Falling in Love Read online

  She was pretty sure of that.

  First impressions were often pretty accurate.

  It wasn’t deliberate provocation as long as they treated everyone the same way. It was their choice, nothing more.

  She watched him get in and then she sat in her car for a moment talking it over with dispatch.

  Details, details. Other units didn’t seem very busy as she listened to a few calls.

  She was just making the gentleman sweat a little.

  Even if she caught him with a joint or a couple of grams, he had no criminal record and it wouldn’t bring much joy anyway. What was the point?

  Twenty-eight years old by the birth date. He was old enough to know better.

  Only a couple of years older than she was.

  Proving impairment was dicey. Taking his story at face value, and with her own impression of him. He had been recorded on her dashboard cam and the fellow was behaving well enough.

  Among other things, he didn’t try to lie to her. That took something, what exactly that was she couldn’t quite say.

  Self-respect, maybe, or was it just bowing to the inevitable? He seemed calm and in control of himself.

  She got out again and went up to his door.

  “Okay, sir. We’re going to let you go. Incidentally, it’s a bad idea to smoke pot and drive. There are laws against impaired driving too. But that’s it for this time. Get that light fixed and drive safely, please.”

  “Thank you, Constable. And please don’t take this the wrong way—”

  She looked him in the eye. It wasn’t unfriendly. She wasn’t judging him, or making any other comment.

  “And what’s that, sir?”

  “What’s your name?”

  She approved in spite of herself, and didn’t over-react. People had the right to know who they were dealing with. They were all accountable, otherwise it was just tyranny. There was some semblance of guts in it.

  “My name is Constable Barrett. Good night, sir.”

  She watched fumble to put his papers back in his wallet. Hands still shaking.

  Hmn,

  He reached down, rolled up his window and seemed to take a deep breath as they exchanged one last look.

  Laine watched him start up, signal, and pull carefully out into the road. His taillights receded into the night, and as she approached her own vehicle, her radio was again buzzing with calls from dispatch.

  She was prepared to quickly forget the incident.

  ***

  Not so fast, maybe.

  Shit.

  Such a nice guy, too, but things were not always what they seemed.

  “Dispatch. Unit Nine here.”

  “Come in please?”

  “Looks like we got us a live one here. A real winner, even. Will advise.”

  “What’s up, Unit Nine?”

  The air hung heavy as Laine watched the mirror.

  The guy went on down the road, and then he must have found a laneway in the darkness and the driving snow. Seeing Laine pull a careful U-turn and head off in the opposite direction must have been too much for him.

  Maybe taking him at face value was a mistake.

  That whole nice-guy act.

  He might be dumber than he looked. Maybe he was coming back for the dope—and maybe it was more than just a joint or two. Otherwise why take the risk? Maybe a lot more, although she hadn’t seen much of anything on the road surface in her two brief swipes at it. There was at least a quarter or a half an inch of snow adhering to the surface. Swirling white vortices swept across the tarmac from the southwest. He could have chucked it in the ditch or maybe the wind blew some small package off the road…

  She was westbound on MacTavish. Situational awareness.

  “Who’s in the area, Dispatch?”

  “Unit Fourteen is holding at two concessions east, MacTavish and Enniskillen Concession Six, copy?”

  “Copy.” Standard procedure when they had the units available.

  Someone was always nearby, even if you couldn’t see them.

  The snow-devils danced in the headlights of oncoming cars as Laine tried to see if the guy was going real slow or if he stopped or anything. He seemed to be coming along at a pretty good rate of speed, although that could be deceptive at night. It’s just that she had slowed down.

  Her speed was dropping, having lifted off the throttle as soon as she became aware of what was happening. Touching the brakes would have warned him. She wanted to see what he did next.

  What if the driver.. no, suspect—she mentally revised his tag on pure instinct, was following her? Keeping her vehicle off the gravel and out of the other lane was plenty of distraction. The roads were slippery.

  She could only devote so much attention to the mirror.

  The headlights blinked out. He went north, or to her right in the mirror.

  “Unit Nine. Okay, he’s turned north, back onto Pontiac Road.”

  Ah, maybe the dope was along there somewhere. He must have had a minute and a half or so to do something with it while she was turning around. The fellow wasn’t completely stupid, that was for sure. Never underestimate a perp.

  “Roger that.”

  “Unit Fourteen. Check that out please. I’m turning around ASAP, ETA about three minutes.”

  Coming up from the same direction, behind the perp, the guy would never guess the headlights in his mirror were a second unit.

  “Fourteen is inbound. Repeat, inbound.”

  With a little luck, the guy would be careless and think he was all free and clear.

  ***

  Somewhat to her relief, the little car kept going. It was still dawdling along at seventy kilometres an hour or so, north on Pontiac Road, and it soon re-entered the city at the stop-light intersection on the outskirts of Pomfret, population 74,000.

  That was much ado about nothing. She still hadn’t seen any baggies or packages, not even a smoke pack or a beer can, no fast-food packaging, nothing on the road or along the verge where the snow was piled high. They had now lost the chain of evidence, or custody, and it was over.

  “Unit Nine.”

  “Go ahead, Fourteen.”

  “It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  That would be true enough for one single joint. She accepted it. There was only so much you could do. If it really was one joint then the guy no longer had any real reason for cruising, did he?

  So why not turn around and go back to town. There was some element of logic in it.

  “Roger that.”

  They held up side by side for a moment.

  Reynolds was in Fourteen tonight. He hit the button and lowered his window. His bland face looked over with a nod.

  “Who’s on break?” Bill was a pretty good guy.

  “Ah, I don’t know.”

  “I’m not real hungry. Why don’t you go first.” It wasn’t exactly a question and it wasn’t exactly a statement.

  “All right.” Laine dropped the cruiser into gear.

  There was a Tim Horton’s less than a three kilometres up the road.

  ***

  “Hey. Constable Barrett.”

  She turned for a look. Having had to piddle, she was in the store, rather than just making a grab and go at the window.

  “Sir?”

  The guy she had just stopped stood there with a wallet in his hand. He pulled a coin out of one side pocket.

  “Yeah, I thought that was you.”

  He made a motion with his head. Her order was ready.

  Laine turned and picked up her medium coffee and her strawberry-filled donuts with the white icing and the sprinkles on top in their little brown bag and turned to go.

  He stepped up to the counter but the lady bustled away for some reason as they often did. He met Laine’s eyes again and shrugged. There was something intriguing about him.

  It was like he just didn’t give a shit, for surely he must know better.

  “It didn’t take you too long to get back to to
wn.”

  “Ha. I swear to God, Officer, I drove at or below the speed limit…” Stopping there, he bit his lip and sort of flushed with colour.

  He gave her a wry smile.

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay, sir. Honestly, Mister, ah, Jacobs. I, ah…I really don’ t take it too personal.” She regarded him in level fashion.

  He seemed sort of embarrassed all of a sudden. She ground on relentlessly as he blinked a couple of times.

  “Yeah, it takes all kinds to make a world…”

  He had the grace to look embarrassed.

  She fed him a couple of lines but he was hard to shake. He sort of swallowed and looked away a couple of times, coming back with a bit of a pained look but still doggedly persistent nevertheless.

  Laine kept getting one sort of impression and then he would refuse to live up to the rest of the profile…interesting.

  Profiles had their limits.

  “I don’t take things too personal either, Constable.” He managed a wintry smile that nevertheless looked pretty genuine.

  He wasn’t such a bad guy. This was just a momentary humiliation on the long road that was life.

  Maybe that’s what he wanted.

  She put her cup and bag back down on the low counter. Sticking her fingers in the top of the belt, left and right, she heaved the heavy grey trousers with the black stripe fielded by two strong yellow ones up, standing in a posture reminiscent of a major-league pitcher thinking things over.

  It was hard to keep them up properly sometimes.

  “Can I help you, sir?” The coffee lady was back.

  “One large double-double, please.” The man put a two-dollar coin in her hand.

  Her little display was over. Maybe he could take a hint.

  Laine picked her her order. Jacobs was sort of a rough-looking guy, poor but honest maybe. He wasn’t repulsively ugly. So far he really hadn’t done or said anything. He towered over her, which was oddly impressive for a civilian. Laine was six-foot-one herself. At the same time he looked merely foolish rather than menacing, or even all that rude.

  She’d certainly heard worse.

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way.”

  “Yeah. I get the impression you’re just dying to tell me something.” Now it was Laine’s turn to blush, although that one might hopefully have been taken as the first blush of anger.

  She mustn’t let him get to her.

  Theoretically, officers weren’t supposed to provoke a response…but if he wanted to have one, and was really determined to have one, then that was okay too.

  Don’t tread on me, Mister.

  “So?”

  “That’s a cute little outfit.” It just snapped out.

  There was a fine glint in his eye when he said it, then he looked kind of surprised.

  Uh, oh.

  She snickered in spite of herself. Her eyes danced and she tried to back him off with their help, but he wasn’t buying it and eventually, she rolled her eyes, heaved a deep and theatrical sigh and tried to keep smiling.

  He seemed pleased by this response. He got a little red in the face and appeared to be looking for his exit.

  She shook her head and held his eyes for a moment, and he grinned in a kind of bold relief.

  Interesting. Is he serious?

  Without a word, she turned and headed for the door.

  Flirting with the customers, and not even very good-looking ones.

  What next.

  Constable Laine had a little more trouble forgetting him the second time around, but she managed, and the shift did get busier after a while.

  He had soft and gentle eyes, and didn’t seem to be a trouble maker with that nice clean record.

  Everyone had a story.

  Scene Two

  It was a week or ten days later. With their three-twelve hour shifts, three on and three off, four days off every three rotations, she was back on nights.

  A blisteringly cold night in February, she had a speed trap set up along Highway 89. So far, Laine had bagged a couple of speeders and nailed one drunk. She was just making arrangements to have the vehicle towed and impounded.

  The driver sat, with his head hanging and face low, slumped over against the window in the back seat of her cruiser. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  A middle-aged man.

  His wife didn’t understand him. He told Laine all about it. It didn’t take much prompting.

  When her cellular phone rang, she answered it. The fact that she didn’t recognize the number never really registered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. Is this Constable Barrett?”

  “Yeah. Constable Barrett speaking. Who is this?

  “It’s Mark Jacobs. You’ve probably forgotten all about me by now. You stopped me for a license-plate bulb.” He gave a date and a time and a location.

  Very professional. Seen it on TV.

  “I’m sorry, sir? What did you say this is is about?” She had no idea of what he was talking about.

  “You know. I had a doob and you smelled it, and then we ran into each other in the coffee shop right afterwards…”

  “Ah. Ah. So, uh. What is this about, sir?”

  “Well.” There was a pause. “If it’s a bad time and you’re real busy, I’m really sorry about all this. But I just wanted to see—to speak to you. You must get a lunch break, right?”

  What?

  “What are we talking about here, sir? Mister Jacobs?”

  “Ah…I want to buy you dinner.”

  “Sir! Say, ah, listen, Mark. You really can’t be doing this. Ah...” Aw, no.

  No.

  I’m a freakin’ police officer, Mister Jacobs. I’m on freakin’ duty, Mister Jacobs.

  Not one of them guys, all machismo and trying to prove something…not some God-damned cop groupie, or just plain nut-case.

  “Please? It wouldn’t hurt anything, would it? I mean, really?”

  She stood in front of her car, watching the tow-truck driver hooking up to the impounded vehicle, shaking her head and wondering what in the blue blazes was up with this one.

  The night was cold and clear and the air was positively delicious. It was all going off now…

  “Sir, how did you get my number?”

  “Well. Oh, yeah. I called in to the station, and I told them I wanted to talk to you.”

  “What number did you call?”

  “Ah, 911. They said your name is Laine.”

  She bared her teeth and stifled a growl.

  “Sir. Mister Jacobs. It is an offence to misuse the 911 network. It is strictly for emergencies.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I mean, I know that and everything.”

  The fines were stiff and the evidence was all on record, in the suspect’s own voice. His phone number would be automatically logged. He didn’t stand a chance if she wanted to make an issue of it. It was an easy five hundred-dollar fine.

  “Look, Mark. You seem like a nice guy, right?” She took a deep breath and counted to three. “Look, Mark. I’m very flattered, and everything like that. I know how it is.”

  Shit! Never say that. Never explain. Never raise objections…just shut him down. Quick.

  “Yeah, I know.” He sighed deeply, his thoughts pregnant with unspoken meaning. “Look, I’ll tell you what. I’ll be at the A and W restaurant on Victoria Street. You can arrest me there, okay?”

  “Ah, jeez. Mark…shit. I’m not going to arrest you.”

  Hell, no. I will be running as hard as I can in the opposite direction.

  “Well, so, ah…what do I got to do then?” His voice rose on the second last word. “No, seriously. Tell me what I got to do and I’ll, ah, I’ll do it.”

  She smiled in spite of herself. She shook her head.

  What a nut.

  “Please?”

  There was a long silence over the airwaves.

  “Constable Barrett? Laine? Please?”

  Argh.

  She
could imagine him listening and trying to read her thoughts. He must know what some of those thoughts would be. He must have some idea.

  How stupid, or how desperate, could a man possibly be?

  Two attributes she did not find particularly attractive at the best of times, and she was at work.

  She didn’t have the time or the inclination for this crap.

  “Look, I’ll buy you a cheeseburger, okay? Come on, Constable. Be a good sport and let me do this for you, okay? You were nice to me. I just want to show you how I feel. Just to show my appreciation, okay? Like a…you know, like a good citizen?”

  Oh, Lord.

  Laine stood by the side of County Road Four and rolled her eyes to high heaven.

  She looked at her watch.

  “Have you been drinking, Mark?”

  “No, Constable Barrett. I have not been drinking. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Well, that was kind of a sweet thing to say. Guys who tried to pick her up usually tried immediately, no hesitation, right on the spot, and they were a lot more crude as often as not. There was something different about this one though.

  “You’d better not be.” Yeah, she remembered him now all right. “Have you been smoking pot, Mark?”

  “I’ll take the fifth on that one, Constable. But yeah, maybe a couple of little ones earlier.” She could hear a smile in the man’s voice.

  Unbelievable.

  “I’m sitting right here, Constable. Man, don’t those burgers smell good—”

  Gah!

  “…charcoal broiled, you can sit and watch them flame…”

  “All right, Mister Jacobs. I’ll be there when I get there.” She reached for the microphone with her other hand. “And you had better be on your best behaviour. Mister Jacobs.”

  Otherwise, I am going to bust your ass.

  But good.

  Mister Jacobs.

  Scene Three

  Three days later, Mark was still thinking about her.

  But then, he would be.

  What else was there to think about?

  He couldn’t get her out of his mind.