"I'm providing reassurance."
"Reassurance usually sounds more reassuring."
A sound escapes me that might, under different circumstances, be classified as a laugh. I suppress it immediately, but not before Jessica's expression shifts to something dangerously close to delight.
"Did you just laugh?" she asks.
"I cleared my throat."
"That was definitely a laugh."
"It was a vocalization of acknowledgment." I straighten my uniform jacket and take a deliberate step back. "I'll be in my office if you need anything."
Her smile follows me all the way down the hall.
The first call comes in at oh-seven-fourteen.
I'm reviewing incident reports when my radio crackles to life with Jessica's voice, slightly breathless, relaying information to every unit in the county.
"Attention all units. We have a 10-31, that's a crime in progress, at 847 Maple Avenue. Caller reports a robbery. Suspect is described as..." A pause. The sound of papers shuffling. "Short. Aggressive. Possibly armed."
I'm out of my chair before she finishes speaking.
847 Maple Avenue is Mrs. Kowalski's residence. The same Mrs. Kowalski whose porch Jessica destroyed three days ago. My hand is on my sidearm as I stride through the bullpen, already calculating response time and tactical approach.
"Negrorio to dispatch." I speak into my shoulder radio. "Confirm the nature of the 10-31. Is the suspect still on premises?"
"Affirmative, Sheriff." Jessica's voice is steady but tight with adrenaline. "Caller states the suspect is in her backyard. Attempting to breach her trash receptacle."
I stop walking.
Trash receptacle.
"Dispatch, clarify. The suspect is attempting to breach a trash receptacle?"
"That's correct. Caller described the suspect as, quote, 'a masked bandit with grabby little hands,' end quote."
Behind me, Deputy Fowler makes a strangled noise.
I close my eyes. Take a breath. Open them again.
"Dispatch, did the caller specify the species of the suspect?"
A long pause. Then, in a much smaller voice: "Species?"
"Is the suspect human?"
Another pause. I hear clicking. Jessica typing something into the system. Then:
"Oh no."
Deputy Marcum appears at my elbow, his weathered face creased with barely contained laughter. "Sheriff? We've got six units en route to a residential trash can. You want me to call them off?"
"Dispatch." I keep my voice level. "Confirm the nature of the threat at 847 Maple Avenue."
Jessica's response comes through the radio in a mortified whisper. "It's a raccoon. The robbery in progress is a raccoon. In a trash can."
The entire bullpen goes silent.
