"Gone But Not Forgotten"

GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN
By Curtis C. Chen

The first time I met Detective Shawna Burgeson, I made the mistake of asking if she'd ever played basketball. I was young and stupid then. I make much more subtle mistakes nowadays.

"Okay, I'm here," I said, walking across the Marina District garage to Burgeson, who was standing next to a black-and-white. "Now what couldn't you tell me over the phone?"

Burgeson pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and unfolded it. "I didn't think you'd believe it unless you saw it for yourself. This is the suspect identified by a witness to a convenience store holdup on Polk early this morning."

She handed me the paper. It was a printout from the department's composite sketch software, showing a crude image of a woman in her thirties. Dark hair fell past her neck in grayscale ribbons. Solid black eyes peered at me over a pointed nose and round chin.

My brain recognized her before I could tell it not to. It was Debra. She'd been dead for over a year. I had watched her bleed out on the ground.

"Okay," I said, "is this the part where I'm supposed to be shocked that this looks like my dead partner?"

"I wanted you to see for yourself," Burgeson said. "Harry did the composite with our witness. He didn't know Sorkowitz. He couldn't have influenced the witness in any way."

"This could be anybody," I said. "That crappy composite program is at least ten years old, and it doesn't have enough different facial features. We know Debra's dead, so it can't be her. Why are you wasting my time?"

Burgeson folded the paper and put it away. "Calm down, Griff."

"I am calm!"

"No, you're not!" She pointed a finger at me. "Just shut up and listen. I didn't want to believe it, either, so I walked the witness through a photo array." A photo array is an identification line-up using mugshots instead of live people. It's a lot faster and easier than doing a live line-up, and because human brains are wired to recognize faces, it's usually just as reliable. "He picked Sorkowitz out of an entire photo book."

"Then you got a false positive," I said. "Is this all you wanted to show me? 'cause I've got roll call in a few minutes."

"We had to put together the photo array pretty quickly," Burgeson said. "The only picture I could find of Sorkowitz was a publicity photo of her in uniform." She paused to let that sink in. "Our witness saw that, and he still picked her. What kind of idiot accuses a cop if he's not absolutely sure?"

"We got a lot of idiots in this city."

"I just wanted you to hear it from me before people started talking."

"Thanks for nothing." I turned and walked away.

"I'll let you know what we find out!" she called after me.

I kept my back to Burgeson all the way to the elevator. I was glad she couldn't see me starting to cry.



Photo: SFPD Crown Vic by Todd Lappin, May, 2006

"Working Graves: Habeas Corpus"

WORKING GRAVES: HABEAS CORPUS
By Curtis C. Chen

"Are you a vampire?"

Conrad studied the man asking the question. Tall, slightly overweight, standing with that posture particular to law enforcement. It was almost as good as being able to read his aura, which was nearly impossible amid the flashing lights of the nightclub.

"I don't believe we've met," Conrad said.

The man held up a metal star imprinted with a number and the words SAN FRANCISCO POLICE. "I'm Puff, the magic dragon."

The badge holder wasn't worn enough for it to be something the man carried around every day. So he couldn't be an actual plainclothes detective. But the badge was real. A uniformed patrolman, trying to bluff his way through an unofficial investigation? Why?

"I'd like to ask you some questions, Mr. Vansek," the man said.

Normally, Conrad would have signaled his bodyguards to remove an unwelcome guest from the club. But Conrad was curious about this little man doing his best to seem big.

"My answers may not satisfy you, officer," Conrad said with a smile, "but please, ask away."

"We should talk in private."

"I trust these men with my life. They can keep secrets."

"You sure?" the man asked. "Because I'd like to talk about Mira Sorkowitz."

Conrad's smile evaporated, and he rose from his seat. "My office is upstairs."

One guard led the way, followed by Conrad, the policeman, and the other guard. They halted in the brightly lit corridor just outside Conrad's office, and the trailing guard tapped the policeman on the shoulder.

"Lift your arms," the guard said.

The policeman rolled his eyes. "You think I'd bring a gun here?"

"Ain't looking for guns."

Conrad moved around to face the policeman. "I'll answer your first question, officer. Yes, I am a vampire."

"Yeah, I got that, thanks," said the policeman. "Your aura's lit up like a fucking Christmas tree back here."

Conrad was startled. "You have the sight?"

"With a capital S," the policeman said. "I can see spirits."

"Remarkable!" Conrad said. "And how did you meet the white witch?"

"I worked with her daughter."

"I didn't know she had a daughter."

"Two." The policeman looked away. "They're both dead now. Long story. Anyway, Mira told me if I ever needed help, I should come find you."

Conrad grumbled. "I owe her a favor. But what can I help you with that she could not?"

"Mira's missing."

"Missing?"

"Taken from her house last night. No physical evidence, but she left a message for me. Written in her own breath."

Conrad shuddered. A conjurer's breath was more precious than her blood, and the white witch would not use it for simple messaging except as a last resort. Which meant that whoever had taken her was even more dangerous than she had been.

A powerful new player like that would make a great ally.

"Leave us," Conrad said, waving off the guards and unlocking the door to his office. "Let's talk inside, officer...?"

"Jay," the policeman said. "Griffin Jay."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Officer Jay."

Griffin chuckled. "You don't know me yet."



Photo: Badge and Bar by Sara Bassett, March, 2008