The 3rd precinct station was a narrow seven storey tower which employed nearly three hundred officers and detectives on rotation. The cars were garaged in an annexed building next to it, hollowed out to its facade and rebuilt as parking lot, armoury and holding cells.
The interior of the main building was decorated in the economic rationalist style which had been dominating governmental offices since the war, with bare partitioning walls and dull furniture that had a handed-down aspect, the overall setting generally gave the impression that there were no more costs to cut in police aesthetics.
The front desk was fogged in with civilians reporting their lost daughter, son, brother, lover or significant other, and upstairs was the usual mess, a lot of officers falling behind on their paperwork. Everyone moved out of Owen’s way, and this seemed to be how he expected it. Carroll followed in his slipstream.
As the situation in the city had worsened and the stress on the police increased, a few officers had tried to engage Owen in conversation, suspecting he knew more than they. As a result he had withdrawn more and those people who interfered were given a discrete talking to by Lieutenant Evans, the city’s public relations front.
These days Owen hardly visited the station at all, only when forced to. He called his arrests in directly to Fitz and passed only cursory comment to the clean-up crew. He talked to no one. Fitz and Evans were the extent of his circle, three people with little love for each other. The captain saw the isolation boring into him, that’s why he’d eventually managed to saddle him with the rookie. Evans may have noticed but didn’t give a shit.
Carroll knew none of this, so didn’t understand why the department seemed to be watching him through a glass wall. What he also didn’t understand was that many were seeing him as an unknown rookie getting the inside dope on a situation they were still in the dark on.
The interior of the main building was decorated in the economic rationalist style which had been dominating governmental offices since the war, with bare partitioning walls and dull furniture that had a handed-down aspect, the overall setting generally gave the impression that there were no more costs to cut in police aesthetics.
The front desk was fogged in with civilians reporting their lost daughter, son, brother, lover or significant other, and upstairs was the usual mess, a lot of officers falling behind on their paperwork. Everyone moved out of Owen’s way, and this seemed to be how he expected it. Carroll followed in his slipstream.
As the situation in the city had worsened and the stress on the police increased, a few officers had tried to engage Owen in conversation, suspecting he knew more than they. As a result he had withdrawn more and those people who interfered were given a discrete talking to by Lieutenant Evans, the city’s public relations front.
These days Owen hardly visited the station at all, only when forced to. He called his arrests in directly to Fitz and passed only cursory comment to the clean-up crew. He talked to no one. Fitz and Evans were the extent of his circle, three people with little love for each other. The captain saw the isolation boring into him, that’s why he’d eventually managed to saddle him with the rookie. Evans may have noticed but didn’t give a shit.
Carroll knew none of this, so didn’t understand why the department seemed to be watching him through a glass wall. What he also didn’t understand was that many were seeing him as an unknown rookie getting the inside dope on a situation they were still in the dark on.
Enjoying more and more each day!
Posted by: Lynn | 11/17/2009 at 08:02 AM