Monday 8 – Tuesday 9 October 2012
Jones had been sent out earlier to pick up some lunch, and returned with Missy’s choice of Thai takeaway. He shook his head as he entered, indicating to Lennard and Ricketsen that there was nothing and no one suspicious in the area. It was now a waiting game. The atmosphere was understandably tense. Detective Sue Lennard and Officer Andy Ricketsen, along with Officer Dave Jones, made themselves at home in the apartment. Missy paced back and forth in front of the television blocking Jones’ view.
‘You know,’ Jones said, ‘pacing won’t make the time pass any faster. You’ll just wear a path in the carpet.’ He laughed at what he considered a funny joke.
Missy glared at him, finding no humour in his comment. She had butted heads with the detective in charge of the investigation, Brian Hunt, over the move to the safe house as a result of her husband’s murder, and she was in no way feeling jovial. He watched as once more she looked at her phone as if she was expecting a call. Jones noted that Missy had done this many times since she began pacing.
‘Now what could be so interesting about her phone, do you think?’ Lennard whispered to Ricketsen.
‘Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Path . . . maybe she’s into taking photos and she’s in the App Store looking for new photography apps. Of course, she could be clandestinely text messaging someone.’ Ricketsen whispered in reply.
‘You don’t get out a lot, do you, Andy?’ Lennard said. Ricketsen smiled and raised his eyebrows.
‘And clearly you have no concept of the world of Social Media.’
‘That’s because,’ Lennard snipped, ‘I have a life.’
‘Ouch!’ Jones laughed. ‘Hey, is it my fault that your whispering could be heard five floors below us?’
* * * * *
The day continued in much the same manner: the police spent their time waiting, and Missy continually referred to her phone. She reminded Lennard of a caged animal biding its time before an escape. In Lennard’s mind, Detective Hunt’s theory was becoming more probable as the day progressed, and Missy’s attitude deteriorated.
‘Doesn’t this bother any of you?’ Missy asked as she threw herself on the sofa next to Jones.
‘What?’ he replied.
‘This. Being cooped up in a vile, hot, repugnant apartment all day, unable to go outside into the fresh air. I want to breathe fresh air.’ She threw her arms around in gestures that made her seem like a petulant, spoiled child.
‘Patience, Missy, is an essential part of police work. Most of the time when we investigate cases, a lot of the investigation is about waiting. It’s not something that we like doing, let me tell you, but it is a part of the job unfortunately,’ Lennard spoke without looking at the newly widowed woman.
Ricketsen touched his ear. Jones, who had been comfortably stretched out the length of most of the sofa, sat bolt upright. Lennard unclipped the small leather strap on the holster on the waistband of her jeans and wrapped her fingers around the grip of her pistol. The only movement that Missy noticed was the obvious move by Jones.
The knocking on the front door of the apartment startled everyone. Jones was the first to ask what was on all of their minds.
‘Any of you expecting anyone?’
. . . To be continued . . .