I can tell that whoever she’s talking to is high in her pecking order, someone she might care about deeply. There’s a protective tenderness in her tone that I’ve not heard before, and I hope what I suspect turns out to be wrong.
“Yes, like a pit bull, not knowing when to quit, hell-bent on creating the latest drama,” she agrees, walking into her office.
Then I’m walking into mine, setting down my belongings on the conference table. The first order of business is to close the shades as I watch the parking lot continue to empty. Next, I unlock the supply cabinet I obsessively keep stocked with what I consider forensic and medical necessities.
Finding the Narcan nasal spray, I try to ignore what I overheard a moment earlier, doing my best not to let it get to me. I have no doubt who Maggie was talking about, and it’s not true that words don’t hurt. They can hurt mightily, and if I didn’t feel unwelcome and on my own before, I do now, that’s for sure.
“Oh! Well, hello.” She appears in our shared doorway. “I didn’t realize you were here.” A shadow passes behind her eyes, and it may be the first time I’ve seen her flustered.
I’ve just walked into my office, and she’s worried about what I overheard in the corridor while she was talking on the phone. I play dumb, grabbing Narcan from a shelf.
“I just got here at long last.” I place half a dozen doses inside my scene case, promising never to be without them again. “Between traffic jams and protests, and I appreciate your waiting for me.”
“I wasn’t actually, you got here just in time. I was taking care of a few things before leaving.” She watches my every move as if trying to figure me out. “You have a lot of phone messages, I just e-mailed you the list of them. And there’s a stack of cases and death certificates for you to initial. I’ll have them ready shortly.”
“When we texted while Benton and I were stuck in gridlock, you said things are a mess, and I quote. What’s going on besides the day shift security guard calling in sick again? I believe his name is Nathan.” I envision him, built like a bullet, a perpetual sour expression on his face.
“Yes, he called in with a migraine late last night, said it was so bad he was in bed with the lights out. Which is exactly where he should have been anyway at almost midnight,” Maggie says. “In a nutshell, today has been chaotic.”
“If he continues being this undependable, we may have to let him go,” I reply. “We can’t have security working double shifts, and we don’t force people to eat in their offices, by the way, Maggie. Not ever. Especially if it’s downstairs or anywhere near bodies and other biohazards.” I do my best to keep a check on my indignation.
“I’ve had every reason imaginable to worry about the security of our building with all that’s been going on,” she says presumptuously, and not a day goes by when I don’t miss my former secretary Rose.
I couldn’t have asked for a better aide-de-camp during my Richmond years. She was warm, trustworthy, a force to be reckoned with, and of the district offices I oversaw, she found this one the most difficult. Referring to the staff as “Northern aggressors” and “Beltway snobs,” she’d shake her head if she could see me now.
“I’m sorry to hear things have been chaotic but I’m not surprised,” I say to my secretary who’s certainly not a Rose, more like a sharp thorn in my side.
ROOTING AROUND INSIDE THE supply closet, I can’t find the premixed Bluestar reagent I know I have, and I ask Maggie about it.
“I’m not sure I know what that is.” She stands nearby, watching me like a hawk.
“When sprayed on nonvisible bloodstains, it causes them to luminesce,” I explain in frustration.
“Oh, yes, the sort of hocus-pocus one sees on CSI.” She all but rolls her eyes. “That must be what Fabian borrowed the other day and promised to replace.”
“I need to know things like that,” I almost snap, and fortunately I have a jar of luminol powder.
It will work fine for my purposes but isn’t as easy to use and has its limitations.
“People can’t just help themselves to my supply closet.” I shouldn’t have to remind her of common courtesy.
“I’ll have a word with Fabian,” Maggie says, and their allegiance couldn’t be more apparent.
“We need to communicate better.” It’s not the first time I’ve said this to her, and likely won’t be the last. “Had I known the office was out of Bluestar or anything else, we could have reordered it ourselves, and I wouldn’t be on my way to a scene without it.”