At the front desk, there was a cop standing behind an elevated counter top. The idea was to make me feel inferior by having to look up at him, but that wasn’t necessary. I was intimidated even before I walked in the door.
“I’m here to see Bradley Reid and Dustin Flanagan. I’m with the show Murder, Live!” I proclaimed.
The cop was big and burly and chuckled when I mentioned the show. “Oh yeah, you’re the chick from last night. I heard you put on quite a show. Tell me, honey, did you get the shot?”
I smirked. “Just tell me where they are.”
The cop picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Hey, big shot, your TV crew is here.” He laughed at whatever the cop on the other line said and then hung up. “Go on back. Their desks are on the right – two back.”
I pushed through some double doors into a messy, busy workroom. Black desks were pushed together, back-to-back in groups of two. There was a coffee machine in a hollowed-out alcove containing two filthy urns filled with brown sludge that I guessed was coffee. The lights were fluorescent, and along the side wall were three interview rooms where I assumed the cops would take potential suspects to question them. The floor was black and white tiled linoleum, and it appeared that the cleaning crew had been given the year off.
I walked inside and felt all the eyes in the room focus on me. There were probably eight men or so moving around the room and every one of them seemed to stop. I moved past the first set of desks and over to the second. Reid and Flanagan were both seated. Flanagan was dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a t-shirt, and his ass was spilling over the side of the chair. Reid was wearing a white undershirt and gray slacks and he had a dress shirt draped over the back of his chair. They didn’t look up as I approached.
“Detectives, nice to see you again,” I said.
A cop came up behind Reid. “Ooh Detective, can I have your autograph?”
Reid looked annoyed. “Shut up, asshole.”
The cop turned to me. “Everyone around here is real excited about being movie stars.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, watching the cop walk away.
“In case you forgot,” I said to Reid, “My name is Victoria Sharpe – but you can call me Sharpe if you want.”
“Great,” Reid said unenthusiastically. He turned to his computer screen and went back to whatever he was working on.
“I go by Foxy,” Flanagan said.
“How’d you get that name?”
“Because I’m so damn good looking. You can see that I’m the good looking one here, right?”
“Oh yeah, right away. I have an eye for these things,” I joked back, feeling better that at least one of them was talking to me.
Reid had not looked up from his computer, and I was getting the distinct impression that he didn’t want me here. Typically, the people I worked with were thrilled to be on television for their fifteen minutes of fame. They were putty in my hands and so eager to please – but not this guy, he wasn’t having it.
“Detective Reid, I’m sensing you’re not happy about being on the show.”
“Give the lady a dollar,” Reid said, still not looking up.
“Considering what you put me through last night, I’d say we’re both pretty unhappy to be here. Let’s just try to get through it.”
Reid grunted, still not looking up at me. “So I was thinking we would start the day with some on-camera interviews,” I continued. “This way we can get to know you, maybe pick up some shots of the station, that sort of thing. How does that sound, guys?”
“Like shit,” Reid said.
I felt a twinge of anger inside me. “You had another idea?”
“Yeah, I thought I would actually do my job instead of this pansy TV bullshit.” He stood up from his desk and walked off.
I felt my blood boil and looked over at Flanagan. “Friendly guy.”
“He’s pissed because the captain made him do this. He’s one of the best cops we’ve got, and they want to give the department a good image.”
“Where is your captain?” I asked. “I’d love to meet him.”
“Her,” Flanagan corrected. “Back that way.” He pointed and I headed to her office, ready to lay into her. They’d had their fun with me, now it was time to work.