help I can get.”
“My pleasure. My wife was right; you’re doing a good job.”
“Well, give your wife a hug for me.”
“Campaigning, Madam Mayor?”
I turned my eyes to the trim, dark-haired man who had been in my home a little over an hour ago. “Detective West. I hope this is not too early.”
He surrendered a little smile. “Touché. Pop the door, Collins. Let’s not keep the mayor waiting.” The door to my right buzzed. I went to it, turned the knob, and left the civilian area behind. I was now in cop country.
West guided me through the outer office area and through a set of doors that lead to the back of the station. This place is less glitzy, more utilitarian. Gray metal desks fill a large open space. Beige carpet blankets the floor. The air smells of old coffee. To one side of the room is a glass wall, beyond which I could see three people, two women and one man, seated at a U-shaped console. It is the communication room. All 911 calls come here: fire, ambulance, and police. The dispatchers then take over. Detectives and officers use the rest of the room to write reports, interview people, or simply take a break.
I followed West as he negotiated the obstacle course of desks and chairs. We passed through another set of doors and entered a room that is more spartan than the last: gray-painted concrete floor, dull white walls, suspended ceiling, and recessed fluorescent lights. A pair of metal doors leads outside.
On one side is a counter covered in simulated-wood Formica. It looks worn and tired. On the other side is a corridor. When I first came to the council, I received a tour of the facility, so I knew where the hall leads: to small rooms used as holding cells.
“This is where we fingerprint arrestees and take their picture, Madam Mayor,” West said, taking the tone of tour guide. He indicated a man standing near the counter. “This is Officer Frank Dell, one of our fingerprint technicians and all-round nice guy. Frank, this is Mayor Madison Glenn.”
“Maddy.” I extended my hand. His grip was strong and his skin cool.
“Pleased to meet you, Mayor.”
“Hey, Frank, why don’t you show the mayor what you do?”
Officer Dell looked surprised. “You mean print her and take a mug shot?”
“I think we can skip the mug shot. That’s no different than what happens at the DMV.” He turned to me. “How about it, Mayor? Want to see what happens to the folks we arrest?”
I saw what he was doing and played along. “That could be interesting.”
“After the arrest, this is the first place you’d come. The officer parks just beyond those doors and brings the arrestee in. The person would be handcuffed, of course, generally with his hands behind his back. I don’t think we need to cuff you for you to get the idea.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Now, to fingerprint a suspect, we have to bring his hands forward. If we have some concerns about his behavior, we cuff him again with his hands in front. Frank here knows how to print a man in cuffs, don’t you, Frank?”
“Years of experience.” Dell pulled a wide white card out of a drawer and placed it in a device attached to the top of the counter. The device held the card in place. Next to it he set what looked like a large plastic compact case. Inside was a substance that looked like solidified Vaseline.
“After fingerprinting, the officer takes a photo and the prisoner is led down that corridor and put in a holding cell. People who are going to be held longer than a day are taken to a county facility. Drunks are taken to a different place to dry out.” He took my hand. “Here, let Frank show you how it’s done.”
I stepped up to the counter and submitted to the procedure. It made me feel dirty. Officer Dell took my right thumb and rolled it on the pad, then rolled it on the card. The card was divided in several ways. The top portion had several boxes for information like name, date, technician, arresting officer, and more.
“My pleasure. My wife was right; you’re doing a good job.”
“Well, give your wife a hug for me.”
“Campaigning, Madam Mayor?”
I turned my eyes to the trim, dark-haired man who had been in my home a little over an hour ago. “Detective West. I hope this is not too early.”
He surrendered a little smile. “Touché. Pop the door, Collins. Let’s not keep the mayor waiting.” The door to my right buzzed. I went to it, turned the knob, and left the civilian area behind. I was now in cop country.
West guided me through the outer office area and through a set of doors that lead to the back of the station. This place is less glitzy, more utilitarian. Gray metal desks fill a large open space. Beige carpet blankets the floor. The air smells of old coffee. To one side of the room is a glass wall, beyond which I could see three people, two women and one man, seated at a U-shaped console. It is the communication room. All 911 calls come here: fire, ambulance, and police. The dispatchers then take over. Detectives and officers use the rest of the room to write reports, interview people, or simply take a break.
I followed West as he negotiated the obstacle course of desks and chairs. We passed through another set of doors and entered a room that is more spartan than the last: gray-painted concrete floor, dull white walls, suspended ceiling, and recessed fluorescent lights. A pair of metal doors leads outside.
On one side is a counter covered in simulated-wood Formica. It looks worn and tired. On the other side is a corridor. When I first came to the council, I received a tour of the facility, so I knew where the hall leads: to small rooms used as holding cells.
“This is where we fingerprint arrestees and take their picture, Madam Mayor,” West said, taking the tone of tour guide. He indicated a man standing near the counter. “This is Officer Frank Dell, one of our fingerprint technicians and all-round nice guy. Frank, this is Mayor Madison Glenn.”
“Maddy.” I extended my hand. His grip was strong and his skin cool.
“Pleased to meet you, Mayor.”
“Hey, Frank, why don’t you show the mayor what you do?”
Officer Dell looked surprised. “You mean print her and take a mug shot?”
“I think we can skip the mug shot. That’s no different than what happens at the DMV.” He turned to me. “How about it, Mayor? Want to see what happens to the folks we arrest?”
I saw what he was doing and played along. “That could be interesting.”
“After the arrest, this is the first place you’d come. The officer parks just beyond those doors and brings the arrestee in. The person would be handcuffed, of course, generally with his hands behind his back. I don’t think we need to cuff you for you to get the idea.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Now, to fingerprint a suspect, we have to bring his hands forward. If we have some concerns about his behavior, we cuff him again with his hands in front. Frank here knows how to print a man in cuffs, don’t you, Frank?”
“Years of experience.” Dell pulled a wide white card out of a drawer and placed it in a device attached to the top of the counter. The device held the card in place. Next to it he set what looked like a large plastic compact case. Inside was a substance that looked like solidified Vaseline.
“After fingerprinting, the officer takes a photo and the prisoner is led down that corridor and put in a holding cell. People who are going to be held longer than a day are taken to a county facility. Drunks are taken to a different place to dry out.” He took my hand. “Here, let Frank show you how it’s done.”
I stepped up to the counter and submitted to the procedure. It made me feel dirty. Officer Dell took my right thumb and rolled it on the pad, then rolled it on the card. The card was divided in several ways. The top portion had several boxes for information like name, date, technician, arresting officer, and more.
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