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Tracy paused for a moment to look at herself in the mirror of the makeshift women’s locker room in the 51st precinct. She attempted for what seemed the millionth time to straighten her tie and collar. No matter how many times Bruce tried to teach her, she never could get the Windsor knot quite right. She sighed and straightened her shoulders, making sure her pinned up hair didn’t fall below the level of her collar—no small task with her baby fine strands.
Shoulders pulled back, cap tucked under her arm, Tracy departed the locker room and headed to roll call. It might be her least favorite time of the day. She stepped into the already crowded room and slid into a seat at the back table. Her ‘partner’ and Field Training Officer, Marvin Polaski, was seated towards the front, engaged in a lively debate with several officers surrounding him. Tracy sighed. They both knew that he had been carefully selected by her father, Richard Vetter, the former captain and newly appointed member of the Police Commission. Polaski had made it perfectly clear that he was no happier about the selection than she was.
Tracy scanned the room as the shift commander began the outline of the day’s work and assignments. No surprises for her—she and her partner would be on patrol, available to assist the public with various calls as well as providing a visible police presence. She fought to maintain a pleasant yet serious demeanor. At this point in her career, appearance was everything. Her father’s words were echoing in her head; “Your reputation begins on Day 1.” Well, it was day 17 now and she was completely in the dark about what her reputation looked like at this point.
The only other female officers in the room sat together, sharing an occasional comment between themselves. They were both ex-military, Canadian Armed Forces. So far, her overtures towards them had gone nowhere. Just like the Academy, she was still the odd woman out. It was bad enough that she was among the small number of women on the Toronto Police Service, but she had the additional albatross of her father hanging around her neck as well. At least she had Jody to bounce things off when they were off duty. Jody was finding the path no easier at flight school.
The briefing ended and she worked her way towards Marvin. Her partner was edging into middle age with thinning hair heavily tinged with grey. “You ready for the day, Rook?” he grumbled at her as the crowd of other officers streamed past them towards the door.
Last week it was ‘Boots’ so she supposed this was considered an upgrade. She noticed him scanning her appearance. Polaski could not care less about the correctness of her uniform, or her womanly charms, he was all about being sure her utility belt was in order with all the tools to do her job readily at hand. That was the kind of detail which had won him the illustrious honor of being her FTO.
Tracy plastered a smile on her face. “Ready to roll,” she assured him.
Grabbing their jackets, the pair headed to their assigned patrol vehicle. Polaski eased his considerable bulk behind the wheel of the car. He had yet to suggest she drive, but that was just fine by her. Keeping an ear on the radio and her eyes scanning the streets was overwhelming enough for her.
Polaski turned the patrol car out into the traffic surrounding the precinct. He started off, as he usually did, “So what did you learn last night?”
She knew it was best practice to review a few policies and procedures each day. Fortunately, this was something she was good at. Tracy had found this to be the easiest aspect of training for her—whether it was years of listening to her father, or her own compulsive approach to study, she was able to rattle off the department policy for managing the apprehension of a theft suspect already in custody of a loss prevention officer.
Polaski was nodding as she spoke. Vetter had it ‘correct’ right down to the last detail. The girl had the department handbook down cold. “What else?” he asked.
“Never take the word of a loss prevention of a theft prevention officer that the suspect has been adequately searched. Always conduct a search yourself. You or your partners life could depend on it.”
Polaski nodded his head. “Very good, Rook. This book stuff comes easily to you. And it’s important, just remember it isn’t everything.”
The rest of the morning passed quickly. Tracy bungled a traffic stop—badly, at least in her opinion. Polaski was more forgiving in his assessment. She had watched it a thousand times--in the videos she had been required to view during training at the Academy, and as an observer to her partner. Unexpectedly, as she approached the vehicle they had pulled over, her mouth turned into cotton, and she barely managed to get ‘Metro PD’ out of her mouth, let alone question the driver regarding any pertinent details as to why he had neglected to stop at a red light. It was the simplest procedure in the book. In the end, Polaski had to bail her out and she swore she could see a look of sympathy in the eyes of the man they had pulled over.
“You ready for lunch?” Polaski broke the silence as they cruised down Adelaide.
Tracy nodded in affirmation. “More than ready.” Not that she could eat with her stomach in knots, but it would be good to be able to ease the hypervigilant state for even a short period of time. She had had no idea how exhausting it could be to always be on the alert.
She also noticed Polaski didn’t ask her where she would like to eat. Instead, he headed to one of the greasy spoon restaurants favored by the guys on the force. No hope of a salad there. If she continued to be partnered with Polaski, she wouldn’t be able to fit into her new uniforms inside of a month’s time.
There were a good number of officers in the diner when they entered. That was another reason she would have loved to have gone somewhere different—the constant feeling that she was under scrutiny no matter where she went.
Polaski had no such concerns. He waved to the guys crowding the booths as they headed to the back of the room. “Hey, Ed, Donnie.”
“You need to let it go,” he instructed her the minute they sat down. He grabbed the menu and looked at the specials, as if they ever changed.
She grimaced at his words. “I made such an idiot out of myself!”
“It seemed worse to you than it did to anyone else. You kept yourself safe, that’s the most important thing. The words will come.” Polaski dug into his meatloaf with gusto. “You’re going to make mistakes, everyone does. No one expects you to be perfect right out of the gate.”
No one but her father, Tracy thought to herself. She was thrilled to come in ninth in her class. Her father, not so much. She had busted her ass to graduate in the top ten. She sighed. “It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she admitted.
“If it was easy, everyone would be a cop. The most important thing is that you move on from your mistakes. Learn from them, yes, but hanging on to them is the worst thing you can do. Understand?”
She nodded. Tracy knew he was right. She knew that rookie cops washed out all the time when they became too nervous in the field. That was not how she saw her career going. She knew her father had grand aspirations for her, but she just wanted to be a good cop.
“How’s Sonny doing?”
It was the first personal comment he had ever directed towards her. Tracy paused. Even this simple question was fraught with potential pitfalls. In the end, she opted for the truth. “Not so great,” she acknowledged. “He’s riding a desk at the 44th and hating every minute of it. He wants to be back in the field.”
“And what are the odds of that?” Polaski asked. He had a genuine concern in his eyes.
“Pretty slim.” Tracy sighed. He shouldn’t even be working and wouldn’t be if it weren’t for her Dad. “The doctors say his heart is in bad shape. He keeps hoping though.”
“That’s too bad. I’ll have to drop in on him.” Polaski took a healthy mouthful of his coffee. “He was my FTO, did you know that?”
Tracy’s eyes brightened. “No, I didn’t.” How had that had slipped through the Vetter family legends? She’d have to ask Uncle Sonny about it the next time she saw him.
“Back when I was the marble mouthed rookie. So, see, anything can happen.” He smiled then returned to his meal. Apparently, that was the last he had to say about it.
Tracy followed her partner back to the patrol car. The afternoon proceeded uneventfully. Two additional traffic stops went far better than the one in the morning and she began to feel like just maybe she might be able to do this job.
“46 Bravo” the radio chirped with their call sign. “We have a report of a 10-55 in progress.” A domestic dispute. Tracy quickly scribbled down the address. Right around the corner-- undoubtedly why they had been tapped. “Shall I hit the lights?” she asked.
“Let’s hold off. Traffic is pretty light and sometimes it’s better to arrive with a little less fanfare.” Polaski spotted a small crowd gathered outside of an aging non-descript multi-family dwelling. He pulled to the curb just short of the residence. He glanced over at his charge. “Are you ready for this?”
Tracy nodded. A domestic dispute was one of the more difficult situations that a patrol officer could face. Mentally she went through the process she had been taught—separate the parties physically and by line of sight, deescalate the scene. She looked to her partner. He had probably handled hundreds of domestic cases and she found herself reassured by his steady presence.
“Let’s talk to the citizens out front,” Polaski instructed. “Neighbors can be our best source of intel. Then we can decide whether we might need backup, or if this is something we can handle ourselves.”
They stepped from the patrol vehicle and headed towards the small crowd gathered out front. From outside the building, they could hear raised voices—male and female. The couple, the Andersons, had reportedly relocated from the states six months ago and there had been a steady diet of loud arguments ever since. Today sounds from the apartment had indicated some level of physical violence as well. The neighbors were done with the drama between husband and wife and they had finally enlisted the help of the police.
Polaski kept a steady stream of information directed at Tracy as they entered the building. “We knock and announce at the apartment door, keeping clear of the doorway. Hopefully they’ll be ok with us coming in, if not we’ll hang back and wait for backup. Once in, we secure the immediate scene, then look for a way to separate the parties. It’s probably best if you talk to the wife, I’ll see to getting the husband into a different space.” He looked at Tracy. “Questions?”
“No, I got it,” she responded.
They took up opposing sides of the doorway. “Mr. Anderson,” Polaski called. He rapped his knuckles sharply against the wooden frame of the door. “Metro police. Please open the door.”
A long silence followed. Tracy was sure they could hear her heart racing from inside the apartment. Finally, the door cracked open and a petite dark-haired woman with a rapidly swelling eye appeared. Mrs. Anderson, Tracy assumed.
A quick search of the living room was clear. A glass vase lay in pieces where it appeared to have been thrown against the wall. Polaski frisked Mr. Anderson then hustled him off into the kitchen.
The story was revealed to Tracy by Marie Anderson in pieces interspersed by sobs. The pair had moved from New York state with the promise of a well-paying construction job for her husband. The job had failed to materialize and the stress of it all had pushed her husband’s temper to the boiling point. He had never hit her before, at least that’s what she claimed. And, no, she didn’t want to press charges, or seek medical attention.
The kitchen was quiet, and she hoped that Polaski was having more success with the husband than she was with his wife. She looked around the room. Scattered bits of broken furniture aside, the room was neatly maintained. Several photos and awards dotted the room, all featuring the same teenaged boy. It reminded her of her parents’ living room, only there, she was the star attraction.
“Is this your son?” Mrs. Anderson nodded, and Tracy saw it for just a split second--the shift of the woman’s eyes down the hall towards a closed door. She felt her heartrate jump. “Ma’am, is your son in this apartment?”
“He’s a good boy!”
“I’m sure he is,” Tracy responded tersely, “but we need him to come out of that room, and we need him to do that now.”
“He didn’t mean what he said,” Anderson replied. “William would never hurt anyone.”
Tracy shifted her right hand onto the butt of her service revolver and called for her partner.
Tracy approached the closed door. “William, William Anderson, I need you to step out of the room and keep your hands where I can see them.”
The door flew open revealing the same teen whose photos had been so prominently displayed in the living area. In his hand was a semiautomatic revolver, grasped loosely and pointed towards the floor. “My name isn’t Anderson! That’s his name, not mine. He doesn’t get to hit her. I’m not going to let that happen!”
“No, he doesn’t,” Tracy concurred. “He doesn’t get to hit her, but what I need you to do right now is lower that weapon to the floor and kick it over to me. No one is going to get hurt here,” she assured him, “you can trust me.”
Tracy felt the presence of her partner behind her. She could hear him on the handheld, requesting backup to their location. She felt a surge of relief as William slowly squatted down and dropped the gun to the floor then kicked it towards her.
“Lay down right there,” Polaski instructed, “and put your hands behind your back. Everything is going to be okay.” He spared her a quick glance. “Strong work, Vetter.”
Tracy felt like her world was going in slow motion. First, she had to report to the shift commander, then his superior. Then, of course, there was the lengthy telephone conversation with her father. Hours had passed and still she couldn’t quite get the report written. Any suggestion that she put off writing it all up was dismissed by Polanski. Completing the paperwork in a timely fashion was something she needed to get used to. No excuses.
“Hey, Marvin,” the desk sergeant called to Polanski, “are you and Vetter interested in a little overtime?”
Tracy looked up at the precinct clock. Their shift was already long over and the dinner hour had come and gone. All she wanted was to go home and have a big glass of wine. No, she corrected herself. That was her mother’s crutch, not hers, and she knew how easy it was to fall into that trap as a police officer. A hot shower and bed sounded about right. She glanced at Polaski. She knew her partner had two ex-wives and three college aged kids. Any opportunity to make some extra money would be welcome.
Polanski brightened visibly at the question and walked towards the desk. “What’s the deal, Sarge?”
“There’s been another one of those ‘vampire killings’--another body completely drained of blood.”
“You’re kidding. Another one? This one homeless too?”
“No, he’s a security guard at the ROM, Jacques Pelletier. Retired TPS. Everyone’s waiting for some hot-shot detective from the 27th—because the other three cases have gone so well for him. They’re looking for extra uniforms for crowd control. I guess the press is having a field day and the public is starting to arrive at the scene too. Traffic is a mess. The duty officer on scene is looking for additional support. You guys in?”
That caught Tracy’s attention and she felt her fatigue lift. A serial murder spree. She had heard about the first three murders in the shift briefings of course, but a retired cop at the ROM? That put things on a different level entirely. Granted it was only crowd control, but still, you never knew where something like that could lead. She stood and grabbed her jacket. “I’m in.”
The End