Night Shift

I

Jim poured the dregs from the coffee pot into his mug. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, dialling his sense of taste down as far as he could. Then he drained the mug. He looked up at the clock.

It was 3:47 am and Jim had been awake for nearly forty hours. The first sleepless night had been worth it. He closed the case, made the arrest. But then he got drafted into a night shift and he wasn't convinced he would make it to shift-change.

He sank into the chair behind his desk and rubbed his tired eyes.

"Hey, Ellison!" a woman's voice called.

Wearily, he looked up. She was hanging onto the bullpen door frame, leaning in to the room but not quite entering, like a child who knew she wasn't allowed in. But this wasn't a kid: she wore a CPD patrol uniform.

"Yeah, Officer...?" Jim blinked a few times and her face came into focus. He knew her face, but her name escaped him for the moment.

"Granger, sir. We just pulled someone in on a DUI. Routine, but she's asking for you. A Jessica Blake."

Jim frowned, struggling to remember. Then it came to him. He stood. "DUI? Is she high or drunk?" Jim knew the answer, or hoped he did, but he had to ask.

"Drug test isn't back yet. But her alcohol was point two three."

Damn it, Jessica. Jim headed toward her. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Only a streetlight and her car."

That was something, at least. "Jessica Blake is an old case of mine. One we never cracked. She's been through a lot."

Officer Granger looked uncomfortable. "Sir, are you asking me to...?"

"No. If she's been driving drunk, you book her. No special treatment. But let me talk to her. I promised her when we shelved the case that she could always come to me."

Granger nodded. "I'll pull her out of lockup."

A few minutes later Jim sat in an interview room across from the wreck of a woman he had failed five years earlier. Jessica Blake was nineteen years old, a student at Rainier University, when she went missing. Three months later she was found by a group of hikers in the woods, half-starved and hypothermic. That was when the case was upgraded from a missing person to abduction and Jim was handed the case.

Jessica claimed she had been abducted by two men and held prisoner. She was tortured and raped. Then she escaped and fled into the woods. She got lost and had been saved by those hikers. Medical evidence supported her story but didn't prove it. There was no DNA. She had bruises and lacerations consistent with restraints but they could have been caused by her ordeal in the woods. She had needle tracks on her arms but never said her captors drugged her.

There were inconsistencies but Jim believed her story. He had interviewed her and no one could fake that kind of trauma. Jim worked hard on her case. With Sandburg's help, he retraced her route through the woods – something no other detective could have done. But he never found where she was held. No one witnessed the abduction and, most damningly, no other missing persons cases could be linked to hers. If a pair of psychopaths kidnapped and held a girl for months and got away with it, they would have tried for a fresh victim. Jim even went to the FBI for similar cases out of state. Nothing.

When the trail went cold, other cops started to doubt her story. Her fairly public meltdown didn't help. It was suggested that she was a junkie, that her so-called abductors were her pimps and the only part of her story that was true was the getting lost in the woods. Jim fought hard, but in the end he was ordered to drop it. No leads, no case.

He knew she struggled and it was partly his fault. This wasn't her first DUI. But she had been doing well. She got sober. She was in AA.

Jessica's lipstick was smeared and her eyes were red-rimmed, though whether that was from drink or tears, Jim wasn't sure. She was dressed casually: navy blouse, battered, faux-leather jacket, jeans and sneakers. No jewellery. Not a party-look.

"What happened, Jessica?" Jim asked gently.

She shrugged. "I had a bad day."

"I can't make this one go away."

Knowing that she had more reason than most to drink, Jim helped her at first. But after the fourth or fifth time she called him from the drunk tank he told her he wouldn't help again unless she helped herself, too. It took a bit longer, but she got herself in the program. She got better. Why was she here like this, now?

"I don't care." She shrugged again, dismissively. "I just want you to tell me you're doing something."

"The case is still open," Jim said.

"But you're not investigating are you?"

Jim sighed. What could he do?

"Do you know how many girls have gone missing from Cascade in the last five years?"

"Yes," Jim answered patiently. "Most of them are minors and most of them have been found. Don't you know that if a case came up that matched your I would be on it?"

"I found eight. Eight!"

"Eight what? Missing women?" Jim shook his head. "There hasn't been a match, Jessica. Whatever you think you've found..."

"So now you think I'm a liar, too?"

"No. But I think you're not a detective. Did you do this to get my attention or something?"

"Fuck you."

His understanding could only stretch so far. Jim sat back in his chair and let his eyes close for a moment. "Jessica, if you have something you think I've missed, I will look into it. But this is my second night without sleep and right now I'm too exhausted to think. And you are in trouble. Do you need an attorney?"

Jessica shrugged again. It seemed to be her default answer. "I can manage."

"Can you afford one?"

"Maybe. Yes, if it's just one appearance."

"I'll call someone for you. Try not to mouth off to the judge and when you're sober, come see me about those eight cases. I will look into it." He could at least set her mind at rest.

Jessica nodded. "Alright."

Sighing, Jim dragged himself out of the chair. He nodded toward the one-way glass and headed for the door.

Granger met him in the corridor. "She's the one from the woods?"

Jim nodded. "Like I said, she's been through a lot. But a DUI is a DUI. She got probation for the last one on condition she got sober. She will get jail this time. I'll speak for her, but I can't work miracles." He checked his watch. 4:12 am. "She's all yours, officer."

There was less than four hours to shift-change. If nothing new came in, he could spend those hours looking through the missing person files.

It was 9:15 when Jim finally stumbled through the door into the loft. He tossed his keys into the mail basket and headed to the refrigerator. Sure enough, he found a note in Blair's handwriting:

Gone to the lab. Back for lunch. Pancake mix ready if you come home hungry. Love you. B

Jim smiled. He opened the fridge and saw a covered bowl of pancake batter, a jug of maple syrup beside it. He contemplated breakfast for a moment before deciding he was too tired. He closed the refrigerator and climbed the stairs to his bed.