Ceepak, of course, is already seated in the back row. He likes to say, “If you're not five minutes early, you're ten minutes late.”I still don't really understand what that means-guess that's why I'm always the last cop in the room.
Ceepak has his notebook open on his desk. His pencil looks freshly sharpened. Every hair on his head is neatly combed and plastered into its pre-assigned position.
Ceepak likes to be prepared.
I know thinking ahead helped save his ass a couple times over in Iraq. Once, he saw a dead dog lying by the side of the road and, since he'd done his homework, he knew that canine carcasses were often used by the insurgents to hide their improvised explosive devices. He saved everybody in his Humvee that day because he saw the wires sticking out of the animal's jaws before its belly blew.
All the other cops in the room are busy finishing their coffee and doughnuts, scanning the
“Find a seat, Boyle,” snarls Dominic Santucci. He has his sunglasses on-indoors. He likes the way they make him look menacing and mysterious. He also doesn't like me so much.
“Danny?” Ceepak motions to the chair next to him, which he has saved for me like kids used to do for their friends on the school bus.
“Thanks.”
When I sit down, my holster squeaks. The leather is that new. Last summer, I was a part-timer without a gun. This summer, I wish I didn't have to carry one. Unfortunately, last summer, I also saw what bullets could do.
Now Ceepak checks off an item on a list he has inside his spiral notebook.
“I ran the milk carton data by Officer Diego,” he says. “She's going to run some searches on Mary Guarneri.”
“Cool.”
“She'll also do a data sweep on Lisa DeFranco. See what she comes up with.”
Special Operations Officer Denise Diego works in the computer room here at Police Headquaters, what we all the station house. She's a self-proclaimed techno-geek. I think that's how come she can recite every line from
“Of course,” Ceepak continues, “Officer Diego will only work on this project during downtime and lunch hours.”
“Of course.”
“We don't want our private investigation interfering with the normal flow of official police business, no matter how fascinating.”
“Right.”
Truth be told, Ceepak's a lot more charmed by the Case of the Buried Charm Bracelet than I am. But I don't let on.
He flips through his notebook and stops when he reaches a page near the middle. I lean over to see what he's looking at.
There, in the center, surrounded by a spiral of circles, is one word:
DOVER
I have no idea what it means. Maybe he wants to visit the white cliffs in England. Maybe he's thinking about fish for dinner tonight. With Ceepak, sometimes you just never know.
Chief Baines strides into the room. You could set your watch by this guy, which I go ahead and do since mine thinks it's eight P.M. on a Tuesday. I got it free from
Buzz Baines has a chiseled, movie-star face and thick, fluffy hair. He's good at his job and even better at posing for pictures in the newspaper.
“Gentlemen. Ladies. According to the calendar, we're halfway through the summer and, so far, things have been dull, quiet, and boring.” He looks smugly around the room. “Let's try to keep it that way, shall we?”
We all answer dutifully, “Yes, sir.”
“Fine. Now. Not much to report from the night shift. At one A.M., Pete Turner noticed a car running without its lights. When he pulled the young man over it became readily apparent that the driver was unable to locate the headlights switch on his dashboard, or the nose on his face.”
Dutiful once again, we give a collective chuckle.
“All right, guys. Today starts a new week and a lot of well-earned vacations for our visitors. Ceepak and Boyle?”
“Yes, sir?” Ceepak answers for us.
“You're working the sand castle set-up over on Oak Beach?”
“Roger that.”
“Let folks enjoy the show but try to keep the kids a safe distance away from the heavy machinery.” Chief Baines checks his notes like he can't believe what he's reading. “They actually use backhoes? To make sand castles?”
“And bulldozers,” says Ceepak. He's done his homework again.
“Whatever happened to the old-fashioned sand bucket and plastic shovel?”
“They use those as well, sir. However, many of the master sand sculptors prefer nursery plant containers. The holes pre-cut into the bottom help drain away excess water while maintaining even pressure against the sand grains.”
Roger that. By now, everyone in the room is used to this sort of stuff from Ceepak.
“Oh-kay,” says Baines. “Thank you, Officer Ceepak. Now everyone get out there and keep Sea Haven a safe haven!”
I can't complain.
We've pulled a pretty cushy assignment today, basically sitting on the beach working on our tans. We've set up two folding chairs near the entrance to what will eventually become the Sand Castle Kingdom. It's a fifty-foot by two-hundred-foot plot of white sand situated between the high tide mark on Oak Beach and the sea grass up on the dunes. The Chamber of Commerce has roped off the area with white plastic chains strung between portable PVC posts sunk into the sand every eight feet or so. It's an outdoor, summer version of Santa Land at the mall.
Today, the heavy equipment is being off-loaded. Tomorrow, the sand sculptors show up and start to work. Wednesday, they finish up. Thursday, the public will come gawk at a gigantic sea dragon, a chess set with life-size kings and queens, and a ’57 Chevy convertible-all made out of sand.
It's now almost three P.M. The most exciting part of the day so far was when Ceepak told me to take five about an hour ago. I wound up helping this kid from Indiana learn how to ride his skim board. That's a flat wood disc you stand on, then slip and slide up and down the wet sand ahead of the waves. It should be an Olympic sport by 2012.
I'm glad Ceepak has settled into a groove here on the island. Over in Iraq, he saw even worse stuff than dead dogs blowing up by the side of the road. Somehow, my partner came out of it all with his soul intact. I think it was The Code that pulled him through. As long as he could hold on to that, he could hold on to who he is.
Anyway, it's good to see my man sitting in a folding chair, guarding the entrance to Sea Haven's First Annual Sand Sculpture Competition, smiling up at the sun warming his face. He's earned it.
I finish a quick stroll around the perimeter and plop down in my beach chair.
“Tough duty.”
Ceepak smiles. “It's all good.”
I reach into the small cooler we brought along and grab a bottled water.
“Officers!”
I squint. A hairy guy is huffing and puffing up the sand toward us. He's bare-chested but wearing a gold neck chain and several gleaming gold bracelets on both wrists.
“Officers!”
A chubby kid who has to be the man's son is following behind him.
