“Well, of course, officer,” Trent said, as he reached for his wallet. Jennifer was already opening the glove compartment for the registration. “Always willing to cooperate.” He handed over the items that were requested. “May I ask to what this is pertaining?” Jeff asked.
“Actually sir, one of the detectives would like to have . . . a word . . .” The officer’s sentence trailed off as he looked at Trent’s license. “. . . with you. Funny, Mr. Trent, having a retro driver's license to go with your retro car.”
“Yes,” Jeff happily said. “We bought an old farm house in the country. Found this auto-mo-bile rusting away in the barn for the last thirty years and thought, ‘Hey, what the hell!’ Let's restore it back to its original condition and drive it around.” He made steering wheel motions with his hands.
“Yeah, nice,” the officer said. “Now, may I see your identification please?” Just then, he was called on his radio that was attached to his belt. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said as he walked to the rear of the Thunderbird so as not to be overheard. He spoke into the microphone hooked to his epaulet. “Go ahead, detective.”
Jennifer quickly turned toward Genghis. “Genghis! That machine you guys have downstairs that makes stuff, you have to get below and make Jeff an up-to-date driver's license. This could get bad!”
“Well,” Jeff surmised, “why don’t I just tell him I’m also a police officer investigating the crime?”
“And show him what? Your IPF badge?” Jennifer said, as she reached up and pulled down the back cushion. “Genghis, he’s also going to need some kind of a badge too!” She looked back to the police officer, who was still talking on his radio and looking at those two guys Jennifer saw walking across the field. “Go, now!”
“Yes, detective,” the officer was saying into his microphone. “I’m getting his ID now.”
“Alright,” Frank answered back, as he and DeLaRue walked side by side. “The Lieutenant and I will be there in about two minutes.”
“Yeah, roger that. I see yah coming. Out!” The officer keyed off his mic, muttering “As if I can’t do my goddamn job.” He walked back to Trent. “Okay, Mr. Trent,” he said, as he handed back the retro ID. “May I see your real identification . . .” He paused looking around. “Hey! Where the hell is your dog?”
“Oh, he went to go take a piss,” Jennifer said, pointing into the park. “Over there somewhere.”
The officer walked to the front of the Thunderbird and looked into the park. “You can’t just let him run around like that. He’s not even leashed!” He turned back to Jennifer and saw the Doberman Pinscher sitting in the backseat. Its ears were folded back on his head and it looked like it was grinning.
“Oh!” Jennifer said, looking at Genghis then to the officer. “He must have been lying down on the floor. I just didn’t see him.” Jennifer smiled, “My bad!”
“I’ll need to see your ID, too, Miss,” the officer said.
He walked back to Trent. “Here you go officer,” Jeff held his ID out. “It was in my other pocket.”
The officer looked at the photo ID that Trent gave him just as DeLaRue and McVie walked up. Without a word, DeLaRue took the driver's license from the officer’s hand and studied it for a moment. He pushed his hat a bit back on his head and said, “Mr. Trent, I’m Lieutenant Dawson DeLaRue of the Westberry Police Department.” He had his badge and ID out and flashed it at Trent. “May I ask you, Mr. Trent, why this is the second time I’ve seen you at one of my crime scenes?”
“Um, excuse me, Lieutenant? Second time?”
“Yeah, Compton playground a while back, and now here.”
“Oh, yes, of course, Lieutenant.” Trent said, “We are interested in these recent murders and are doing a little investigation.” He then opened the black bi-fold leather case holding his new badge and ID that the replicator had produced for him. He showed it to DeLaRue and said, “Jeff Trent . . . ” He glanced quickly at the ID. “. . . Deputy United States Marshal, at your service.”
DeLaRue was taken aback as he took the ID from Jeff and looked at it. He then tilted it toward Frank so he could get a look at it. Frank slightly shrugged his shoulders. Dawson then said, “Marshal Trent, why is the U.S. Marshal Service investigating my crime scene? I didn’t request any assistance.” He closed the bi-fold case and held it out for Jeff to take.
“Yes, I’m well aware of that, Lieutenant,” Jeff said as he reached out and took his badge back. “I’m in town on vacation with my niece and canine.” Just then, Jennifer coughed with the word “dog” mixed within it.
“Dog ,”Jeff corrected himself. “My niece and dog, and we read about that poor girl who was found in the playground and, what can I say? It was just force of habit, we started to look into it.”
“Read about it huh?” Dawson said. “I saw you at the crime scene before it hit the papers.”
Jeff didn’t skip a beat. “I misspoke. It was on the television, live that morning.” Thinking back to the TV crews they saw at the scene. “Then I read more about it later that evening.”
“And the funeral for the girl? You were there as well.”
Jeff was surprised and very impressed. “Well, Lieutenant, I find it helpful to find out everything I can about a victim of a crime. And as you are well aware, that can include showing up to a funeral to see how the family is reacting. You can learn a lot that way, but sadly the poor girl had no family in attendance. We felt badly for her and chose to stay and pay our respects.”
“Very admirable of you, Marshal. How long will you be in
