After our stroke of luck with Doctor Morris, I was running on a pile of adrenaline. Bryce, it seemed, to be experiencing the same thing. I could see the police building on the horizon. Like most buildings, it was brick. A musty grey colour. It was a small building, only one storey, but it seemed to go back into the property behind it. I'd never really been to the police department building. I never had the reason to or the need. And while the area I had grown up in wasn't safe or a healthy environment for two young girls, but the police couldn't do anything about our homelessness. So going in to see them would be completely useless. Where I was now was one of the safest places you could be living in. So really, I had no reason to visit the police anytime soon.
"Have you ever been to this police office before?" I asked Bryce, looking over his face as he took in the building.
He shook his head, leaning casually against the door of his car, "Where I live, we have a police station that's much closer than this one. On the rare occasion that we have a reason to go see the police, we wouldn't bother coming this far out. How about you?"
I shook my head as well, "Never had the reason."
Bryce let out a surprised whistle, "Lucky,"
My head swerved to him, "What has ever happened to you that requires you going to the police station?"
He looked at the floor, took a breath and then looked back at me, "We had a break in once, they didn't end up stealing anything. But my parents were busy dealing with that, so they told me to run down to the police station and try and grab an officer on duty. One of my dad's older brothers, he was in the military so he got sent off to Turkey. He came back with a few health issues but a serious case of PTSD. He would go out to have some fun, regain normality I suppose, and end up injuring people when he had a relapse of certain memories came back. He would always be at the police station. My dad would always make me accompany him when he went to pick up my uncle. I liked hearing about his war stories, and he was willing to share, so it made the pickup easier for both my dad and my uncle."
I smiled, "Seems you've always been a good samaritan."
Bryce let out a sparse chuckle, "Yes, it would seem so."
"Your family," I started, "Do they know that your current job is protecting a girl with a death threat?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Yeah, Every Sunday I'll go to church with my mother and then we'll have lunch with my dad and whatever family member is in the area. My mother would have a heart attack if I refused to tell her what I was working as. Dad seems to think that being a bodyguard for someone as famous as you is quite an honourable position."
I turned away, hoping that Bryce didn't see the red blush that was now creeping its way up my neck and spilling onto my cheeks.
"Don't be embarrassed," Bryce laughed, I still refused to turn back, "Do you want to head in now? It seems that we have wasted quite a lot of time talking."
I took a deep breath, hoping the stark red colour had faded from my face. "Yes. we should head in." I started walking forward, "When we go in, let me do most of the talking. If you need to say something, signal me and I'll stop talking at the most convenient time. We need to put up an extremely professional front. Everything needs to be cues, we can't allow him to think less of us or give him a reason to cast us out."
Bryce put a hand on my shoulder, "Take a breath and calm down. Now, are we husband and wife again?" He asked cheekily.
"It depends, do you want an elbow in your ribs?" I asked, pausing and turning around to face him.
"Noted. And what do we say if anyone asks?"
"Friends. In an emergency, draw the sibling card. Got it?" I warned, before turning around and beginning to walk again, "Now lets head in. As long as we stay calm, this should be a piece of cake."
---------------------------------------------------
It was surprisingly empty. Only one or two people in the waiting room. The building, it seemed, was much bigger on the inside. High ceilings and an array of doors that led to a million other rooms. I could hear the faint sobbing of a mother in the corner of the room. But other than that, it seemed to be completely silent. It was... unnerving. But I kept walking, right up to the front, where a young officer was sitting in his chair. Leaning back in his chair, looking thoroughly disinterested as he slowly tapped on his computer mouse. His hat covering most of his face, leaving the back of his blonde hair to be exposed. He looked up and sighed, before looking back at the computer screen.
"How can I help you today sir?" He asked, his voice monotone.
"I was wondering if we could see Sargent Kensington? We have information that may help his case." I said, he looked back up and scoffed. He didn't say anything as he looked back at his computer screen. "Excuse me?"
The realisation of what was happening hit me. I shoved down the mountain of anger and looked up at Bryce, giving him a small nod, signalling him to talk.
"We were wondering if we could talk to Sargent Kensington? We want to offer some information on the case he's been working on." Bryce replied, this time catching the mans attention.
He sat up straight and looked away from his screen, "Sure. I'll give him a call, see if he's busy right now. If you wouldn't mind just sitting down, I'll let you know as quickly as possible."
Bryce nodded in appreciation, "Thank you."
He latched his hand onto my arm and dragged me down to the seats. Bryce sat down and rested a hand on the seat next to him. I begrudgingly did, letting out an angry sigh.
"Sexist son of a bitch." I let out scornfully, my arms firmly crossed against my chest.
"I know. But like you said, we need to stay calm. If you get angry at him publicly, we're going to have a problem on our hands." Bryce replied softly, shifting his body so he was facing me.
I let my head lean back, closing my eyes, "I know, I know, it's just... it's hard. Most people are over the whole women are below us thing, at least, most of the men I know. It's hard when I have to see just how many people refuse to change their thinking." I whis[pered, not wanting to be overheard by the officer behind the desk.
"It's a slow process Rose and we are getting there. Just keep in mind that men are stupid." He assured me,
"Men are stupid" I grumbled, sinking deeper into the uncomfortable plastic chair.
"Sir? Sargent Kensington said you're free to head in. His office is just through that door and down the hall. You're looking for a room 08. If you can't find it and the room numbers are above 15, then you've gone too far and now you're in the evidence and interrogation rooms. Got it?"
The boy had walked over to where we were sitting, Bryce stood up and shook his hand, "Thank you. We appreciate this." The officer shook his hand back. I stood up and stood next to Bryce, resisting the urge to stick out my tongue at the kid and punch him in the gut.
Once the officer had turned around and headed back to his desk, Bryce and I started walking. Pushing through the door that we had been pointed towards. As I suspected, it led onto an onslaught of more doors. Thankfully, the large number 8 was easy to spot.
"Are you ready," Bryce inquired, his voice quiet.
"No, not in any way." I replied, hoping he couldn't hear how nervous I was. If he did, he didn't let it show.
"Well, it's not like we have a choice. Besides, we're already here." Bryce shrugged, before raising his fist and knocking on the door. We waited a couple of seconds before the door swung open, revealing a man that would be in at least his 50's. His uniform was ruffled and out of place, his grey handlebar moustache, however, was neat and pristine. Not a hair out of place.
"Please, come in, I hear you have information." He huffed, his hand out in an 'enter' gesture.
His office was a mess. That was the only way to put it. Books were messily organised on his shelf, papers seemed to be everywhere, there wasn't a clear space on his desk. Files were piled high in stacks, loose papers sticking out of each and every one of them.
"I'm sorry, the only chair I have is for my desk... I'm afraid we'll just need to stand." The Sargent said, pushing some papers around his desk in an effort to make it look cleaner.
"That's fine. My name is Rosemary Hughes and this is my... friend Bryce Redfield." I introduced, The Sargents face twisted up in an unrecognisable emotion.
"I know you from somewhere..." He trailed off,
"I'm a musician, You may have heard me on the radio?" I offered. However, I already knew why he recognised me.
He snapped his fingers, "You were the girl who got the death threat! I've been meaning to interview you for a while but I never got the time.... and you!" He pointed to Bryce, "You're the one the assigned to look after her? Yes. I was informed about that. Now, what do you have to offer me?"
"Bryce and I have been trying to figure out who the murderer is ourselves. We were wondering how far along you are on the case?" I asked sweetly.
His eyes narrowed, "You do have information for me right? Or will I just be sharing my secrets to receive nothing in return?"
"Of course not!" Bryce interrupted, "We just want to know so we don't tell you anything you already know."
The Sarge looked at us for a moment, as if trying to figure out whether we were lying or not. "I'm down to the last two people on my list of suspects. The victims seemed to be killed via gunshots."
I nodded, the same information that we had collected, "Who are the people currently on your suspect list?"
He sighed, "For legal reasons. I can't really tell you more than I have."
I looked over his expression. He may just be withholding information for the sake of it. Using a real reason to cover his intentions. I couldn't see anything out of place, so I let it go.
"Based off what we have found, we believe the killer to be Henry Murphy," I said. Almost immediately, Sargent Kensington's face changed.
"Are you sure? I've interviewed him before and afterwards, I wondered why I had interviewed him in the first place. That man is harmless. I think you've got this wrong."
I shook my head, "We interviewed him as well. And originally, we thought that too. However, once I went over the notes I had taken, I began to second think it. After he left the room, we found a dead body downstairs, the window open. He has the connections, plus he was an agent. His motive was business ideals but struggles to hide the fact that he is responsible due to his personality."
The sarge looked at his mountains of notes and then back to me, "Do you have any proof?"
I sighed, "No. That's what we're worling on now. However, if he is brought in by officials, I doubt that he would last long before cracking under the pressure."
"You make a valid point." The sarge said, "And I will look into what you have said, but neither of you are police. Or government officials. I will have to ask you to stop working om the case and leave it to the professionals. It's more of a safety thing."
I paused, "We more or less, just told you who the killer is and you're telling us to discontinue our search?"
The Sargent nodded, "It's my job to keep the peace, and I can't have you interferring with that. However I do thank you for your help. I'll have someone call in Henry and take him into questioning. However, if he does end up admitting. I'm afraid you also won't be recieving any credit either. Nor will your names be released to the media for assisting in the capture."
"And who will be getting the credit? You?" I asked, my voice getting louder and more out of control.
The lack of answer told me enough.
I could feel my blood begin to boil. I opened my moutrh to start screaming at him, but I was interuptted by the loud ringing of the phone. The sargent picked it up.
"I see, I'll be right down."
He grabbed his coat off the hanger next to the door and swung it on,
"There's been another murder, I need to go. But again, thank you for your help."
And with that he ran from the room. Leaving Bryce and I standing in a flurry of flying papers.
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