He crossed the street, staying half a block behind the man he was following. The lunch bag was still clutched in his hand, although he pulled out the sandwich and ate while walking. He continued until they were blocks away from the center. An old, rundown apartment building filled the entire block. Several men lounged on the front steps, smoking and laughing, and the black-capped man walked past them. Even half a block away, Carter could see one of the men on the front steps immediately stand and fall into line behind the man with the bag. He was bundled in a heavy coat but wore no hat on his bald, tattooed head. Uncertain how the scenario was going to play out, Carter stopped when the bald man met up with his suspect.
Black-cap turned and opened the paper sack. Carter was unable to see a transaction clearly, but something was pulled from the sack and handed to Baldie, who in turn shoved it into his coat pocket. He then handed Black-cap something as well. Inwardly cursing that he was not hidden in his SUV and able to use binoculars, he moved to blend in with the other pedestrians on the sidewalk. He noted the apartment building that Baldie went into and stayed behind Black-cap for another block. Coming to a trash bin, Black-cap tossed the paper sack inside.
Once Black-cap had hurried on his way, Carter snapped on a pair of gloves and moved to the trash can. Ignoring the looks of bystanders, he picked up the paper sack, feeling its weight in his hand. He carefully unrolled the top and peered inside. There were three plastic sandwich bags: one with a partially eaten peanut butter sandwich on white bread, another with crushed chips, and another with a broken chocolate chip cookie. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a folded evidence bag. Placing the lunch sack inside, he sealed it. Calling Evan, he gave his location.
It only took a couple of minutes for Evan to pull up next to him, and he climbed into Evan’s truck. “I checked inside after he disposed of this. He took something out and handed it to another man, getting something back. I wasn’t close enough to see if it was a payoff. It doesn’t look like much of the lunch was eaten.”
Evan grinned. “So that means there was something else in that bag.”
“Drop me off at the shelter, and I’m going to talk to the lady in charge and Enrico. Take this to the lab to see if they can pull anything off of it. I'll meet you back at the station.”
Several minutes later, he knocked on a doorframe near the kitchen of Ever Hope. The nameplate said Chelsea Davies, Volunteer Coordinator. He felt a sense of relief that this office was not close to Tara’s. The woman sitting at the desk inside looked up and smiled. “May I help you?”
“Good morning. I’m Detective Fiske. I was told you were the person to talk to about the free lunch program here.”
“Yes, I’m Chelsea. I organize the lunches, volunteers who assist, and the organizations that make the lunches. Please, come in.”
He took a seat and pulled out his notebook. “Tell me about your program.”
She reached behind her to a stack of folders and pulled out a sheet, handing it to him. “This is what we give to any of our churches or organizations who want to make lunches. It’s very specific and they’re told not to deviate from this. The bags include a sandwich, chips or crackers, and a cookie. When we get a new group that would like to help, before I put them on rotation, I meet with them to explain exactly what we need and obtain their agreement that they will follow our procedures.”
He looked over the page of instructions and asked, “Can you explain why each bag must contain the same items?”
She offered a smile, but he noted it did not reach her eyes. Upon closer inspection, she was older than he originally assumed, gray beginning to streak through her hair and a few lines creasing her brow.
“Detective Fiske, I’ve worked with the homeless for many years. Like all people, and all groups, they represent a microcosm of our society. Some are hard-working and want to better their lives. Others are satisfied with where they are. Some are grateful for every offering of help, and others are demanding. Many are battling addictions or have varying degrees of mental illness. You may be wondering why I’m telling you this instead of explaining in simple terms what goes into a lunch bag.”
His lips quirked. “Ms. Davies, I trust you to give me the information you think I need to have, however that information comes.”
Her lips curved again slightly, and this time, the pleasure seemed true. “When we first started this program several years ago, it grew much quicker than we thought. The demand was larger than the supply. Several fights would break out as people were trying to get to the front of the line. We allowed people to pick up their own bag of food but found that the line got held up as they opened the bags and tried to see what was in them.” She offered a rueful chuckle as she leaned forward and placed her arms on her desk, her gaze clear as she looked at him. “Some even complained. I don’t like lettuce on my sandwich. I don’t like mayonnaise or mustard. I got one cookie and they got two.”
Understanding dawned, and he nodded. “Thus, standardized lunch bags.”
“Quite so, Detective.”
“A bag is handed to everyone who comes by?”
Nodding, she agreed. “Yes, that was part of our learning curve. It’s not only best to keep them moving, but…” She hesitated, her lips pinched in
