Let Me Stand Next To Your Fire

Last night, I was assigned the equivalent of the Lindbergh kidnapping.

Friday nights in a detective division are usually brutally busy, so when nonsense comes in, most detectives have little patience for it. At about 6pm, an officer called in with an "arson." It was my turn for the next investigation, so when I heard "arson," my ears perked up a bit.

Then I heard the details.

A sixty-something woman came home after work, walked out to her back porch, and noticed that someone set fire to her flower pot. Yes, her flower pot. The sides of the pot were lightly singed, but there was no other damage to the area. The pot itself was about twelve inches wide. Unfortunately for the civil servants of Philadelphia, this woman is highly "connected," and actually got the fire marshal to come to the residence and process the "crime scene." Normally, a fire marshal comes after an engine or ladder company requests him - immediately after a fire. The woman said this arson must have happened hours earlier.

Not only did the woman waste the time of the fire marshal, but she also wasted the time of the police and myself. She demanded to be transported to my division for an interview, and since she was connected I had to give this b.s. job the same attention I would give a robbery. After an in-depth interview, I re-assured her that I will do everything I can to investigate the crime.

Maybe I'll bring in the FBI.