© Copyright 2006 by More Than Novellas

Chapter 3

Elizabeth Delayne
Sept 3, 05
lizdelayne@hotmail.com

He sighed and pushed back on the irritation. He'd withstood plenty of attacks on his character, his morals, his skills, why did it bother him tonight? Most petty criminals were pretty flippant and angry with cops to start with, with overblown egos or brains that were fried from highs. They said just about anything, degrading mothers, grandmothers, priests and children. He'd learned to let it all roll off.

He wouldn't let her accusation bother him.

But it did.

Because despite what thought, what he might be letting her think, he knew she wasn't the criminal she might have been. Remaining to be seen was how he was going to keep McCartney from getting away this time ...

what he would write in his report.

And how to handle her...

"Listen," he said at last, drawing on the last of his patience. "I know you're not guilty of some heinous crime. If you'd work with me, I'll work with you. Second, I know you're exhausted, and won't hold it against you from now on if you would just start laying off. And third ... I can't let you go. Not until we get this straightened out. But I do think I could manage to rustle up a bit of food and a place for you to crash while we work on the details."

She stared at him ... looking suddenly so tired and vulnerable it took effort for him to take a mental step back. His first priority for both of them, and for the city, was to straighten this mess out.

He could see it in her eyes, the weariness, the reluctance. This time he stepped close, softened, he hoped, enough to let her feel like he'd let her in. He needed her cooperation.

"Look, the little man we've got in there? He's lawyered up. He's claiming a bunch of things about you, about us, mixing it all up. He's not a good man, Deanna ... and he's left a trail of bodies behind him. I know we screwed it up, but I can't loose him this time."

Crystal Pybas
Sept 4 05
jefcrys@chipshot.net
Chrystal Pybas Short Stories and More

"Okay, okay...I'll do what I can." She didn't want to give in, but something to eat and some rest was definately appealing. She lowered her head and felt that she had lost the will to fight him anymore.

It worked! He finally found a way to get to her. He would do everything in his power to please her just to keep her cooperative. He didn't want to rush or scare her, so he lifted her chin slowly and their eyes met. Her eyes, full of hurt and fear, his eyes, full of compassion.

"I'll do all I can to get you out of this mess, just trust me."

She wanted to retaliate, to run away...the last person she trusted, well, that's another story, but his eyes spoke to her in a way that she had never known before.

He moved away to give her the freedom to take the first step. The raging fury inside of her had calmed now. 'I want to trust him, Lord, but how?' A peace came over her...'My child, pick up your cross and follow close to me.'

With a peace that passed all understanding, she moved forward. He slipped her hand over his arm and held it there. 'I'm not letting this one get away, Lord, show me how to be gentle enough to care for her, but wise enough to find a speedy end to this mess.'

Judith Bronte
October 19, 05
email withheld by request
Journey of the Heart (Stories)

John Peterson led the young woman with the weary face to the officer's break room and found a chair in the corner of the room where she could sit down. Deanna looked about at the vacant room with its scattered chairs and tables, where police officers went to take a few minutes out from their hectic jobs. This dingy room was where they got away from it all. The thought of it almost made Deanna sorry for the guy.

"Here's your coffee," sighed the policeman, sitting down across from her at the table. "Now, back to your statement. You said you never saw McCartney before..."

"What is this," she sighed wearily, "an interrogation?"

"We have a room for that," smiled John, looking up at her from under his dark eyebrows. "It doesn't have a coffee machine though," he grinned.

As John pulled out a tape recorder, Deanna noticed for the first time that there was a gold wedding band on his left hand. She almost felt disappointed. Sure, she wasn't overly fond of cops, but this guy was almost likable. Unsure for the moment how to work the wedding band into the conversation, she bit her tongue.

John spoke the date into the recorder and then asked Deanna to relate what had happened that evening. The young lady realized that as soon as he had her statement, he would probably let her go, and she wasn't sure she was ready to leave. At least, not yet. John seemed too friendly to her be married.

"I said," repeated John, unsure why she was still silent, "please speak into the recorder and relate what happened to you, tonight."

"Well," she hesitated, "I was out walking... at night..." here, Deanna hesitated. "Are you married?" she blurted, outright, unable to keep the question unasked a second longer.

John shot her a surprised look, and moved uncomfortably in his seat.

"No," he answered, unsure what this had to do with anything. "You were walking at night-- please continue, Deanna."

"I had my briefcase with me," she resumed, happy with the news that John was single. But now a new question popped into her head. "It has a combination on it, but I never bother to lock it. Why do you still wear it?" she asked.

"Still wear what-- your briefcase?" asked John, struggling to keep up with her.

"No, your wedding ring," asked Deanna, eyeing the nifty piece of jewelry. "Why do you still wear it, if you're not married?"

"That's none of your business," retorted John, suddenly becoming uneasy, for this "interrogation" was fast becoming too personal for him. He was willing to play along with her-- to even be nice to her-- just to get the long awaited statement of all the facts, but she wasn't cooperating.

"Oh, come on," pleaded Deanna, "as soon as I leave, I may never see you again, and I'll always wonder why you're still wearing the ring. What's the matter-- did she run out on you? Is that why you're so touchy?"

"I am NOT touchy!" exclaimed John, suddenly lowering his voice as his sergeant passed by the doorway. "If you must know, I'm a widower. Now that I've told you, won't you please go back to your statement?"

"I'm sorry," apologized Deanna. "It must have happened recently for you to still be wearing the ring like that."

"No, it happened two years ago," sighed John, brushing a hand wearily over his face. "Could we PLEASE get back to your statement?"

"What happened two years ago?" asked Deanna, suddenly becoming more curious than before.

"Dick!" called out John to a man across the hall, "could you take Miss Smith's statement?"

"Why?" grinned Dick, "she seems to be handling you just fine!"

John groaned and slid back in his chair. He switched off the recorder and backed it up to the beginning. This was NOT a conversation he wanted to remember-- or anyone else to overhear! As Deanna's eyes searched his face, she wondered how his wife had died, and why his nabbing McCartney had seemed so important to him.

"You said back there, that you couldn't loose McCartney 'this time,'" she recalled out loud. "What did you mean by that?"

"Just relate the events of this evening, Deanna," he asked, fumbling his wedding ring unconsciously.

Return to the An Officer and a Crook Table of Contents!

Cybergrace Banner Exchange 2000