vapor that had come from her lungs hung in the air. A few snowflakes began to flutter in the ambient light from the squad car’s headlights. Her hands were already getting cold, her fingers stiff, and she wished she’d taken a moment to put on gloves. As it was, there was still a smear of blood on one left over from the earlier bar fight. Fleeting thoughts of getting extra gloves and a knit beanie went through her mind as she approached the