Chapter Seventeen: The One With The Overdue Evidence

"Can I help you madam?" A woman called out from behind her desk, her police uniform professional, her hair pulled back nicely, and her badge shiny. If I would've went this far when I had that fight with Rachel out front of the station, I probably would've already had this encounter, but I didn't, and I was unprepared for what this was becoming. It might've been harder to handle because of her lack of eye contact and focus on whatever else, that seemed careless I came by.

I peeked into my bag to find the gun there, exactly how I had placed it. I had picked it up with my pinky - I heard that's something you should do, but how am I supposed to know what should and shouldn't be done? - and wrapped it in plastic before I put it in there, probably an amateur move. For a couple minutes that felt like hours, I just stared at it like that. What was I supposed to tell her? I have a gun in my bag and I need to know whose it is? That I casually found some gun on my property?

This wasn't a place for me. I was learning that the hard way. I stood out like a sore thumb.

"Yes, please." I stated. It came out breathy and strange, but when I placed my bag up on her desk, and carefully brought out the gun as gently as possible as to not cause a scene, she seemed all ears. Curious, even. She stopped typing or reading or whatever it was she was doing, her eyebrow raised at the weapon I took out in front of her. She didn't talk, and was awaiting my explanation I didn't know how to form. "I found this gun outside, on our house property. It's not ours; my family isn't gun owners, and I think it's something to do with Camille Lobrigas' case. I need to know whose it is."

"Ah, yes. Camille's disappearance was pretty shocking to a lot a people, I remember that one, but that case was closed two years ago and we can't just open it again." She responded, her hands positioned to get back to what she was doing. It scared me for some reason, that if she actually did fully get back to that, I couldn't get her attention back. I came all the way here, way out of my comfort zone. I couldn't back down yet.

"Hold on please, officer. Hear me out." I begged. She was annoyed and she didn't try to hide it, and though it bothered me, it wasn't enough to stop me or make me drop the topic. The woman stretched out her fingers, and popped her neck, waiting for me to get on with what I had to say, impatiently. Her tough vibe scared me into talking, and I ended up spilling the words that I was trying not to believe. I guess I knew it didn't make any sense otherwise. "This isn't only about Camille's case. It's about Samuel's too, who passed recently. It was last night or early this morning! I really do believe those cases are somehow connected."

"I understand what you're feeling ma'am, but contrary to popular belief, I can't find out who owns a gun like they do in the movies. It's not that basic, and in a lot of scenarios, it's impossible. We don't have a system that records gun owners like we have a system for fingerprints. Plus, based on the cause of Camille's death, I find it highly unlikely that the team would piece these two cases together." As polite as her voice tried to be, there was bits and pieces that showed her annoyance, like she was an actor in a film that would accidentally go out of character. She may have noticed that I saw those slip ups, and I could swear that because of them, that's why she softened a little, her sigh evidence of her giving in. She ripped a piece of paper from a miniature notebook, and had the pen ready to write before she peeked back up at me. "What's Samuel's surname? I'll see what I can do if-."

My cheeks heated up at the fact that I had to think about it, but went cold when I didn't know. Has he mentioned it to me before? Am I supposed to know naturally what children belonged to what families? I do know most of the neighborhood, but how everyone was connected; I couldn't keep up with it. "I-I'm not sure." I admitted, embarrassed.

At that, she did roll her eyes. The pen in her hands fell to her desk with a clatter, and she didn't have anything to say besides probably asking me to leave, but for a bit she stuck with saying nothing. A few times, she would open her mouth to speak, but each time she'd hesitate, scratching her forehead in this aggression or something. In the end of that, she gave a gentle dab to the gun with her one finger, pushing it closer to me, and glanced to either side of her, in hopes it was discreet. "I'm sorry. I don't think there's anything I can do."

I copied her move, pushing it lightly back toward her, but not in a way that would mock her or degrade her. If anyone could do this, it would be someone in this facility and I was going to need any help that I could get. This isn't a job for a victim's friend or their sister. This was a job for a person like her, and it's only when one of them would come out of it with nothing that I can give up on relying on them. "Please, officer. Please try."

The woman bit her lip, alone with her head for only two ticks of time. In a smooth gesture, she picked up her pen once again, scribbling something out across the paper she ripped out. When she was finished, she handed it to me.

"This is my personal number. Look out for it, because I'll be calling you if or if I don't find anything, and if you don't answer it you're on your own." She lowered her voice, coming in closer so I can better hear her with the change in volume. "I think this would be better if investigated without anyone else knowing. I personally see you can be onto something, but other people might not. A lot of people in this field tend to think emotions get to people too much for them to handle things, but I have a feeling about you, so I'm bending the rules here. Keep this a secret if you want anything to get done. This is under the radar and off the clock unless or until we get a lead. Understood?"

"I understand, officer. Thank you so much." I said, the most happy I could get in such an occurrence, and I watched as she took the evidence, hiding it in her desk drawer.

- - - - - -

I didn't feel like getting out of bed, brushing my hair, showering, or anything. The character I had left in me was used up for doing things no one would ever dream to have to do, and there was nothing left in me at this point. I needed the time to simply be depressed, which I know a lot of people suck at understanding, but it's true that that's what I'm busy with and there isn't space for anything else. I haven't seen anyone including Gianni or Rachel, and I didn't want to. I couldn't. Not like this.

Heck, I barely allowed my own parents to converse with me.

I did save the tiniest amount of energy for bursting out of bed when I'd hear my phone ring, because of the clear instructions that the woman had gave me, but I've done that for the past week and I was getting drained because of it. Spam calls, telemarketers, wrong numbers - of all times in the world, why would such places choose to call now? It might not look like it if the caller were to personally see me, but these days have not been good times. I'm not available for the nonsense. I'm available for answers to my questions and that's it, strictly.

"What now?" I groaned, switching directions in my bed, to face my bedside table. My phone was ringing once again, and like the many recent calls that have been a waste of my excitement, I didn't have a good feeling about this one. Each past ring has turned to doom, and I wasn't expecting that to get better anytime soon. Each sound from this phone was determined to paint a picture of disgust and pain.

I took my usual approach nevertheless, comparing the numbers on my cellphone to the numbers written in the woman's sloppy handwriting and I was surprised to find that I made it halfway through with each matching up. Not wanting to get my hopes up to soon, I convinced myself that those few could easily take a turn for the worst if I didn't confirm to the end, and I'd be throwing a useless, sad, party by myself for no reason. If I was going to do anything like that, and celebrate like the moron I am, it'd be best if there was proper ground in doing it.

Apparently, I just might. Scanning both from beginning to end for a second time, everything seemed to be correct in what I was looking for. My thumb hovered over the green button, and I knew time was running out. Soon, she'd shut the call off and I'd lose all my chances in figuring this out. It was now or never, but I couldn't consider it a choice. I had to choose the 'now'.

"Crishia Lobrigas, isn't it?" The other end of the line said, and I was relieved to find familiarity in her voice, at least better than the several strangers that exist in this big world. It's the most casual I've ever seen her speak, but I guessed there was reason for that. Maybe she was in public and wanted to keep it friendly-looking, instead of a police-citizen basis. Between me, myself, and I, I liked it better this way. It wasn't as intimidating and I felt a little more free to speak.

I nodded like she'd be able to see me, but realized that's not how this worked. "Yes, it's me." I answered late, trying to recover from a silly and humiliating mistake, for a person like me who overthinks before falling asleep.

"You actually did wait for this call even if it wasn't literally saved into your phone. Based on the shy approach from my workplace, I think that says a lot. You really want this, and you're making me glad I did it for you." She laughed, the first time I've heard it come out of her, that it almost didn't sound right. Her work self and her life self were very different people, but both very smart with their readings and understanding of people. She knew me better than a lot of people and we've met once.

"So," I breathed in, again positioning myself the the worst that could come out of this. I've done this a lot in the near past and it's dawning on me that it must be my way of coping. "Did you find anything?"

"Not fingerprints or concrete evidence of who it belongs to, or a certain name. If that's what you mean, no, I didn't." The tone of her voice wasn't afraid of anything and didn't have any intention of letting me down easy, and it's that that made me feel that there was something more she wasn't telling me. Still, I gulped out of my disappointment, yet kept my ear close to the speaker in case she said anything more. She did.

"But you're lucky you came to me. First, I found an ammo place that had three people purchase what would match this one around two years back. A little bit more, actually. I want you to look into that to see if you know any of them that'd have anything against your sister. Second and the reason you're so fortunate is, I found material of a uniform stuck to it, and because I used to work there, I was able to compare my old uniform to this one. They match. That means even if these people have nothing to do with it, they could know something. We have people to speak with now to gather some more information."

"What place do they wear this uniform?"

"We have to meet if you want me to tell you that; if you want me to tell you anything."