No graphic sex. This short story is based on a conversation with the son of a woman who had been a client before I retired as a barrister. As usual I must stipulate that these characters are works of fiction and have no resemblance to persons living or dead.
*****
Lynn would take her M.B.A. degree in three weeks.
As most working people know, you don't just buy a ticket, hop a plane and fly away for three days to see your daughter get her M.B.A. Can't be done if you have any value to your boss.
I'm a lieutenant supervising detectives, and lieutenants always die young of shouldering a never ending overload. To be sure, they never have the option to "take a day off" and get some sleep let alone saying, "Boss I'm taking off four to watch my daughter get an M.B.A."
My wife, Anne, had warned me before I left for work that morning. I was on thin ice.
I am Cody Powers, a public servant. To be sure, I am one of those euphemistically benighted souls destined by comedic gods to serve my neighbors as a cop. At the moment of this recitation, I was a detective lieutenant sitting as acting commander of the Criminal Investigations Division.
This primeval day began with an ominous note sounded by my wife. My lovely spouse had not been so lovely for quite some time. For some unfathomable reason this morning, Anne had chosen our daughter's impending conclusion to her extended education as a point of conflict.
Well, Anne testily hooked my difficulty in taking time away from work to Lynn's lament that she had not seen me much during her years away at school.
With only two weeks remaining before Lynn's big day, the chief had not confirmed my leave to attend the graduation ceremonies and festivities. Lynn's winning admission to an East Coast academic powerhouse had made us glow with pride, but it had proved to be a mixed blessing. It also had created critical problems in our maintaining close contact.
Since the university was half a day away from us by air, I had seen her only briefly at holidays. Anne was more fortunate. As a lawyer with her own office, she could create the time to fly to New England frequently for weekend visits.
"Tell Archie to get his butt in gear and send your authorization through today," my wife had commanded, though she maintained her thin professional smile.
There was more. My sister-in-law was arriving at DFW at 3 p.m.; and I was to meet her plane and provide chauffeur services. Though Anne's peremptory attitude and failure to respect my work load irritated me, I would happily comply with her orders.
You see, I respectfully loved my sister-in-law and would value renewing our friendship without Madame Whipmaster's presence. Carly, who was older than Anne, was different in important respects. She could not compete with Anne for sexiest figure, but she was more attractive as a person, smart and comforting to know. I had met Carly during a theft investigation at her university dorm, and she had introduced me to Anne.
After Carly received her BA in mathematics and computer sciences, she had moved to Nevada to work for a corporation that provided cybernetic services as consultants for the vulnerable casinos. It was the same as my distant relationship with Lynn. No one was at fault. Demon distance and impossible job demands had become the nemesis.
Though I loved Anne dearly, I had often sworn under my breath that if she had been a lawyer when we met, I would have never proposed. Of course, after 26 years, I should be forgiven my gallows humor. In truth, I suppose I've loved every minute of loving her.
When I parked in my reserved space at the Public Safety Building, my boss, Chief Archie Baldwin, was coming out of the building striding toward his unmarked car. He motioned for me to follow.
"You ready for this?" Archie asked me rhetorically as he pulled into the street. "Those idiots running the schools are being accused of teaching whoring."
I stared at Archie half in shock half expecting him to spring one of his jokes. When he said no more and screwed his face into an ugly snarl, I knew that the absurd had filtered into the realm of the possible.
Only after Archie threw some weight as police chief did the palace guard admit us to the inner sanctum of the superintendent of schools. Dr. Thelma Ashton Northcamp, Jr., sat rigidly in a massive leather puff of an object that could have been a chair. She had mounted her throne-like seat on a dais that raised her at least one foot higher than anyone seated across from her.
"I"m very busy gentlemen," she hissed through thin lips, "so get to it and explain your attempt to interfere in the development of the public school curriculum."
"We're certain it's a misunderstanding," the chief said. "But when complaints are filed in accordance with the law, we must conduct the appropriate inquiry."
"Teaching the methods and procedures of selling sex could be classified as pandering or pimping," I said without an effort to tread softly. "Our complainant alleges you provided such classes and will authorize a 'sex worker' booth at your spring Jobs Fair."
"I consider your coming to my office an effort to intimidate, coerce and interfere with the director of a government agency," the superintendent of schools responded as she abruptly arose waving a hand dismissively. "This interview has ended."
"Strange behavior for a person who has just been told she may be guilty of a felony," I said, again making no effort to placate or compromise.
"Our attorneys will be available to consult with you if you persist," the superintendent said.
"We came here to inquire unofficially," Archie said as we moved toward the door. "Now I must make this an investigation and that becomes a matter of public record."
It was almost 5:30 and I was preparing to leave for home when Archie's formal directive arrived. I was to determine if the school's curriculum included a class that promoted prostitution. He wanted a report of initial findings by the end of the next day. Now I would need to interview the complainant that night if I were to meet Archie's requirement for a preliminary report.
My command encompassed the Criminal Investigations Division and several lateral specialty units. Conveniently, Marjorie Campbell stuck her head in my door to say goodnight. Marge was a workhorse detective that I had mentored through her qualifying exams.
"It's your lucky day, Marge," I said, attempting to give the impression that I never slept, never complained and always happily worked an 18-hour day. "I need assist and back-up eyes and ears for a high priority interview tonight."
"Looks like I'm it, huh?" she responded without complaint.
"Sorry! But the department will buy our dinner," I said. Marge was a chip off my tree as a cop. She never complained, and she always gave a hundred per cent.
We had a great dinner at Barfield's Steak House. Our conversation was light, laced with benign jokes, some happy reminiscing and a briefing on the assignment.
I had called home the moment Archie's directive hit my desk at 5:30 and got no answer. Anne had already left her office. During dinner with Marge, I had redialed home on the cell phone at least half a dozen times.