With Permission from Steven for Being the Other III


I step out from my dark sedan outside the county sheriff's offices at 7th and G. A wide parking lot marks the edge of the downtown area, with only the Sacramento Railway behind me. The cluttered scaffolding reveals signs of continuing renovation being done to the station, the Sacramento Railyards Project if I recall correctly. But for now the Gold Line remains silent in these evening hours.

The Sheriff's Sergeant had withheld any details that would clue me in on the purpose of tonight's summons. The man supervises his own special investigations and intelligence bureau with six detectives at his disposal. I couldn't see why he would need the assistance of a private agent. But then he hardly needs more reason than my credentials and reputation to acknowledge the value of my services.

I walk inside the front entrance, dressed in a tasteful dark suit dress that I'm certain has caught the attention of enough fashion-attentive officials to herald my identity. Out of habit or uncertainty the man at the front desk asks me my name.

"Angel Ducard," I answer sweetly, aware of the greedy eyes of prey as they fancy themselves the predator in fantasy.

I'm expected. They let me through with an escort to guide me and a visitor's lanyard. Can't have just anyone walk about freely in a government building, even a licensed investigator. My eyes move about the halls, lending half-smiles to the occasional staff member that passes me by. The labels on doors give me an idea of what sort of departments operate in the building. But I had an idea already. Any sensible woman would do that much homework.

The office of Sergeant Matthews is adorned with marks of achievement, academy diplomas, awards of recognition. The man is proud of his station, though it hardly shows on his expression as I enter. Some anxiety shadows his mood and the lights are dimmed noticeably compared with the bureau hallways.

"Sergeant, a pleasure to see you again. I assume this isn't a social call?" I ask, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

The escort is dismissed and the Sergeant swivels around in his desk chair, requesting that I close the door behind me.

"Privacy? So this is a social call then?" I remark with a lilt of humor in my tone. Whatever mood my prey is in I have no obligation to share in it.

The Sergeant turns back to look at me, blinking with momentary confusion until he catches onto my meaning. Perhaps he's a little slow, or not used to being talked to so informally. But then I'm not under his employ, nor anyone else's. Still, I should save some room for his ego before I offend the poor Kine. Fortunately he composes himself professionally and gets down to business.

The Sergeant's voice is a deep baritone, one with a sharp edge, suggesting a practiced command. "Ms. Ducard, I've called you here because I need another agent to follow up on an internal investigation I'm running here in this department. I'm not sure if you've been made aware but there's reports of more organized criminal activity in the city lately. Chop shops, black markets, unregistered gambling houses. We've been pursuing leads on all of them but all I'm getting is rumor and heresay. Every now and then we locate some stolen goods and intercept contraband but we don't get any clue as to the source."

I lean my weight onto one leg, setting my hand over my hip expectantly as I ask, "So why me, Sergeant? I'm just a Private Investigator. You said this is an internal investigation, and you know my specialties lie in information crimes." I don't need an invitation to sit, even though the bastard should have offered me one as soon as I came in. So I stand until he provides reason enough to take interest in this impromptu briefing.

"I was getting to that," he starts again, opening the left-hand drawer of his desk from which he pulls out a folder. He sets it on his desk in front of me to which I walk over to take it in hand. "A couple days ago I noticed an odd static in my phone. While inspecting the receiver I noticed a groove where the handset had been pried open. Didn't take me much longer to discover there was a transmitter inside."

A wiretap? Interesting, I think curiously to myself. I note these details in the report, the device, an RF bug of an unknown manufacturer, cleaned of any telling forensic evidence. I decide to take a seat after all, crossing my legs slowly and sitting the folder open atop my thigh.

He continues, "I don't know how long it was there for, but I had the rest of the building swept for others. I guess only my office was targeted. However, the only way someone could have gotten in here to do it would be if it were one of my own staff. Either someone's been paid off or blackmailed by an outside source hoping to get leaks and stay ahead of our investigation, or an agency higher up the ladder is keeping an eye on me. Regardless, I don't like it. It's a breach of security and my privacy. And while I trust my detectives aren't responsible, I need someone outside this office to maintain an unbiased perspective. Specifically I need you to check our network for vulnerabilities and also, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like you to investigate any leads you might have on this transmitter. Consider it a favor to me, one I'd be happy to repay."

I gently stroke the back of my fingers over my pale smooth cheek as I consider the request. The assignment is tempting, certainly. Access to the S.I.I.B network and a personal favor down the line? How can I say no? But there's a lot of expectation and not a lot of information to go on. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I suppose.

"If I'm going to do this, I'll need you to provide me remote access to your servers and security clearance to conduct my investigations on site. I'll be too busy in all but the evenings, and I'd prefer not to have your staff around anyways."

After all, a girl like me needs her beauty sleep. Daylight just doesn't work with this complexion.