The day turned out to be one of those March teasers. The predicted high was eight, but the wind was supposed to be wickedly cold. So, I had put on my winter coat and bundled myself up that morning. So, of course, it went up to ten degrees that afternoon and the wind whispered quietly and mockingly at me as I sweated my way through the mucky parking lot to my car. In any event, it made for a very slushy drive across the bridge and downtown to the police station. The constable at the front desk buzzed me through after I showed her my visitor’s pass. We know each other well enough to exchange pleasantries, but I still couldn’t get past the front door without showing her my pass. [this requires research] I walked down the short, over-bright corridor to the elevator and went up to the fourth floor. Dave and Lisa share a small office whose window overlooks an alley and the back end of a nondescript cinder block apartment building. Dave was dressed in his usual uniform of a plain, dark coloured dress shirt tucked over his little paunch into black dress pants. The pants were being held up by a belt, unfortunately its enormous silver buckle was threatening to bring it all down at any moment. Dave was probably six foot three or four, but as I’d almost always met him while he sat at his desk, I couldn’t be certain. He kept his graying chestnut hair very short around the back and sort of floppy in front. It had a bit of a nineteen twenties look about it. It worked for him. Especially the way the floppy part always seemed to sliding down in front of his sparkly green eyes. I could imagine him as a much younger man every time he brushed the hair away from his eyes. Then there’s his mustache. He wears this enormous furry thing on his lip. It could be called a handlebar mustache, I suppose. Except that it just hangs there hiding his top lip and drooping past his chin. The hair gives him the air of a mischievous young man and the mustache makes him look like an old biker or hippie. It is a weird combination. Somehow Dave can pull it off, though. He really isn’t old enough to be an old hippie, I don’t think he’s even fifty. [Dave has been divorced for seven months. Parker has known him for about thirteen]
Lisa is altogether different. She was the youngest woman in the history of the police service to make Detective. [how does one ‘make’ Detective?]. She passed the exam four years ago at twenty-eight. [is this young enough? Too young?] She had her pick of units to serve and she chose Historical Cases. She is a very small woman. She meets the minimum height requirement for a police officer, just. [which is?] She is extremely fit and tough. Her slenderness belies her fitness which she used to her advantage when she was a uniformed constable on patrol. Her work in Historical Cases didn’t often call upon her to chase criminals down dark alleys anymore, but she stayed in shape just in case. What she loved most about this work was solving a crime once believed unsolvable. She always wore her golden blonde hair in a bun at the nape of her neck. I’ve never seen her wear any makeup at all. She, too, had a work uniform – bright dress shirt, black or grey trousers with a matching blazer and Blundstone boots. They are the next best thing to police-issue boots she told me.