Land Of The Lost

Well, that didn’t take long.

It’s been a mere three weeks in the new place, and I’ve already had my first major scare. On Friday, a missing juvenile report comes across my desk. Usually, the kiddies return home after a few hours, safe and sound. I make a few phone calls, and bada-bing, bada-boom, everyone’s happy. On Friday night, the juvenile’s mother called the division begging to speak with me. She wanted to know the status of the case: now a mere hour old. I understood her concern – if it was my child, I would be going out of my mind – but give me some time to check everything out! I told her that if I heard anything, I would call her immediately.

On Saturday, night, mom called again . . . three times. She was borderline hysterical, and wanted something done. I explained that I was doing everything possible to find her daughter, and double-checked that the NCIC-PCIC message was sent. A short time later she called again, and asked if she could post fliers in the neighborhood. I told her of course that would be acceptable.

Sunday was my day off, and as I was preparing to welcome the family for Kyle’s birthday dinner, I get the call. It was the division, and they wanted my file. I asked my co-worker, “What’s the problem?” He said, “That missing juvie still hasn’t come home, and we think something bad happened to her.”

Oh, crap.

I spent the rest of my days off worried sick; partly for the girl’s well being, and partly for my career. If she turned up dead, I was sure someone would accuse me of not doing enough to save her. Sleep didn’t come easy. This morning, I cautiously walked into the squad room, and made a beeline to the lieutenant’s office. I asked him, “Am I fired yet?” He looked at me quizzically, and said, “Oh, you mean that missing person job?” I said, “Uh-huh,” and he smiled, saying, “They found her at her godmother’s house. She spent the weekend having sex with her boyfriend.”

Now, where did I put that duct tape?