The policeman in the kitchen had light duty, as there were only two pots and a cast iron skillet in the lower cupboards. The upper cabinets had a random collection of pint glasses, a few mismatched plates, and coffee mugs with ridiculous sayings printed on them.
"Looks like he's a gourmet," he said. The pantry was bare except for a bag of brown rice, a few loose power bars, and a box of popcorn. The refrigerator had a stack of lunchmeat packages, a loaf of bread, and two drawers of fresh vegetables. "What, no cheese puffs and rocket fuel soda?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I'm more of a stir fry guy. Better protein stops snacking."
He eyeballed my trim waistline and scowled. "Sure, buddy. There's an awful lot of takeout containers in the trash."
"My roommate," I said.
As if that was a cue, the officers divided up and headed by pairs into the two bedrooms. I waited for 20 minutes until they reappeared.
The bald one was on his cell phone calling in a K-9 unit. "Gotta be thorough. Don't want to waste taxpayer money," he said.
The officers then ignored me and talked about football until the K-9 unit arrived. A German Shepherd with intelligent brown eyes and an eager pace pulled its partner into my apartment. After the third zig-zagging trip around, it looked up at its partner with a lopsided expression of boredom.
He turned the dog towards the bedrooms and it dragged him down the short hallway. It was in and out of my roommate's room in five minutes. Four minutes into my room, there was a low woof. The officer reappeared with the prancing dog; a sport coat in his hand.
I recognized the sport coat as the one my roommate had lent me. It had been in contention for wearing to the memorial service until I decided to wear my suit. If something was found in the pockets of his coat, he'd catch hell at work and most likely get fired.
"Nothing in it, but Gertrude likes it for something. Marijuana, most likely," the officer said.
"My roommate wore it to a club a few days ago," I said.
Even the dog gave me a disbelieving look. I sat back down on my stool – it was going to be a long evening.
#
"Convenient that your roommate lent you this coat we found in your room," the bald officer said.
I was glad when my phone rang. I looked down and saw Quinn's name. My stomach jumped more from her than from the suspicious looks the police gave me.
"One of your clients?" the second officer asked.
"The fading scent of pot on a sports coat that was worn to a dance club doesn't really prove intent to sell, does it?" I asked. "And since I'm not the average under-informed, sub-intelligent criminal I'm sure you're used to making you feel smart, this whole search is over." I opened the door to let them out.
The K-9 officer was pulled through the open door by his eager partner. Two of the others shrugged and went to follow him, but the bald policeman blocked the door.
"Funny thing about stereotypes," he said. "They always come from some sort of truth. Like the fact that most criminals get all cocky like you are now before the weight of the law chokes it out of them."
I found a beer on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator and cracked it open before sitting back down on my kitchen stool. The police officers looked thirsty. "Go ahead and keep searching. You've got your warrant, and I'm not stopping you."
He scrubbed his bald head. There was no reason for them to remain at my place, but he could not let me have the last word. "Tell us about this alleged roommate of yours."
"Alleged? His name is on the mailbox and all that mail over there. I would have thought you would know all about him from your search of his bedroom."
"Are you going to cooperate or what, Mr. Redd?" He crossed his arms over a beefy chest.
"Fine, yes. My roommate's name is Jasper Collins. He does freelance web design, mainly for commercial businesses and corporations. He's always telling me he's after the 'big fish.' I think he even sent a proposal to your precinct after he got fed up trying to pay a parking ticket through your website."
"Freelance? So you two just sit around all day staring at your screens?" the officer asked.
"No, Jasper is more of the go-getter type. He gets most of his clients through face-to-face meetings. Encourages the techno-afraid to let him help," I said.
"And who was his last client?"
"A bakery over on Tenth," I said. "He said they have good donuts, maybe you know the place?"
The cops all sneered, but the tallest one stopped and tilted his head as he thought. "They did. The place closed down two months back."