in my time—so I redirect.”
“By speaking funny? Uh, I mean utilizing a particular lexicon,” said Johnson.
Sage smirked. “Detective Johnson, you are a good cop. Why do you do what you do? I mean there are other cops…why did you become one?” asked Sage.
Sage could tell by the look on Johnson’s face that Johnson was undergoing a moment of remembrance.
“I don’t know. I guess it was because all of the guys in my neighborhood were in two groups: some had something that they were involved in, and it was not always the right thing; others felt that they had something to prove,” explained Johnson.
“Which group were you?” asked Sage.
“Oh, I had something to prove,” said Johnson.
“What were you trying to prove?” asked Sage.
“It was more of a who I had to prove it to. But I guess that I had a will to be different…better than my environment…have honor, commitment, loyalty.” Johnson pointed at his badge. “We all have our baggage—”
Sage interrupted, “Well, I had Vickie, and before that, I had my mother…All I have now is my honor and will. It seems as though recently both are being put to the test.” Sage leaned aggressively forward again.
“Easy, Sage, I am on your side,” Johnson said in a half-hearted attempt to mollify Sage.
“I wish that were more ostensible,” said Sage.
“We have just hit a bit of a wall,” Johnson added.
Sage gripped his chair tightly and labored to keep his earlier attitude from bleeding back into the exchange. “Yeah? When? It seems like there are only walls. When will there be news?”
Johnson tried his best to show sympathy. “I am working on it. Things are complicated…and simple. Hey, when are you going to tell me what you are a professor of?”
“When you tell me why it matters so much to you.”
“Fair enough. Do you know anything about stained glass?” asked Johnson.
“This is an extremely odd line of questioning. What does stained glass have to do with any of this?” asked Sage.
“You’re a professor, right?”
“You know this already. Are you asking me for help to solve your cases? Isn’t that your job? You know, let the police do the policing?” said Sage in a superfluous sarcastic fashion.
“Do you know anything about it or not?” pressed Johnson.
“I don’t, but I have a contact that can find out anything.” Sage pulled out his smartphone and dialed Parker. He put the phone on speaker. The phone rang a couple of times, and Parker answered.
“Hey, bro, what’s up? Did you go see Detective Dou—”
Sage interrupted by clearing his throat, “Parker, you are on speaker with me…and Detective Johnson.”
Johnson looked at Sage and squinted. Sage figured it best to ignore the incident and avoided Johnson’s gaze. There was a pause that was long enough to allow Parker’s typing, clicking, and computer noises in the background to be heard.
Uncomfortably, Parker drew out the words, “Heeey, bro.” He paused. “How are you holding up?”
“Good, bro. Got a question for you. What do you know about stained glass?”
Parker’s tone was between cynical and sarcastic. “Stained, it’s glass, it’s pretty and kind of fragile.”
Sage responded sternly and leaned toward the phone. “Parker, quit playing around.”
There was more clicking emitted from the speaker. Then Parker took a deep breath. “Okay, okay…Stained glass was popular in medieval times in Europe. One story mentioned that people were cooking on the sand in Egypt, and supposedly some of the sand under their pots melted. When it cooled, we had our first or progenitor of common stained glass. But that’s just one school of thought. There are many styles of and thoughts on stained glass. It became popular in the churches, and at one point, they even etched it with acid. It looks as though, later on, the church stopped supporting stained glass as it landed into the category of the arts, and it had fallen out of favor with the churches. You can still find it in some churches, and some people still love to put in their houses. To find an old piece from an old church or an old piece of stained glass is probably pretty rare. Why all the questions about glass?” asked Parker, taking another deep breath.
“Not sure, bro. I’ll get back to you,” said Sage.
“Cool,” said Parker, exhaling.
Sage hung up and pocketed his phone. “Detective Johnson, do you want to loop me in?” asked Sage.
“He said that ancient pieces of stained glass are rare, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Just a question. Hey, I didn’t know you had a brother,” said Johnson.
“A brother of sorts. We were raised together, played baseball together, and at one time, we were both designated hitters.” The look on Sage’s face elucidated that there was more to that comment than his words proffered, but Johnson did not dig.
“Your guy Parker, he’s good with computers?” asked Johnson.
“He can build anything, find anything, and he figures stuff out. Maybe I should see if I could get him hired for your job,” Sage joked.
Johnson laughed. “That would be a neat trick.”
Sage eyed the room a bit. “Detective Johnson, you’re a chess player?”
“I’d like to think I’m pretty good.”
Sage stared at a chessboard that was set up on a small table in Johnson’s office. He stood and moved toward the preexisting game.
“Each time I’ve come in here, your board is set up in the same fashion, and there has been no movement. Who are you playing?” asked Sage.
“It’s a puzzle.”
Sage rubbed his chin gently. “Really?”
“Yes, it’s the last thing that my uncle left me.”
Sage paused a moment. He understood loss. Understanding the damage that Johnson had suffered may cause Johnson to be more amenable to assisting. He softened his tone. “I am sorry to hear that. Is that why you have not made a move? Are you sort of sealing the moment in time?”
Johnson stared at the board. “Not exactly. I used to play with my uncle, and after years of playing against him, I finally began to best him. But my uncle told me that I would not be a master until I completed this puzzle. He said that from this position, there could be a checkmate in one move.”
Sage stared at the chessboard. The chin rubbing gradually
