The Dark Alley on Brooklyn Avenue

Detective Lily Arenello - Unedited

I followed Rousseau, Hansen, and Landon to Salerno's office. I thought that this case was simple.

A simple shooting, like my brother, sister, and I used to pretend we would solve.

That was before my sister was sent to the Juvenile Detention Center in New York and Madre, Padre, Sammy, Jose and I were sent here.

Another reason never to judge a book by its cover.

Salerno tells us to be quiet and to not interrupt her. She picked up the phone and dialed Jack Price's number. She held a finger to her lips as the phone rang.

A few seconds later, someone picked up the phone. I heard a voice, from the other end of the telephone.

"Hello." Salerno said. She paused. "My name is Commander Angela Salerno, I work for the NYPD." She paused again. "I'm so sorry."

There was silence on both sides of the line. Then the voice again. "Gwen was shot." Salerno replied. I glanced around.

Landon was looking out the window to his left, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair and humming.

I looked to his right and was startled to see Hansen, eyes closed, a tear rolling silently down his face.

I looked away, feeling as if I was intruding on a private memory, like walking into a stranger's bedroom.

I looked at Rousseau. She was in a similar stance, her fists clenched so hard her knuckles were white.

I wondered why Hansen and Rousseau were acting like this as I turned my attention back to Salerno. She was telling Jack Price to call his family.

I glanced back at Landon, Hansen, and Rousseau. Landon seemed even more at ease, now even smiling faintly, completely oblivious to Rousseau and Hansen's reactions.

They were both sweating. Rousseau's lips were forming words. I had always been a good lip reader, in English and in Spanish.

It looked like something she knew well, memorized over a long time.

It looked like she was saying I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do. She's gone now. It was strange, because Rousseau and Hansen were normally very composed people.

I looked straight ahead, listening so I would know what to say one day. A few minutes later, Salerno hung up.

She told us all to come with her. She took us back to the desk where Hansen had looked up the name Mary Smith. He sat down in the chair, Rory leaning against the desk.

"What do we do?" Landon asks. Salerno says, "Get up, all of you." She takes us to a board. "Put down the information you know about Gwen Roseboro." She says.

She grabs a freshly printed picture of Gwen and magnetically attaches it to the board. She does the same thing to several crime scene pictures.

She takes four pencils and hands them to each of us. "Write your names on this sheet of paper. I want to see who's writing is both neat and fast."

I quickly write my name in large, artistic and stylish letters. LILY ARENELLO. I give it to Salerno, and she nods, satisfied. Next is Hansen, then Rousseau, then Rory.

Salerno takes their papers and nods. "Detective Arenello." "Call me Lily," I respond, hating the sound of my name. I remember the sound of a bang, running home, going to a station and a man calling the name.

"Okay. Detective... Lily. Your writing shows character. You didn't grow up in America until you were nearly in your teenage years, as your hand is more accustomed to a different language and a different writing... device. You lived near a graffiti artist. You were possibly related to the person. Your writing shows that you are a sensitive person who cares about others. Definitely feminine."

My mouth drops, shocked. "How do you know Sammy was a graffiti artist? Did you read my background report?" I say.

"No. It was my boss who read your background reports. He let me know nothing, not until I did my personal test." She said. "I assume Sammy was an older sister, probably the person who taught you how to write." I nod. She turns to Hansen.

"Your writing is sharp, clinical, and masculine. You avoid showing personal emotion. But a slight mistake reveals that you are afraid of messing up. Your want for anonymity shows you had a bad past, possibly a parent killed in front of you or your home being destroyed."

Hansen's face stays unemotional, though his jaw tightens visibly. I wonder if it's true. But before I can ask, she turns to Rousseau.

"Detective Rousseau. Your writing is sharp and clinical as well and you are a organized person, but the way you write certain letters shows that you are feminine and sensitive in your own way. Your writing is strong and bold, reflecting your personality. You know how to speak and write in a different language, maybe Italian. There are some letters erased and written over in your name. You trained to be a cop in Italy, most likely because something that relates to you there. A cop related to you killed or severely injured." Rousseau's reaction is a mix of mine and Hansen's. She is shocked but her jaw clenches.

She manages a terse nod. "My mother. She was a cop in Italy, and she kept her badge on. She was outstanding among her colleagues, but moved to America for my brothers and little sister. My father stayed in Italy with his ailing mother. Madre... Mother and I were on a trip to the mall to buy some things and she was gunned down by some idiot who thought she had come to arrest him, just because of her badge. She went to the hospital but they called a few hours later. I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do. She's gone now. That's what they told me. I was 13."

I look around. Hansen is nodding, the mask on his face concealing his emotions cracking. Landon is confused.

"Detective Johnson-" Salerno says, interrupted by Landon saying, "It's Landon." She looks annoyed and continues.

"Your writing is sloppy and careless. You were the popular kid, living the good life. Nothing could bring you down. You had tons of friends, so losing one here or there wouldn't hurt you. Oops, just called Roger an idiot. Hey Steve! Whassup?" She says, obviously impersonating a younger Landon.

Landon shrugs. "Never thoughta it like that." He says casually, not denying it. We all glare at him. Salerno tries to say something but fails. She clears her throat.

"This is my own personal test. It shows you how much you can tell about a person from very little things, as much as a fingerprint or even the way they write their name." She says.

I nod soberly. Salerno really gets to the point. "Lesson learned," I say. I'm still reeling slightly at her conclusions and how much they struck nerves.

She dismisses us. She tells us that some new detectives need to process her test. "And, Hansen?" She says, "You get to write on the board," She says it just before we leave.

----------------•----------------

Hi, I'm trying to make my chapters longer. Sorry for not updating sooner. This book is dedicated to two of my cousins, GreekWizard and -Camo-, they are awesome!