Page 32 of The Fragile Ones

The building was on the corner of Second Street and Persimmon Street, with two police cars parked on the side street in areas that had once been handicapped spaces. A small sign was nailed to the middle of the wooden door, which read:Rock Creek Police Department.

Katie parked and cut the engine. She turned to McGaven and said, “Now, be nice. We cannot afford to alienate them, okay?”

“Got it.”

“I mean it, Gav,” she stressed.

“Don’t worry, I understand.”

Katie stepped from the sedan and took a couple of breaths for good measure. She instinctively turned and scanned the streets before going in, but only saw emptiness and quiet.

Entering, she called out. “Hello? Chief Osborne?”

There was an old wooden desk, reminiscent of a teacher’s desk in the 1960s, pushed across the far corner facing the door, with a laptop, cell phone, and a large set of keys on a round holder. There were two long folding tables with papers, miscellaneous manila files with handwritten tabs, and various handouts. On a small metal TV tray, there was a coffee maker, two Styrofoam cups, and a small pile of plastic stirrers.

“Hello?” she said again.

There was a rustling noise from a room behind a closed door. Katie and McGaven took a step back and waited. The small door opened and a tall man wearing a police uniform emerged readjusting his belt buckle. He wasn’t startled by their presence, or embarrassed.

“You must be Detectives Scott and McGaven,” he said and smiled. Chief Osborne was a middle-aged man with dark hair, dark eyes, and an average build. Aside from his height he didn’t stand out in any way. There was a slight southern twang to his speech—most likely after years of being away from his home town.

Katie nodded and shook his hand. “Yes, nice to meet you, sir.”

“No need for formalities here. We’re all law enforcement. You can call me Chief, that’s just fine. Have a seat.”

“Okay, Chief,” she said, feeling awkward and sitting on an uncomfortable metal chair while McGaven kept his usual standing position. “Thank you for waiting to see us. We had a flat and it took longer to get roadside service than we expected.”

“Sorry to hear that. I’m surprised you were able to find anyone to fix it today.” He sat down behind the corner desk and rested his hands on the top.

“I wanted to ask you a few questions about the Mayfield girls.”

The chief hung his head slightly. “Terrible. Just terrible.”

“Yes, sir,” she said and corrected herself. “Chief.”

“What did you want to know?” he asked.

“What can you tell us about the Mayfield family?”

He unwrapped a stick of gum and shoved it into his mouth. “Well, they were a nice family and those girls were just the cutest,” he said, noisily chewing down the gum.

Katie was about to push for more when the chief asked her a question.

“Detective Scott, with this case and the fact you found the Mayfield girls’ bodies…We really need your help.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“We’re so short-staffed, and without anyone with any real homicide investigative experience, we could do with someone like you.”

“We’re already working hard on this case. We just spoke to Mrs. Mayfield—although she didn’t really offer anything that was very helpful,” she said.

“I bet not,” he said.

“What do you mean, Chief?”

“This is a very small town, and when something happens to one of its citizens, the entire town mourns—not just the immediate friends and family.”

“So you’re saying it works differently here?” said McGaven. “That maybe some people don’t want to talk?”