It was hard for me to comprehend. I knew that life inside was hard and that it was going to take a lot for Donnie to survive. He wasn’t some street thug who understood how to play down and dirty. He was a gentle person, a computer geek who’d never had to think about surviving on the street, and he was terribly vulnerable. But he was smart, too, so I felt he’d find a way to cope and ultimately he’d win. I hoped his family could win as well. Barbara’s a really good woman, but I knew she’d never had to go through anything like this before. I could only pray. So I did.
Chapter 4
Alan’s Meeting with Chief Dylan
“The basic mission for which the police exist is to prevent crime and disorder as an alternative to the repression of crime and disorder by military force and severity of legal punishment.”
—Sir Robert Peel
The following Thursday, I got up early, put on my jogging clothes, and forced myself down the stairs and out the door. I was sore all over and just getting out of bed hurt beyond belief. I was never a great athlete and the pain in my legs reminded me why. Still, I’d promised myself I’d work to get back into shape, and I’d started a program over the weekend.
Groaning, I limped to the sidewalk, raised my right leg, but had to put it down straightaway. Man, did that hurt. I winced, grabbed my upper thigh, and rubbed vigorously, hoping the pain would go away, but no such luck. This was not going to be fun. This was supposed to be a cardio day but, if my legs didn’t cooperate any better than this, my heart wasn’t going to get much of a workout.
I tried again, this time a little more slowly and a bit more deliberately. There would be no running today. A very cautious jog was about all I could hope for. I remembered that if you do something for 90 days, it becomes a habit, but this change thing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Ninety days? I wasn’t likely to make the next 90 seconds. Running wasn’t going to be one of my habits if it didn’t get any better than this. But okay, just one more step, then another, and another, just one more step.
Making my way back into the house was more of a chore than I could’ve imagined. I struggled out of my clothes and sat on the floor of the shower letting the water gently massage my head and neck, although it was my legs and butt that needed massaging. I got dressed, grabbed a cookie, and then put it back, realizing I’d have to run that much longer tomorrow if I actually ate the thing. God forbid. I stood in the kitchen, staring at nothing and listening to the silence a few moments, then headed to the garage. I’d arranged to see Dylan this morning and it was about time I got going.
I arrived at the chief’s office a little earlier than scheduled, feeling none the better for having simulated a jog. After the fiasco I experienced trying to get to the Chamber meeting last week, I had decided not to take any chances and left my office a little sooner than necessary.
When I got there, I stepped inside the outer office. It was deathly quiet with the exception of the muted clicking of typing. The woman stationed there was intently focused on something at her computer. She glanced in my direction, gave a quick smile, but continued typing. After a couple of uncomfortable moments, I introduced myself.
“Good morning,” I said. “I’m Alan Pearson and I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Chief Dylan.”
She briefly held up one finger, typed for another moment, then paused and examined what she’d written. “I’m sorry,” she said, smiling as she stood and offered her hand. “I was right in the middle of a sentence and I needed to complete it before I lost my train of thought. And yes, it is a good morning,” she continued. “I’m Sheri, Chief Dylan’s assistant. If you’d like to have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here. It’ll probably be a few minutes; he’s on a conference call, but he shouldn’t be much longer. He’s expecting you.”
“Thanks,” I replied. I meandered around the reception area, inspecting the prints hanging on the walls and the layout of the room. I was too nervous to sit down. My palms were sweaty and my stomach was doing back flips. I knew there was no legitimate reason for being so nervous, but there I was, feeling like a kid clinging to my mother’s leg on my first day of school. Sheri finished writing something, and then went into the chief’s office, presumably to let him know I was waiting.
“Did these come from the library?” I asked when she came back, pointing to a particularly nice piece of artwork.
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head as if she were moderately amused. “These belong to the chief. Beautiful, aren’t they? The mayor wouldn’t even give us the money to buy some of those cheap posters you see in most city buildings. Prior to the chief, the office was filled with old black-and-white photos of ex-police chiefs and the typical police paraphernalia.”
She laughed as she told me how ugly and drab the office used to be. “I used to dread coming to work; now I love it. The place was completely without color. It had no life. You know what I mean? I don’t think anybody wanted to be here. It showed, too. But it wasn’t just the building; it was everything. Everybody in the place had an attitude and most of them were pretty bad. Even the visitors had attitudes. Now when people come in, they bring their kids. Look,” she said, picking up a children’s reader from the coffee table and holding it out for me to see. “Children’s books and magazines—can you imagine that? If you go into the squad areas, you’ll find these huge posters of the officers’ kids all over the place. In the pictures, the kids are playing and having a good old time. No one dreamed of doing anything like that before Chief Dylan came,” she said, adding, “it was his idea.”
It was obvious Sheri was having fun with this. She pointed to a print as she walked across the room, and told me it was her favorite. “It’s a papyrus of the Final Judgment,” she said. “It’s the chief’s favorite, too. He brought it back from Egypt.” She was telling me how the person standing in judgment had to have a heart lighter than a feather or they couldn’t pass, but would instead suffer an unpleasant fate, when the chief stepped out of his office. Sheri interrupted herself. Still smiling, she ushered me over to the chief.
As we entered his office, I said to him, “This is really quite nice.” His office was extremely well appointed, tastefully decorated, and there were several compelling pieces of art on his walls, too. There was a noticeable absence of clutter on his desk. Everything was neat and orderly, nothing out of place or askew. In an attempt at being humorous—obviously nervous humor—I said, “You do realize, of course, that an office this neat isn’t normal? Some say a clean desk is a sign of a sick mind!”
Chief Dylan smiled. “It’s not the first time someone has suggested I might be something other than normal.”
I’d fully expected to find an office with a metal desk, a couple of well-worn chairs, and a shallow carpet of dust covering it all. Instead, I found an oasis of corporate opulence. Of course, if I’d used my head, I would’ve been able to predict the chief’s office would look this way. I guess old habits die hard—old stereotypes, too.
Chief Dylan was dressed impeccably. I knew it would be impolite, but I wanted desperately to ask who the designer was. Whoever it was had included hand-stitching around the collar of his jacket. The chief wore a crisp white shirt with French cuffs and an exquisite silk tie. Even his socks were elegant. I suddenly realized I wasn’t nervous any more. I’d relaxed and was completely at ease.
Chief Dylan sat in a chair next to the one he offered me. I’d expected him to sit behind his desk, which was huge, but only partially concealed an extremely comfortable-looking overstuffed leather chair.
“Sheri told me the artwork in the outer office belongs to
