by Peter Cry
“I have told you all this not because I’m crazy and have nothing to do,” Helen confronted Steve, “but because my partner should know that a person who lies about who he is, was once connected with such a thing, and now lives in our town. Even if he had nothing to do with that murder, and the killer has not yet been found.”
Steve gently slouched into his chair, and Helen disappeared from his view behind the partition that divided the desktop in two parts. Turning his head, he looked through the window
“He moved here just a couple of months ago, right after the police had spoken to him.”
“And what about his neighbor?” Steve asked, still staring at the church, covered with snow.
“He’s clean, but if you ask me, he’s too clean. I’ve spoken to my neighbor about him. She told me he had always been flawless. Looked good, smelled good, and not gay. Yet he had no girlfriend. His parents died in a car accident when he was still young. There were no friends, and very few people he communicated with.”
Helen took a deep breath. “But maybe you're right, and I just wind myself up because of idleness.”
She did not notice that her partner silently shook his head.
“Let's go and see them,” he suddenly suggested. “Otherwise, you won't calm down. I know you.”
Abandoning her computer, Helen got up and walked around the desk.
“And what excuse do we give?”
“Fines, parking, a phone call from worried neighbors.”
“Hmm... They’ve paid for everything on time, and their nearest neighbors are ten miles away...”
Steve got up silently. Pulling out the top drawer of his desk, he took his police badge and weapon. Putting his gun into the holster on his belt, he walked to the office door. Taking his winter jacket from the thin black metal coat hanger in the corner, he turned around and said: “Let’s just go, we’ll figure out an explanation on the way… Or we’ll just say we didn’t like his face.”
Helen smiled.
“Come on!” her partner persisted. “Something is really fishy here. Lies, excessive caution, and the change of residence by this Howard right after the murder of that boy. You’ve convinced me and made me paranoid too. We must check them out. But you have to promise me…”
“What?” Helen asked cautiously.
“If we don’t find anything, we’ll forget about them and won’t disturb their lives anymore.”
“Fine,” his colleague agreed.
Chapter 9
Confident footsteps sounded along a spacious bright corridor. It was Alfred.
At first sight, it seemed he emanated a radiance. Unable to keep his confidence and incredible will concealed inside, he resembled a superhero from police recruitment posters. The only reason why he himself did not appear on such posters was his closed nature, shyness and being busy all the time.
Alfred was a cop. On the one hand, he was the same as everyone else. On the other, he was completely different from most of his colleagues. He loved his work, convinced he was making the world a better place, slowly cleaning out the Augean stables, the city streets, which, despite the clean sidewalks, were impregnated with dirt.
Being a good cop, he could not overcome his lofty ambition, the desire, under no circumstances, to fall short of the results he had already achieved. Always focused, deep, confident in his own instincts, like a pig sniffing out truffles from underground, he could find law breakers. For weeks he could watch a person, already a suspect, or potential ones, and he was always spot on. Alfred would catch them red-handed so that they could not get off the hook. Perhaps he did not have the sense of smell of a hunting dog, but could sense lying, frightened creatures, who stank unbearably of panic and fear.
Being a simple patrolman, he did not have his own office. But the wall by his desk was richly decorated with numerous thank you letters from the city authorities, for courage, valor, and diligent work. In short, Alfred had balls of steel.
The Graham Hill primary school corridor was flooded with pleasant warm light. The sun at the end of this summer was not very cruel, so there was no need to hide from it by lowering the blinds. The one-story building of the educational institution for the youngest was imbued with calm, childish serenity, and sense of security.
Alfred stopped in the middle of the cozy corridor. Along the walls there were dark blue metal boxes in which pupils kept their necessary stuff and favorite little things. A barely audible murmur of voices came from behind the doors. The children were actively talking to the teachers who were trying to squeeze something into their little heads – something that would make them happy, or at least help them not to become losers in the future.
Alfred savored the moment of relative silence. Just before appearing in the classroom, like a superhero from a comic book, he got goosebumps. For at that moment, he was no longer an ordinary cop. He had turned into a character who could strongly affect the future of a young person. His words might influence whether a child would behave correctly in a difficult, dangerous situation, or even persuade them eventually to join the police force.
The eager cop could not believe that in some mystical way, growing from year to year in size, some of these cute-looking children would turn into scum. The connection between these children of such a gentle, pure age, and the adults whom he was after, arrested and even sometimes killed, was hard to accept. Sometimes he thought sadly that somewhere along the way, a substitution is made instead of a good child who leaves this world, someone creates its clone, which over the years develops into a shithead, unable to control its inner demons.
There, in the middle of the school corridor, all that sorrow, all that routine realism that Alfred had to deal with, was cast aside. Not for long perhaps, but to somewhere far away.
The young patrolman heard the teacher preparing the kids, telling them that they had a special guest who would share with them a lot of important information about security and his own work.
Adjusting his short hair, swept to the side, Alfred examined himself. Gray pants with a perfect ironed crease along the leg, sparkling black shoes, and a black brand-new short-sleeve shirt on which a sparkling police badge was flaunted. Weapons, handcuffs, and a pepper spray hung on his belt – all those things that immediately captured the eyes of children. Everything looked flawless. One thing was still missing though. Alfred had to remove sunglasses from his open shirt collar and put them on.
Children do not know how to control their emotions, and every time a person who looks like a movie hero enters a classroom, you can hear them gasp.
The young patrolman was not on an ego trip. In fact, felt quite touched himself. Alfred really appreciated the impression he left behind, because that image was the only thing he had in his life.
Gratitude was the main emotion that guided him. Gratitude to the town and all those nice people who accepted him just over two years ago, a beaten-up stranger who had lost his memory...
The blurry silhouette of the teacher appeared in the door window.
An older, dark-skinned woman with kind eyes opened the door.
“Children, please welcome Officer Alfred Hope.”
The patrolman, imposing in his uniform and dark glasses, strode in.
He could hear the familiar surprised voices. The eyes of the children sparkled and widened. Taking his time, and holding his belt with both hands, the macho guest, silently shook his head, making it clear to all present that he saw through them. The children were fascinated, three of them certain that this was a hero of action films about police officers.
Taking off his glasses, Alfred displayed his eyes dark as coal, initially a little frightening, but still kind. A man with such eyes had to be trusted.
“As Mrs. Skinner has already told you, my name is Alfred Hope. I'm a police officer. The one who arrives first when danger is near.”
He paused, smiled, and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “Err... Each time, speaking to children, schoolchildren, the same as you are, I never know
where to start. However, somehow, communication is established and becomes interesting. I hope it will be the same this time.”
Alfred looked at the teacher, who constantly nodded her head slowly, smiling, looking at her pupils, or the guest. It was evident how much she wanted the seven to eight-year-old children, who still did not understand much in life, to show the law enforcement officer their interest.
“Let's do it this way,” the cop continued. “The best conversations start when questions are asked. I’m sure you’ve all wanted to ask a real policeman a question. So, now’s your chance.”
The guest stopped and waited for the first question, but instead there was an awkward silence. The kids may have had questions but could not translate them into words.
Mrs. Skinner started to worry. She could spend hours telling them about all sorts of subjects, or even admonish them if they misbehaved, but she certainly couldn’t make anyone ask a question.
Alfred suddenly noticed how the shine in the eyes of the children began to fade.
“Then let me ask myself a question,” the young patrolman attempted to help them out.
“Have you ever been shot?” a boy's voice came suddenly from the back row.
“John!” Mrs. Skinner was offended.
“It's okay, ma'am. It often happens like that. It’ll be smooth sailing from now on.”
Alfred smiled. “No... Nobody has shot me yet and, and I hope, they won’t. But if that ever happens, I hope they miss.”
“Have you shot anyone?” a girl, sitting near, just opposite the guest, asked.
“Yes, I had to shoot a couple of times. But only at bad criminals, the worst.”
“Did you kill them?” the girl wanted to know.
The teacher was ready to do what she did best – censure the young lady. To do that, she even moved away from the door and took a couple of steps towards Officer Hope, but he raised his palm and stopped her.
“Yes. And it’s particularly important for you to understand that I don’t feel any remorse or guilt about that. I'm glad I did it.”
“Don't you feel sorry for them at all?” A plump kid sitting near the window joined the conversation.
“No,” Alfred said looking at the boy. “And I’ll explain why. They don’t feel sorry for children like you at all. Criminals practically don’t commit their crimes against other criminals. When violating the law, they usually harm ordinary and respectable citizens. Sometimes that harm is irreparable. But the worst thing is that they sometimes cause harm to small children like you. Those were the kind of criminals that I shot, and I have no regrets about my actions.”
“My mother tells me that I'm not small anymore,” the girl sitting at the first desk said with serious voice.
“Judging by your questions, she's absolutely right.”
Alfred and Mrs. Skinner looked at each other.
“Have you been a policeman for all your life?” a pupil asked.
“No, absolutely not. I’ve only been with the police for six months. But I can say that I’ve had tremendous success in that time.”
“I also want to be a policeman... Right after graduation.”
That was probably the most enjoyable part of the conversation for each police officer when a child suddenly admitted that he wanted to be like him.
“Who knows, maybe your choice is right, and you will join our ranks.”
“And what do I have to do to become a policeman?”
“Not much. You must finish school and then get into the police academy. There you’ll study for hundreds of hours, pass special final exams, take the oath, and that’s it, you’re a policeman.”
“My mother says that only those who did not go to college join the police,” the girl behind the first desk had still not calmed down and was sizing up the speaker with her gaze.
“I see your mother says a lot,” he grinned. “Does she tell you useful things? For example, about how to behave alone in the street, or in case of danger?”
After thinking a little, the girl only shrugged her shoulders.
“Does anyone want to tell Officer Hope what we’ve learned in our security lessons?” Mrs. Skinner tried to steer their conversation in another direction.
Surprisingly, the question she asked caused a stir in the classroom. Almost all the children held their hands up wanting to answer.
“So, come on, Tyler. You can do it from your desk.”
“The most important thing is not to talk to strangers. Especially if they were the first to start talking to you. If there are no parents or police nearby, we should try to get the attention of as many adults as possible. And in case of danger, we must immediately call 911.”
“Well done, Tyler. That’s right.”
Listening to the memorized words of the boy, Alfred nodded with a smile approval.
“It's great that you are aware of the basic rules that will protect you. But there is something that no one will tell you, and this is especially important to remember. It’s a simple, but very important thing.”
The confident policeman paused for a moment.
“Keep your eyes open! Looking out of the window, playing with your friends in the street, even when your parents are close, keep your eyes open! On the Internet, communicating with those you don’t know, keep your eyes open! Notice those who notice you. Be especially careful with those who look at you more often than you look at them. Beware of those whom you’ve already met, but you don’t really know.”
“Did you kill that kind of people?”
Alfred wilted.
“Yes, they were like that. And once, I saved the life of a five-year-old girl. Who knows, maybe others.”
“What did that man want from her? What did he want to do with her?” the girl sitting at the first desk asked, looking at the patrolman with eyes full of incomprehension.
“He wanted to hurt her. This is the only thing I tell children of your age. The time will come when you will grow up and understand what the policeman, who came to your school when you were young, was talking about.”
Alfred suddenly felt incredible heaviness in his heart because of the conversation. Yes, children had asked difficult, blunt, sometimes wild questions, before. However, on the previous couple of occasions when he met with schoolchildren, it was more innocent and fun. The young patrolman with a tragic fate and lost memory truly adored kids and was not offended by them. He understood that modern life rapes children, making them adults ahead of time, causing their minds to age faster.
The teacher approached the guest and said quietly, “Please, excuse me. I don’t know what came over them. We talked just before your arrival, and they all, as one, wanted to meet you and talk with you.”
Listening and nodding his head, Alfred examined the children sitting in the classroom.
“Don’t worry. The most interesting part is about to start.”
The police officer brightened up.
“Okay you rascals. Who wants to see my gun and handcuffs?”
The silent class exploded in childish cries.
Each of the students shot their hands up, not taking their eyes off the weapon in his holster.
"Children are children, they want toys."
“Is it safe?” the teacher was concerned.
Alfred whispered in Mrs. Skinner’s ear: “These are incredibly good replicas. But we won't let them know that.”
Going around the teacher’s desk, he grabbed a chair and placed it near the desk of the strangest girl he had ever met. Sitting in front of her, he took out the fake weapon, usually used by police academy students for study purposes, and put it on her small beige desk.
“Let's all gather around!” he shouted out joyfully, knowing what the children wanted.
Mrs. Skinner, smiling, nodded her head, making it clear to the children that they could approach the guest. Closely encircling him, the transformed kids looked at the police equipment with huge interest. All the objects seemed mesmerizingly beautiful. The boys observed
the coolest thing they had ever seen in their life, while the girls, on the contrary, gazed at something dangerous, or simply curious.
Mrs. Skinner, standing behind and literally hovering over Alfred, finally calmed down. She realized that the lesson had been salvaged. Watching the policeman chatting enthusiastically with her pupils, joking, and answering questions, she exhaled deeply.
Trying to let her guest know that he was doing everything right and that she fully supported him, the teacher put her hand on his shoulder.
Barely noticeably, Alfred winced and removed the woman's hand from his shoulder. Turning around, he shot Mrs. Skinner an annoyed look. She was incredibly embarrassed and bewildered. It was good that the incident was not noticed by the children. Fascinated by the handcuffs, a gun, and a taser, they continued to ask more and more questions.
“I’m sorry,” Alfred said quietly. “It’s because of my work. It’s not the first time.”
“It’s nothing, it's all right,” Mrs. Skinner responded awkwardly.
Returning to the children, the cop tried to remove a guilty look from his face.
He endeavored to look as friendly as possible, afraid to spoil the mood of his new buddies. Alfred had not attended acting classes, but he knew how to conceal his true emotions. He, as well as the good teacher behind him, was embarrassed by his reaction. He reproached himself for that kind of reaction very often, struggling to overcome some kind of genetic animosity to touching, especially with adults, and particularly women.
The schoolchildren always thanked the officer after the lesson. Some with a handshake, some with a hug, and some with a kiss on the cheek. And none of that caused such a squeamish cramp in him.
Alfred had sought an explanation, and one night, lying in a sweat-soaked bed, tormented by nightmares, he found the answer. He was beyond the bounds of his memories, somewhere in the cruelty of people who had deprived him of the past. No wonder he woke up so disfigured at that small river in the forest. Apparently, for some reason, he had been used to being ill-treated, maybe even since childhood. Domestic violence – his parents had probably beaten him. That was the root of the children’s love, the unwillingness to be like those who turn their lives into hell. That’s why he probably loved children. He did not want to be like those who turn their life into hell. That’s probably why he accepted contact with a child so calmly. Let’s face it, far from having to endure it, he experienced some true pleasure, almost fatherly, in the process. A child's hand cannot offend or hurt, and a child’s heart is pure and honest. If a child hugs someone, they do it sincerely, and that had to be appreciated.