Wellington's by Marc Olden

Author:Marc Olden [Olden, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-6100-2
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2012-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

21

THE DETECTIVE WAS KIND, surprising Jamie. She had always imagined policemen as cold bastards, playing with their guns in church, flattening dogs under speeding squad cars, and shooting blacks and Puerto Ricans in the back for no particular reason. Tonight was the first time she’d ever talked to a detective, because tonight Jamie had come home from Wellington’s alone, to find her apartment broken into and robbed.

“If you’d prefer, you can come down to the station tomorrow and we’ll make a more detailed list of the items you lost.” His name was Detective Harris, and he wasn’t big at all, not much taller than Jamie in fact, with dark blond hair and the slim body and young face of a high-school boy.

“I might do that,” she said, looking around her wrecked apartment. “God, why did they have to trash it like this?” She was angry.

“You probably didn’t have any money lying around, so whoever came through the front door got angry and took it out on your place. It’s more or less an unwritten rule among people like that. Jim?” Detective Harris called to a uniformed black cop who stood in the wreckage of Jamie’s apartment making notes.

Harris walked over to him, and they talked to each other in whispers. Jamie was angry, nervous, frightened all at once. Someone had broken into her home, violated her in a way. What if he’d been here when she returned, and he hadn’t found money, would he have harmed her? Christ.

Harris turned to her. “Only one lock, Miss Braun, why’s that? Makes it easy for them, you know.”

“Oh, God, I forgot. Second lock jammed, just wouldn’t turn, and I’d planned to have it fixed. Never did.” She bowed her head, taking it between both hands. Dumb, dumb, dumb, J.

Detective Harris walked over to her. She still couldn’t get used to how young he looked. He had to be close to thirty to be a detective, but he didn’t look it. “Don’t feel bad, Miss Braun. It’s a big club—getting hit like this, I mean. I know it’s late, but do you have any friends you can stay with?”

“Why?” She looked at him with alarm.

He put a hand on her shoulder, smiling as kindly as she’d seen anyone ever smile at her in New York. A cop. “Nothing to be upset about. Knob turners, that’s what these guys are, they hit and run. Junkies mostly, turning every knob until they find one that’s left open. In your case, somebody used a screwdriver and a pair of pliers to pull the top lock out. The door was probably loose because the bottom lock wasn’t working. It’s just that you’ll probably feel better sleeping behind two locks tonight. At the moment, you don’t have one on that door.”

She sighed, nodding her head in agreement. “You know something? When I first saw it, I mean coming up the stairs and seeing my door open like that, I was angry, really pissed off. Wasn’t so scared then, but now, oh, brother.

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