Page 31 - Maj 2020 PDF
P. 31

“Do you have anything I can use? I want to be able to say something of value

                   when the press conference starts."
                     The sun has finally begun to burn away the dense morning-mist that usually

                   hangs over the city from daybreak.

                     "Well, not really. We need to get a lot of the fingerprints examined. Only thing I
                   know is that a witness told me that he saw a kid stealing a elderly woman’s bag -

                   but he wasn’t completely sure. "

                   “No, no, that's the usual. Someone may have seen something, and then we spend
                   all this precious time running around trying to figure it out, when it’s often just a

                   dead-end. It’s usually just a lonely soul who needs somebody to talk to.“ The
                   chief snarls.

                     "Yeah… You're probably right."

                     “Well, I have to go back to the station now and think of something I can say to
                   the press. Tell me right away if more details come up."

                     He turns his big body around and strolls back to the patrol car. His driver, Guy

                   Richardson, immediately opens the door, seeing that his boss is on his way. Vince
                   grabs the roof of the vehicle with one hand, and then proceeds to put his feet

                   inside, and finally sliding in the car.
                     “We're going back to the station. Miss Smith has made ready for a short meeting

                   with the press. We must move quickly. ” He says, knocking his pipe at the edge of

                   the car's foot-panel. Richardson starts the engine and drives with hissing tires
                   away from the crime scene.

                                                           ***



                   The press conference
                   The sweat hails down the chief’s back, and like a madman, he browses through

                   the report of the night's attack, turning every page with a fast and firm move. The

                   Commissioner has hastily prepared the report for him. It is a serious crime,
                   possibly the worst one he has ever tackled. In a little while he will meet the

                   entire British press and try to paint a comprehensive picture of what happened

                   that day. The whole city simmers, and so does the police station.
                   His secretary, Mrs. Richardson, looks with an eagerly curious glance at the report

                   on his desk, which so far consists of three tightly written A4 sheets. Instead of
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