Mike glanced into the round of teenagers, noting the assortment of worried faces, sad eyes and anxious tension filling the large interrogation room on the 4th floor. Doug Mansfield, their caring, middle-aged social worker stayed in the back corner by the door, hoping to allow Mike to interface with his audience in a much more private manner without any distraction.
"Here in Homicide, we have five teams of Detectives, paired in twos. We handle the case load on a first come, first serve basis depending on everybody's workload. If, for some reason, there's a spike in murders across the city, we eh…we call in for support from other departments of this building, mostly Robbery or Vice."
Mike could tell that the stale approach of explaining his somewhat morbid job didn't yield the desired results so far, when many of the kids absent-mindedly looked around, some of them nervously fidgeting with their coats.
One boy in particular, around fifteen years old, with medium length wavy dark hair that reminded him of Steve, stared intently at the .38 on his belt.
Mansfield had pulled him aside earlier, when he herded the group into the interrogation room, advising him to avoid questions about the kids' background for fear of ripping some old wounds wide open. Instead, he'd hoped that a more theoretical approach to a very physically and emotionally demanding job would work.
"Our Inspectors are equipped with a police-issued .38 caliber revolver containing six bullets, a set of handcuffs, a spare pack of bullets and most importantly, a notebook. Because when we approach a murder scene, it is important to take in everything, even things that aren't there but should be."
"How old do you need to be to work in Homicide?", the fifteen-year-old boy asked and flashed a brief smile, clearly growing intrigued.
Returning the smile, Mike shrugged, before pointing to the bullpen.
"Well, see…what's your name, son?"
"Andre…"
"Okay, well, see Andre, working here isn't really an age issue. Homicide is a very…very difficult job to work. It requires an extremely high level of integrity and attention to detail. Many sleepless nights. Holidays spent on the job and away from your family. Absolute dedication to solving each case. In other words, it takes a special breed of cop. Right now, I can tell you that our youngest Inspector is in his early thirties and, well, me being on the other spectrum of early sixties. You don't just finish police academy and get a job working here. It takes years of training and what we call street smarts."
"How many dead bodies have you seen?", a young African American boy interrupted from the back of the room, causing Mike to purse his lips, despite the chuckle going through the immature group.
"Too many.", he answered somberly and glanced down for a moment, "Many people have a misconception about what our jobs entail. That we are constantly surrounded by action and gun fire and gore. The truth of the matter is that every single dead body we investigate was somebody who had a family. A person who cared for him or her. A very tragic personal story that lead to the outcome of their death. Neither of this is a laughing manner, and if the same people who bypass our police barriers to get a good look at a body just for sheer entertainment would ride with us day after day, having to pass the news of somebody's death onto their families, I am sure their attitudes would change drastically."
The boy instantly lost the smile on his face and looked away, as did many of his friends. Only a handful of the others still seemed intrigued, amongst them Andre.
"How does working in Homicide affect your family life between the long days and everything you see?"
Young Andre's candid questions were beginning to raise Mike's weary spirits that morning and he sat down on the corner of the large table, adjusting his dress pants, before thinking about the answer for a moment.
"I guess that depends on your definition of family life. All these guys you see out there are part of my family. We spend so much time together, it's bound to happen. And you've met my partner. Besides my daughter, he's the most important person in my life. We spend time together even outside of work because, well, if you…if you are willing to protect each other with your lives, I guess that…that quickly turns you into family. So, to answer your question, I would say the only affect that working Homicide has had on my family life is that my family has grown. By a lot of very dedicated and caring guys."
The room fell quiet when his voice threatened to break and Mike tried a smile to return to a more lighthearted atmosphere.
"Were there ever any cases you weren't able to solve?", a girl asked from the back row and nervously played with a lock of her long blonde hair.
Taking a deep breath, Mike bit his lip, trying to come up with an audience-friendly response.
"There's a small file cabinet in my office, it's about two feet tall. It contains all the files of any unsolved murders in this city since the beginning of time. I keep it underneath my desk, so whenever I turn too fast, I hit my foot on it. This way I am constantly reminded of these cases and they stay in the back of my mind. Hopefully, as technology improves, we will be able to solve all of them and bring justice to the victims and their families. "
Leaning over to take a sip out of coffee, Mike was surprised when he saw Andre raise his hand again. He nodded at him approvingly, encouraged at the friendly body-language, his brown eyes big with excitement and interest.
"Have you or your partner ever gotten hurt? What do you do? Call the police?"
His faint chuckle caused the rest of the group to chime in and Mike smiled for a moment, although the question made his mind wander to far less humorous territory.
Finishing his sip of lukewarm coffee, he rested his hands in his lap and cleared his throat, before continuing.
"Well, I won't lie to you, Andre, it does happen. And it happens more often than I'd like to see. You have to remember that only a small portion of our jobs has to deal with dead bodies. The larger part has to do with finding the actual killer. And somebody who has already overstepped that line once and has taken a human life, well, they typically won't shy away from shooting at us or attacking us in any other way. This is, after all, a pretty dangerous job. So when there is an incident, we contact dispatch and call for backup and then apply first aid measures to stabilize our partner until help arrives."
He could see the next question burning in Andre's eyes.
The one he feared hearing more than anything else.
"Have you ever lost a partner?"
The question sent daggers through his heart and Mike felt himself break out in a cold sweat. Too many memories threatened to rush to the surface in a setting that called for guarded neutrality. In the end, it was Doug Mansfield who saved him from this emotional abyss.
"Andre, buddy, let's not ask questions like that. This is a very sensitive topic and Lieutenant Stone has been more than patient with your questions. I am sorry, Mike."
He watched the boy fall quiet and glance down in disappointment, before nodding at the Social Services worker in gratitude. Taking another sip of coffee to disguise his shaking hands, he watched Doug fidget with some paperwork in his hand before pointing at the exit door.
"Well guys, it's time to move on to Robbery now. We will be talking to Lieutenant Harold Damian, so let's go back to the elevators and head down one floor. And let's be sure to thank Lieutenant Stone for his time and patience today. This has been a very eye-opening experience for all of us."