Marco was a tall guy, over six feet. His legs looked longer than they probably should have been compared to his torso, and that made for long strides. His complexion was dark for a northern Italian, but he was still rather fair skinned, and most people would be unable to tell he was not an American until he spoke. And of course, he had black hair, which today was kept untamed. Sometimes he intentionally styled his hair to be messy or slicked back, unlike most of the men who either combed it down and wore a hat, or styled theirs neatly. While slightly awkward and lanky, most women agreed that Marco was a very attractive man, but despite that universally accepted consensus, he was single and lived alone.
He was still driving the same car he had bought when he first immigrated to the States. It was an early 2000s Volkswagen that he bought from someone on Craigslist, with cash. It was entirely black, including the aftermarket wheels, with some paint scratching and fading throughout. The interior featured gray cloth that was mostly ripped up on the driver’s side, but pristine on the passenger’s and backseat area. It was a commuter car that already had over 150,000 miles when he bought it for twelve hundred dollars.
Marco lived in Italy until just after his nineteenth birthday, when he decided to pursue college and a career in the United States. The decision to leave his family, which had a long line of proud Italians that had never even visited the States, was a tough one, but the application process for becoming a U.S. resident was even tougher. It was a long and painstaking process that continued well after his move to the States six years ago. It took a while to get settled in and find a part-time job that paid well enough to keep him afloat, and even longer to get into and through college. The four-year degree took five years because there were numerous issues with the school and his immigration status, and he was forced to drop classes several times. But now, a year had passed since his graduation with a Bachelor’s in Criminal Justice, and the acceptance of his citizenship.
A year ago, with the degree freshly framed, Marco applied to several different police departments throughout North Texas, including Denton, Fort Worth, Arlington, Frisco, Lewisville, and Dallas. Most of them did not call back or schedule an interview, but the ones that did call were simply just polite enough to inform him that all spots had been filled, and they had no need for additional investigators. Dallas, however, held him for an interview and offered him a position as an officer in Narcotics, with promise of training for an upcoming detective spot. Marco was infuriated that he still, despite going through five years of college, had to attend the Academy and put in time as a regular officer before being promoted up. His expectations for how things would work in the real world were a bit misguided and, for a while, he felt as though the college was a waste of time and money and that his degree was meaningless.
But that perception quickly changed when he realized he would be spending the bulk of his time shadowing a detective, and accompanying him to interviews and to crime scenes. One was set to retire in a couple years from that point, and Dallas had recently decided they would need to groom a new detective, and Marco just so happened to apply with a Criminal Justice degree. Plus, it looked good for diversity to have an Italian immigrant well respected within the DPD.
Marco accepted the job and with a little over a year of experience doing police work, they promoted him to detective, and he spent a few months closely shadowing the soon-to-be retiree. Now, it was his first day with real responsibility.
Marco scanned his ID badge to gain entry into the employee’s section of the building, where his office was. After a short elevator ride, he walked in his new office, dropped his padded leather bag on a light brown wooden desk, and sat back in his stiff leather chair, proud of his accomplishments. The office had spent a rather long period of time unoccupied, and was devoid of any sort of life or character. There were no paintings or pictures on the wall, no decorations on the desk, or plants in the corner. The room was simply small and square with a desk in the corner. The phone line was not connected to anything, and the cable was missing. The room was in need of love but, in due time, Marco would make it his own. Although right now, at 7:01 a.m., it was time for coffee.
---
The rich scent of freshly-brewed coffee dominated the station break room as Marco stirred sugar and milk in with his cup.
“Congrats on the promotion,” a pipsqueak of a man barked loudly and abruptly behind Marco, startling him, causing him to spill just a bit of his uncovered cup. Marco turned to get a look and wasn’t in the least surprised to see someone not much taller than a mythical elf.
“Yeah. First real day,” Marco replied coolly, and stuck out his hand for a surprisingly firm shake. Marco was new to this division of the station, as his desk was on a different part of the building. He usually didn’t get to mingle with the officers on this part of the building. He’d see them in the halls, but never really talk to them. Besides, they had an entirely separate break room on the other side of the building. “Name’s Marco.”
“You got a cool accent. Italian? I like the name, too. Mine’s Jeff,” he said. Jeff was short and skinny, but whiter than he was short or skinny. He was pale, like someone that would be living in the North Pole. Marco couldn’t tell if he had no hair, or if it was just short, as it was covered up with a ball cap.
“Pleased, Jeff.”
“I’m the other detective, other than Gene. Gene’s about to retire, but I guess you know him already, huh? Listen, if you got any questions, just ask me. Gene’s old and’ doesn’t really give a damn anymore. Anyway, we’re probably gonna get sick of each other before too long, so I’ll let you get to it.” Jeff opened the fridge and took out one of those frappuccinos that come in a jar, and nodded to Marco on his way out.
Shortly after Jeff’s exit, in walked another man roughly the same height and build as Marco, although more muscular, but with only a slightly darker complexion than Jeff.
“We call him Detective Little behind his back ‘cause he’s so little. He heard us once and got pissed, but we still do it when he ain’t around,” the man said. A sleaze ball.
Marco was troubled by this. He thought officers of the law should have a sort of comradery and friendship, not pick at each other. It seemed childish to him, but he didn’t acknowledge it verbally.
“Name’s Collin, but people call me Jacobs, mostly.” he continued. “I’m not a big shot, like you or Short Stuff. But I guess we can’t all go to college, huh?” Officer Jacobs finished pouring himself a cup of piping hot black coffee and, with more than a hint of jealousy in his voice, walked out of the room.
The two separate conversations came and passed quickly, and Marco left the break room and returned to his office. He didn’t feel the need to associate with everyone. In fact, usually he would much rather stay silent and keep to himself all day, away from people, instead of socialize. Ever since he was a kid, socializing just felt like a chore. He had his select group of friends in Italy, but outside of the few people he cared to socialize with, he did not speak much. He would make every effort to avoid having to attend parties or do the kinds of things that people his age enjoyed doing. Drinking wasn’t an interest and drugs were even less appealing, and he never grew out of that either. And his only friend in the States was a soon-to-be-retired sixty-four-year-old police detective.
Mostly, Marco just kept to his work throughout the day, undisturbed as much as possible, and went home with a clear head, rather than to a bar with poor judgement. It wasn’t unusual to be in bed by ten and up by six.
Marco rounded the corner into his office, which still had blinds drawn. He decided to leave the blinds the way they were, and he shut the door behind him. He had not yet sat down to unpack when two light knocks sounded on the door. He hadn’t had the time to invite in his guest before they barged in anyway.
“It’s good to see you settling yourself in, pal. We’re real excited to have you. Cap wants to see you when you’re finished up in here.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m real h
appy to be here. Be right in,” Marco responded, somewhat annoyed at all of the contact he’d already made a mere five minutes into the day. And now he was about to have to see the Captain, which was a scary enough thought by itself.
The Lieutenant left the room and shut the door behind him as Marco unpacked his computer and its charging cable and set them on the empty desk. He took out a pack of cheap pens and put them in the right hand top drawer of his desk, and then unpacked his leather-bound notebook and his favorite stainless-steel pen, and placed them in the left hand top drawer of the desk.
Walking out of his new office, Marco shut the door behind him and walked across the room to a much larger office, currently used by Captain James Cole. This section of the station had five walled offices - three on one side and two on the other - and the center of the room was filled with rows of desks for the officers. The three offices on one end of the room were occupied by the three detectives: Gene Maxwell, Jeff Caldwell, and now Marco Moretti. On the other side, the other two offices were occupied by the Lieutenant and Captain Cole. The overhead lighting of the entire room and all the offices were of bright fluorescent lights and the main floor featured linoleum white tile, while each office had light blue carpet.
Marco double tapped the outside of the door, right under the Captain James Cole sign, and waited for a voice.
“Come in!”
Captain Cole had a gruff voice, which sounded scratchy and painful coming out of that beefy neck. The Captain was fat by no means - quite muscular, actually, and in top physical shape - but his neck was like that of a football player’s. His tight purple shirt made it appear as if he were flexing every muscle in his upper body, like his chest would pop through the buttons and his arms would rip the seams.
“Wanted to see me, sir?” Marco asked, feebly enough, as he had met the Captain a few times before, but never had a one-on-one conversation. It was intimidating standing in his office, and even kind of felt like elementary school again. The feeling in his stomach was the same he would get as a child when he knew he was about to be scolded for misbehavior in class.
“Yeah, Marco. But call me Jim. I’m no better than you and you’re no better than me, so we don’t gotta be formal, yeah?”
“Yes, sir.” Marco realized what he said as soon as the words escaped his lips, but it was a reflex. He had never addressed a superior with anything other than sir or ma’am in the States.
“Yes, Jim, or just yes. No more sir.” Jim looked up from his desk, took off his reading glasses, and set down his pen. “I got your first big boy assignment. There’s a missing woman, who has been gone about two weeks. Little less, actually. The last time her family had contact with her was New Year’s Eve, so we’re assuming that she went out that night to party and never came home.”
“Sounds tragic. Two weeks?”
“Never assume anything, bud. Anything could have happened. She could have run away from her life, or she could be tied up in some freak’s basement. But it’s your job to find out, so ‘til you do, never assume anything is good or tragic.”
“Yes, s- Jim. Yeah.”
“I can’t have you do it alone, though. She’s kind of worth a lot of money, so she’s kind of real important, so we’re gonna have Gene lead, and you follow and help him out. He’s been doin’ the best he can since we started the investigation, but he’s kinda dry on leads right now. You can go see him if he is here. He’s late more often than on time.”
“Thanks, Jim. I’ll go talk to him. Anything else?” Marco was already halfway out of the door when he asked, but stopped when the Captain started to speak.
“Yeah actually. There’s not really a whole lot to go on, but we sent an officer out to Denton a few days ago to interview the ex-husband, but apparently the ex didn’t wanna talk. I think we sent, uh, Collin Jacobs. You met him yet? Start with him and see if there’s anything else he knows about the ex.”
“Yes, sir. We spoke gettin’ coffee just a moment ago. I’ll see him again.”
Marco was out of the doorway and the door was almost shut when Captain Cole yelled, “I’m Jim!” Marco half laughed and half worried he was in trouble, but didn’t stop to turn and apologize. Instead, he went down to Gene’s office to see if he was in yet, but of course he was not.
Marco was excited at the prospect of starting on his first case. At this moment, in the middle of the floor of this particular room of the police station, Marco finally felt like he had achieved his goal and fulfilled his purpose in moving to the United States. He was a long way from home, but then Marco had the revelation that Italy was no longer his home; Dallas, Texas was. This was where he got his first police job, his first major promotion, his first real detective case, and this would be where he buys his first home, and perhaps marries his wife and has his children.
It was a moment of serene elation for Marco, but he couldn’t allow himself to be giddy, or jump up and down in front of the dozen other officers present. Instead, he walked slowly and quietly back into his office and shut the door.
---
Gene walked into his office at 7:47 AM, with coffee in hand. Marco was patiently waiting, and the moment he heard Gene’s door close, he sprung up from his office chair and speed-walked to go greet him. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but halfway into it, decided that he better not bombard the man before he got settled in. In one motion, he spun back around and walked back into his office and sat down again.
After the appropriate five minutes to settle in had come and passed, Marco once again made his way to see Gene. He knocked, then entered without waiting for a response. Gene was startled by the loudness of Marco’s entry, but pleasantly surprised to see him. They had already known each other for a little over a year, as Gene was the seasoned detective who had been training Marco during his apprenticeship and somewhat before, when he was still an officer in Narcotics.
“How y’doin’ this morning, Marco?” Gene said it with a smirk.
“I’m good, Gene. Captain just put me on the- shit. I don’t even know the lady’s name. The missing rich girl. Anyways, he wants me to help you out with it.”
“Edmund is her name. That’s her married name, but from what I understand, she hasn’t been divorced long enough to reassume her maiden name. There’s not a whole lot of info to go on, and I’m kind of at a standstill, but I’ll catch you up to speed on what I’ve got so far. I have a few other things on my desk so you can look at this in the meantime.”
Gene handed Marco a folder with only a few pieces of paper in it. It was his own personal case file he kept in his desk. Most people use their computers for this kind of stuff now, but Gene was old fashioned and still preferred the pen and paper way of doing work.
“It’s the file I have so far on the girl. There’s not much, but there’s a few notes. Maybe it’ll give you a start.”
“But I’m just supposed to follow you and help you.” Marco knew he had to say this, because of what the Captain had said, but he was more or less just hoping that Gene would dismiss his protest and tell him to do the work anyway.
“Yeah, I know, but I got other stuff, too. Just look at that and if you get any solid ideas or leads, bring ‘em to me, and we’ll go out together. Maybe go talk to Officer Jacobs, ‘cause he’s the one who talked to the ex-husband on Saturday, but I haven’t really had a chance to talk to him. The guy’s a real prick and I’ve been putting it off.”
“Okay, Gene. Thanks a bunch, really. I’ll get to work.” Marco took the file and just about ran out of Gene’s office and toward his own, practically slamming the door in the process.
“Alright, kid. Knock yourself out,” Gene chuckled under his breath, but Marco was already gone.
Gene was old. He was mere weeks from retirement and the long career in law enforcement made it show. His hair was thinned about as much as it can be before falling completely out, and was a brilliant shade of white. The loose skin of his neck sagged below his chin and his blue eyes had dulled into more of a gra
y shade. He was partial to sweater vests, and usually wore one over his dress shirt and tie, as opposed to a traditional blazer or sport coat. His blue jeans were almost too short, and when he sat down, long white socks could be seen riding up his old white legs.
At one point in his career, he was full of energy, much like young Marco is at this point, but now after a long career has beaten him down into a tired bag of bones, it had been much harder to focus on the task at hand with real tenacity. Gene realized after some time that having Marco to shadow him had brought some of that spirit back, and getting to work had not been as much of a chore since.
Inside his office, Marco poured over the file that Gene gave him. It did not take very long because, just like Gene said, there wasn’t much to go on. All that the folder contained was a photo of the missing woman, Zoey Edmund, and some notes regarding the recent divorce with Terry Edmund. There was really nothing else though, and immediately Marco saw some avenues to pursue that Gene had not yet tried. Marco realized that the parents of Zoey, who may have been the last people to speak to her, had not yet been interviewed in full, other than their initial report. Also, there were no notes from the interview that Officer Jacobs had with Terry Edmund, which seems to be the most important place to start, and there was no record of Gene interviewing Mr. Edmund himself.
The revelation that his mentor had seriously neglected the most basic duties as an investigator deeply disturbed Marco, and he even contemplated telling the Captain of his irresponsibility. But he ultimately decided against it, realizing he could not betray his friend so majorly on his very first day on the job. Although, he decided he needed to do two things immediately before the end of the day: interview the parents of Miss Zoey Edmund, and to interview the ex-husband, who perhaps had the most motive to harm her. In the notes, it mentioned that they had only been divorced for a couple of weeks when she turned up missing, and that she was entitled to sizable fortune following the finalization of the divorce. Obviously, a man who was two weeks removed from a messy divorce and was forced to fork over nearly four million dollars would be the most likely culprit.
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