silent beat and I pressed my foot to the floor to make it stop. “Is Lieutenant Bazer in?”
The sergeant hesitated for a moment, probably sizing me up more closely now. “I can certainly check. May I have your name, sir?”
“Joe Tyler.”
He did an excellent job of trying to hide his recognition. He nodded like it was a normal request, punched in an extension on the phone pad and told whoever was on the other line that I was inquiring as to whether or not Bazer was available. But he tried to sneak in a quick glance at me, as if he wanted to make sure he wasn’t seeing a ghost, and I knew he knew who I was.
He averted my eyes and waited for a moment, the phone still to his ear. Then he raised an eyebrow, said “Okay” and hung up.
A tight smile emerged on his face. “The lieutenant will be with you in just a moment.”
“Thanks.”
I turned away from him, not eager to watch him continue to steal glances at me. I stared out through the glass doors, the palm trees bouncing softly in the breeze. The last time I’d been in the station, I’d tossed my badge and gun on Bazer’s desk and dropped every profane word and phrase I knew on him. I never anticipated being back inside, needing to speak to him again. I thought I was through with him that day when I’d pushed through those glass doors.
Just one more thing I’d been wrong about.
“Joe?”
The voice paralyzed me for a moment, my breath catching like someone had a hand around my throat, my heart stuck in mid-beat. I waited for a long second until my heart fired again and the invisible hand released my throat, letting me breathe. I turned around slowly.
Lieutenant Thomas Bazer hadn’t aged much in the years since I’d last seen him. Tiny threads of gray had invaded his razor-cut chestnut hair, a wrinkle or two had worked its way into his forehead, but otherwise he looked just like the guy I’d told to fuck off seven years before. Eyes that were aware of everything in the room no matter where he looked, a physique that belonged more to a college wrestler than a sixty-year-old cop and wearing a uniform that looked as if it had been pressed onto his body.
He extended his hand. “Nice to see you.”
I kept my hands in my pockets. “You got a minute?”
If he took offense, he didn’t show it. He motioned for me to follow him back to his office. The desk sergeant snuck one more look at me as I went past him down the hallway.
Flashes of old conversations ricocheted through my head as I followed Bazer. The Coronado Police Department was the only place I’d worked as an adult and as much as I wanted to shut out the memories of having worked there, they forced their way into my mind like morning sunlight through the blinds. There was an ache in my gut and I couldn’t tell if it was because I hated the place or because I missed it.
Bazer’s office was a small, square room, devoid of any personality. Metal cabinets, a desk that housed a computer, a wire basket and not much else. The smell of Lysol permeated the room. He didn’t motion for me to sit in one of the two chairs opposite his desk, but I did so anyway.
Bazer shifted the papers on top of his desk. “How are you, Joe?”
“I’m okay.”
“Have to say I’m surprised to see you. Heard you were back but didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“I’m back just temporarily.”
He nodded like he understood that and I wondered why I’d felt compelled to say it.
“I’m helping out Chuck Winslow,” I said.
Bazer kept his hands on the papers, creating a neatened stack. “He seems to be in need of help. On a couple of things.”
I couldn’t tell whether it was a dig at Chuck or a statement of fact. “I’m trying to help on both.”
Bazer leaned back in his chair. “We’ve got it covered, Joe.”
“Who jumped him on the
The sergeant hesitated for a moment, probably sizing me up more closely now. “I can certainly check. May I have your name, sir?”
“Joe Tyler.”
He did an excellent job of trying to hide his recognition. He nodded like it was a normal request, punched in an extension on the phone pad and told whoever was on the other line that I was inquiring as to whether or not Bazer was available. But he tried to sneak in a quick glance at me, as if he wanted to make sure he wasn’t seeing a ghost, and I knew he knew who I was.
He averted my eyes and waited for a moment, the phone still to his ear. Then he raised an eyebrow, said “Okay” and hung up.
A tight smile emerged on his face. “The lieutenant will be with you in just a moment.”
“Thanks.”
I turned away from him, not eager to watch him continue to steal glances at me. I stared out through the glass doors, the palm trees bouncing softly in the breeze. The last time I’d been in the station, I’d tossed my badge and gun on Bazer’s desk and dropped every profane word and phrase I knew on him. I never anticipated being back inside, needing to speak to him again. I thought I was through with him that day when I’d pushed through those glass doors.
Just one more thing I’d been wrong about.
“Joe?”
The voice paralyzed me for a moment, my breath catching like someone had a hand around my throat, my heart stuck in mid-beat. I waited for a long second until my heart fired again and the invisible hand released my throat, letting me breathe. I turned around slowly.
Lieutenant Thomas Bazer hadn’t aged much in the years since I’d last seen him. Tiny threads of gray had invaded his razor-cut chestnut hair, a wrinkle or two had worked its way into his forehead, but otherwise he looked just like the guy I’d told to fuck off seven years before. Eyes that were aware of everything in the room no matter where he looked, a physique that belonged more to a college wrestler than a sixty-year-old cop and wearing a uniform that looked as if it had been pressed onto his body.
He extended his hand. “Nice to see you.”
I kept my hands in my pockets. “You got a minute?”
If he took offense, he didn’t show it. He motioned for me to follow him back to his office. The desk sergeant snuck one more look at me as I went past him down the hallway.
Flashes of old conversations ricocheted through my head as I followed Bazer. The Coronado Police Department was the only place I’d worked as an adult and as much as I wanted to shut out the memories of having worked there, they forced their way into my mind like morning sunlight through the blinds. There was an ache in my gut and I couldn’t tell if it was because I hated the place or because I missed it.
Bazer’s office was a small, square room, devoid of any personality. Metal cabinets, a desk that housed a computer, a wire basket and not much else. The smell of Lysol permeated the room. He didn’t motion for me to sit in one of the two chairs opposite his desk, but I did so anyway.
Bazer shifted the papers on top of his desk. “How are you, Joe?”
“I’m okay.”
“Have to say I’m surprised to see you. Heard you were back but didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“I’m back just temporarily.”
He nodded like he understood that and I wondered why I’d felt compelled to say it.
“I’m helping out Chuck Winslow,” I said.
Bazer kept his hands on the papers, creating a neatened stack. “He seems to be in need of help. On a couple of things.”
I couldn’t tell whether it was a dig at Chuck or a statement of fact. “I’m trying to help on both.”
Bazer leaned back in his chair. “We’ve got it covered, Joe.”
“Who jumped him on the
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