The Yellow Rose of Texas Ch. 01

"I dunno." said Briggs. "I've always been a cop. It's what I know. It's all I know..."

"We were just talking about the Detective branch, ma'am." said Briscoe, not risking anything in continuing to use protocol when addressing his boss, Della Harlow. "Lieutenant Masters is leaving. Rumor is that he's going to Internal Affairs with the City Police."

"Yes, that's what I heard." Della said. "Getting promoted to Captain to go there. He wouldn't make Captain here for a long time."

"Yes, with someone as young as Ross already there." said Briggs. Della could see what the issue was. She turned the conversation to her advantage.

"She's in over her head." Della said. "Don Troy solves all the tough cases; he's pretty much a one-man MCD and all his Detectives do is gather data for him. If he were gone, Ross could never handle it. Warner and Davis are showing some promise, but they're young."

"And 'Teresa Cunt' was running Vice," said Briggs, his offensive word shocking Della though she did not show it, "then that young Commander put her over us in that Operations slot. Sheesh, children leading children, leading older, more experienced people... like Army Captains and Lieutenants leading experienced Sergeants..."

"At least Croyle had worked under Malone, and learned from him." said Briscoe. "Now there was a good Police Captain! Too bad he let his racial thoughts become known."

Della saw her opening: "Commander Troy is not much different."

"Ma'am?" asked Briscoe, surprised. "Commander Troy's no racist. He's got black Detectives in MCD, and word has it that black ADA's child was fathered by him."

"But he lets that racist Parker stay in MCD." replied Della. "Troy has stated some views that are racist against undocumented workers, and he's definitely a misogynist. Malinda Adams hates his guts; she's been opposing his advancement in the Force for years now. If Ross wasn't his blood kin, and Croyle engaged to his nephew, they would be nowhere now; he didn't promote them because they were women. And Susan Weston had to run to Public Health before he ran her out on a rail." the last part was an outright lie; Della didn't care.

"So guys," Della said, "just be patient. Let me know anything Troy and Croyle are up to. Then you'll get the promotions you deserve..."

Part 5 - Weekend Workouts

Saturday, May 13th. The Police Boxing Matches were in full swing. It was the Round of 64, and we had a lot of boxing to get in. The next week was the double rounds, when the boxers would go Friday May 19th and then again on Sunday May 21st, leaving the 'Elite Eight'. Then the next weekend would pare down to 4 then to 2... then the Finals and the Consolation Matches.

There was one extra rule: one did not even enter the gymnasium without a football helmet or other head protection on one's head. Some Officers wore their uniform helmets or riot gear helmets, which I was okay with on this occasion. Others wore football helmets. Crowbars or billy sticks would sometimes fly farther than one might realize, and awareness was key to staying unhurt.

It was clear that there were seven serious contenders for the trophy: Cindy Ross, Teresa Croyle, Joanne Warner, Roy McGhillie, Micah Rudistan, Hugh Hewitt, and Sergeant Charles. Everyone else was just slogging along with basic Police tactics, or getting their asses whipped. And I was nonplussed that that included the SpecOps people...

Part 6 - Mail Call

"Congratulations." I said as Cindy entered my office after cleaning up after winning her match.

"Thanks." said Cindy. "Sergeant DeLong is pretty good with standard Police defensive tactics, but he's no martial artist. And I don't want to sound like I'm bitching, but some of these people should not be trying to do this. I'm worried I'm going to hurt someone in the early rounds."

"I hear you." I said. "The Chief said something to that effect, as well. We're going to float the idea of an 'A' and 'B' pool next year. Should cut down on the double match weekends, too."

"Good idea." said Cindy. "Anything new on the Sharples code?"

"Not yet." I said. "I went off on a tangent, trying to think of where Sharples could hide a keycode where I might find it, but almost no one else would."

"I was thinking of that, too." said Cindy. "I looked under all the drawers of his old desk, to see if he taped something down, but there was nothing. There's a box of stuff he left behind after he was canned, but there's nothing in there, either."

"I know; I looked through that, too." I said. "I also looked, under the guise of a snap inspection of the Evidence Rooms, at every piece of evidence that Sharples logged into there or was logged to have examined. And there's nothing."

Just then, there was a knock on the door. "Mail call, sir." said the Duty Desk Patrolman. "This letter was addressed to you, and it was flagged. First, because the return address doesn't exist on the map; and second, because the envelope appears empty. The Post Office and Crime Lab both have examined it and irradiated it."

"O-kay. Thanks." I said, taking the long envelope. The address was to the Police Department, ATTN: Commander D. Troy. A note on the back said "personal for Commander Troy" in child-like block letters. The Return Address was 1013 Riverside Drive. I held the envelope to the window; sure enough, it was empty, and I saw no writing on the inside.

"No, there's no '1013' on this street." Cindy said.

"Wait a minute." I said as I looked to my right, where the framed badges of Pete Feeley and Tanya Perlman were hanging. "Look." I said, and Cindy did.

The number '1013' was the now-permanently-retired badge number of the late Officer Peter M. Feeley.

"Oh my God." Cindy whispered. "What can that mean?"

Suddenly, I was back in the night, when I'd been 'fucking' Angela... and hearing her words about 'the photo'. And it hit me like a freight train roaring out of the High Sierras.

"I think it's the answer." I said, getting out of my chair. "Let's go to the lobby."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As one enters Police Headquarters through the front door, there is an immediate hallway along the outer wall to the left; this goes to the Press Briefing Room. The Duty Desk window is straight ahead, and to the left along its wall is the hallway that leads to Interrogation Rooms A-C.

Going to the right along the Duty Desk Window wall is a steel door that is locked; it goes to the booking and holding cell areas. To the right of that door is a door to the waiting room, and the window on the other end looks out over the front lawn; the waiting room is to the right of the entrance lobby as one enters the lobby by the front door.

On the left wall, in the space between the corridors, are framed photographs of the Police Leadership. At the top is Sheriff Daniel Allgood's official photograph. Below it to the left is Fire Chief Quinlin, and to the right is the Public Health Officer. In the middle is Chief Moynahan. Below him are (at left) me, the Police Commander, and (at right) Deputy Chief Harlow. Below us are our total of six Captain slots: Cindy Ross, Teresa Croyle, and the I.A. Chief, Lt. Goodwin, are below my photo; Lt. (B) Holloway, Cpt. Briscoe, and Cpt. Aaron (Physical Properties) are below Della's picture.

On the other side, on the wall shared with the waiting room, is a wall of great reverence: all the Police Officers and Firefighters and EMTs who died in the line of duty are on that wall. A small table with a vase of carnations is below them, the flowers meticulously kept up by our Rookies. Fortunately, there were only eight total photos going back a century and a half.

The newest photo, at the bottom right hand corner, was Officer Peter M. Feeley's photograph. Cindy and I came up to it.

"You'd think Sharples would hide it behind your photo." said Cindy.

"Well, our pictures can change." I said. "They changed mine to reflect the second Medal of Valor, which was after Sharples was arrested." Cindy looked back at the other wall, and could see the oak leaf cluster on my MOV in the photo as I said "So if he'd put it there, it might have been found, or lost. But the photos of the LOD deaths... don't change."

The Duty Desk Sergeant and Patrolman were watching as I reverently took the photo of Pete Feeley off the wall. Turning it over, I slid the cardboard backing out of the frame. Attached to it was a folded piece of paper!

Taking the paper off, I restored Pete's photo to its rightful and honored place. Then Cindy and I headed back to my office.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Cindy watched eagerly as I unfolded the paper. It read:

AE049/ .[,A;B /C[D

Underneath was scrawled "Right to tight; left is loose."

To be continued.

Dear Readers: Can you decode the encrypted message with the above information?