money.”
“Channel 3 is willing to pay all reasonable expenses, but my bet is that the homicide team has already processed the call. All you probably need to do is pull the page from the file.”
“I suppose you expect it today.” He spoke slow and heavy, like my request was a major burden.
“If it’s not too much trouble.” I reminded him a killer was running loose and media attention might help solve the case.
“I’ll have to get back to you.”
That meant he was going to check with the chief. While I prepared myself for a ten-day wait, I called the farm. My parents had also left a message on my office phone bewailing the radio show’s exploitation of my live shot. If I didn’t return their call, they’d visit me. Or worse, they’d visit the radio station and end up as talk-show guests.
After five rings, I was almost ready to give up when my mother picked up the phone. “Riley, we’re so glad to hear from you. We’ve been worried.”
“Worried? What do you have to worry about, Mom?”
She and Dad were retired. Church and lunch were the highlights of their day. For city folks, dinner might rank first, but living on a farm is all about the noon meal.
“Well, you of course, Riley. We watched your story last night. We know how disheartened you must be. We just want you to know we’re here for you.”
“Absolutely,” I heard my dad pitch in. “And we know just the thing to cheer you up.”
I hated even thinking what they might have in mind. “I’m fine,” I insisted. “Everything I need I have. The only thing I’m ever lacking is a good story.”
“A puppy!” they both yelled together. “Kloeckner’s dog just had a litter.”
I spent the next ten minutes reminding my parents that I worked full-time in a demanding job with unpredictable hours, and trying to convince them that if they drove two hours from the farm to surprise me with a puppy on my doorstep I would never forgive them.
They were the ones who needed canine company. Their old farm dog, Lucky, had gone to the big doghouse in the sky. But they claimed they missed him too much to replace him so soon.
But all farms need yard dogs to bark an alarm when a stranger drives in and to keep small animals like skunks and groundhogs away from the main house.
“You get yourselves a puppy,” I said, “and I’ll come visit. I promise.”
CHAPTER 13
M y email showed a message from the Minneapolis Police Department telling me they had complied with my data request. I was confused to find transcripts of not one, but two 911 calls.
The first came at 11:36 AM .
Caller: “Someone is breaking into my neighbor’s house. He threw a chair through the window. Now he’s climbing inside. Hurry.”
Dispatcher: “You’re saying an intruder is in your neighbor’s house?”
Caller: “Yes. Please hurry.”
Dispatcher: “Is anyone else home there?”
Caller: “Possibly. Her name is Kate. She works at home but lives alone. He’s still inside.”
The dispatcher then went on to check the address of the break-in, assure the caller that a squad was being dispatched, and get the neighbor’s name. Until then, I hadn’t even known if the caller was male or female.
Caller: “My name is Melinda Gordon. I’m very worried. I can’t believe this is happening in broad daylight. Please hurry.”
Dispatcher: “I’d like you to stay on the line with me until officers arrive. Let me know if you see the suspect leave.”
Caller: “Do you want his license plate number?”
Dispatcher: “Can you see his vehicle?”
Caller: “Yes, it’s a reddish-brown SUV, parked on the street in from of her house and has Minnesota plates.”
The caller then recited a short series of numbers and letters.
The dispatcher repeated them for confirmation.
Caller: “I hear a siren. I see a police car.”
Dispatcher: “Thank you for calling in your information. I’m going to disconnect now.”
By the time Malik and I had arrived at the crime scene, the
“Channel 3 is willing to pay all reasonable expenses, but my bet is that the homicide team has already processed the call. All you probably need to do is pull the page from the file.”
“I suppose you expect it today.” He spoke slow and heavy, like my request was a major burden.
“If it’s not too much trouble.” I reminded him a killer was running loose and media attention might help solve the case.
“I’ll have to get back to you.”
That meant he was going to check with the chief. While I prepared myself for a ten-day wait, I called the farm. My parents had also left a message on my office phone bewailing the radio show’s exploitation of my live shot. If I didn’t return their call, they’d visit me. Or worse, they’d visit the radio station and end up as talk-show guests.
After five rings, I was almost ready to give up when my mother picked up the phone. “Riley, we’re so glad to hear from you. We’ve been worried.”
“Worried? What do you have to worry about, Mom?”
She and Dad were retired. Church and lunch were the highlights of their day. For city folks, dinner might rank first, but living on a farm is all about the noon meal.
“Well, you of course, Riley. We watched your story last night. We know how disheartened you must be. We just want you to know we’re here for you.”
“Absolutely,” I heard my dad pitch in. “And we know just the thing to cheer you up.”
I hated even thinking what they might have in mind. “I’m fine,” I insisted. “Everything I need I have. The only thing I’m ever lacking is a good story.”
“A puppy!” they both yelled together. “Kloeckner’s dog just had a litter.”
I spent the next ten minutes reminding my parents that I worked full-time in a demanding job with unpredictable hours, and trying to convince them that if they drove two hours from the farm to surprise me with a puppy on my doorstep I would never forgive them.
They were the ones who needed canine company. Their old farm dog, Lucky, had gone to the big doghouse in the sky. But they claimed they missed him too much to replace him so soon.
But all farms need yard dogs to bark an alarm when a stranger drives in and to keep small animals like skunks and groundhogs away from the main house.
“You get yourselves a puppy,” I said, “and I’ll come visit. I promise.”
CHAPTER 13
M y email showed a message from the Minneapolis Police Department telling me they had complied with my data request. I was confused to find transcripts of not one, but two 911 calls.
The first came at 11:36 AM .
Caller: “Someone is breaking into my neighbor’s house. He threw a chair through the window. Now he’s climbing inside. Hurry.”
Dispatcher: “You’re saying an intruder is in your neighbor’s house?”
Caller: “Yes. Please hurry.”
Dispatcher: “Is anyone else home there?”
Caller: “Possibly. Her name is Kate. She works at home but lives alone. He’s still inside.”
The dispatcher then went on to check the address of the break-in, assure the caller that a squad was being dispatched, and get the neighbor’s name. Until then, I hadn’t even known if the caller was male or female.
Caller: “My name is Melinda Gordon. I’m very worried. I can’t believe this is happening in broad daylight. Please hurry.”
Dispatcher: “I’d like you to stay on the line with me until officers arrive. Let me know if you see the suspect leave.”
Caller: “Do you want his license plate number?”
Dispatcher: “Can you see his vehicle?”
Caller: “Yes, it’s a reddish-brown SUV, parked on the street in from of her house and has Minnesota plates.”
The caller then recited a short series of numbers and letters.
The dispatcher repeated them for confirmation.
Caller: “I hear a siren. I see a police car.”
Dispatcher: “Thank you for calling in your information. I’m going to disconnect now.”
By the time Malik and I had arrived at the crime scene, the
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