Perched on the counter facing the double French doors in the lobby, I watched Detective Smarts, Beachside Police, park his vehicle behind the police cruiser, and slowly step out of the car. During the summer months, sometimes the heat and humidity are almost unbearable. It was one of those days and the detective worked up a sweat walking the short distance to the front door. He wore dress slacks, the crease non-existent, and a short sleeves shirt, no tie. He didn’t appear to be in a good mood, but seemed to appreciate the cooler air when he entered.
The wilted Detective and I eyed each other. I hissed, he bared his teeth and tried to pass it off as smile. Smarts and I have some history, and the message was clear – the same message a dog sends when it bares its teeth.
“I’m
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Two guys riding in the back brought the trunk inside, and they looked like they might have been day laborers.” “Can you describe them?”
“I was busy putting things away and getting ready for today so I didn’t pay close attention.”
“Any detail you remember will help.”
Attick looked away for a few seconds as if trying to clear his thoughts. “One of the men whose face I saw, reminded me of a prune with long legs and arms, his friend called him Gordo. The other man was shorter and wore a red cap.”
“Was there anyone else in the truck?” “I didn’t see anyone, but I don’t know.” “What time did you get here this morning?”
“Around a quarter to eight.”
“Was anyone else here when you arrived?”
“No, I was the first one