She nodded. This was going to be easy. She would pee in the cup, the test would come back negative, and then they would apologize and release her. By tomorrow morning, all this would be just a bad memory.
"You have to take your jacket off and leave the restroom door open. We have to make sure you're not tampering with the test. Please don't flush before handing me the urine."
Silently, she went in, wiped the soiled toilet seat with some toilet paper, and sat on it. Urinating came easily, after so much stress. She handed the cup to the lab technician, and washed her hands.
"We have to wait for a minute or so," the tech said, rolling the filled cup on its side, so that urine would come in contact with all the reactive strips. He peeled off a piece of adhesive from the side of the cup and picked up the phone.
"We're done here. She's positive for meth."
Alex felt a kick to her stomach.
"No, no, that can't be true! I swear to you I have never touched any drugs, please test me again," she pleaded, sobbing hard.
Detective Holt came through the door.
"You almost had us fooled, you know."
"You have to believe me, please, I am not taking any drugs! Test me again, do a lie detector test, do whatever, but please believe me!"
"Chemistry never lies, missy, this is it. You have methamphetamine in your system. Regardless of how it got there, right now it doesn't make you look good at all. Let's go."
"Where are you taking me?"
"We're going to book you, do some paperwork, and prepare your arraignment."
Holt led her to the same interview room she had occupied before. Another young technician came to take her clothing in a paper bag, offering her a jumpsuit instead. The jumpsuit stank of chemical cleaners, and was stiff and rough to the touch. Initially repelled by the smell, Alex realized that the smell of disinfecting chemicals was, in fact, a guarantee that these suits were cleaned before being handed over from one prisoner to the next.
Prisoner! The word resonated in her brain. She decided to finally apply the wisdom she had deliberately ignored until now. She knocked on the mirrored window. Holt opened the door.
"I'd like to have a lawyer present, please, and I'd like to make my phone call now."
Holt disappeared, and soon reappeared with a cordless phone. She looked at the time — almost 10:00PM. She dialed Tom's home number.
"Hello?" His warm voice brought back tears to her eyes.
"Tom? Hi, it's me, Alex."
"Hi, what's up?" He sounded a bit worried.
"I don't know how to say this… I was arrested for drug possession tonight, I'm at San Diego Police, West," she said, between uncontrollable sobs.
"Arrested?" Tom repeated in disbelief.
"I never took any drugs… but they tested me and found me positive for meth."
"Oh," Tom said, in a visibly colder voice.
"Please help me get out of here," Alex pleaded, her eyes flooded in tears.
"Oh, Alex, drugs were never part of the deal, you know. I'm afraid you're on your own. When it comes to drugs, well, for me they're a game changer. Once you've taken that path, well, there's no real turning back."
"No, you've got to believe me, I never took any drugs!"
"Alex, please, calm down. If you're indeed innocent, this situation will resolve on its own. If that's the case, get back in touch with me later, so we can resume our work together. I'm sorry, but that's all I can do," Tom said, then hung up.
She crouched on the floor, hugging her knees, and sobbing hard. She was all alone again, and the nightmare was there to stay.
…54
The aroma of fresh baked donuts and hot coffee made Detective Holt stop typing.
"Finally," he said, thankfully reaching for the treats handed to him by his partner.
"You're welcome," Reyes said, taking a mouthful out of a glazed Krispy Kreme. "What are you entertaining yourself with?"
"Just paperwork on the Hoffmann broad. I want to have her booked before the shift is over. It's quiet around here for a Fourth of July weekend."
"Not so fast, hot shot," Reyes said, leaning against Holt's desk. "So, your mind is made up, she should be arraigned?"
"Why not? She had drugs in her car, drugs in her system. What more would you like to have before you call a case perfect?"
"How long have you been a detective? Five minutes?" Reyes scoffed.
"Huh? That's not fair, you know — almost six months. What am I missing?"
"Well, the obvious. You're not detecting anything. You're not doing the job of a detective; you're being an overly zealous and over-empowered secretary, eager to fill out forms—"
"Screw you," Holt said, punching Reyes in the shoulder.
"— and book a dubious collar, who'll step out of court whistling free, in less than five minutes."
Holt looked up, intrigued.
"So, you think she'll walk? Why?"
"Well, first of all, because you're not doing your job," Reyes said, then laughed some more, "and second, because her lawyer will do his."
"I give up. So teach me, oh, wise one," Holt said, mimicking the respectful bow given by a martial-arts trainee to his master.
"Hmm… I'm still considering not to, for the pleasure of seeing your butt kicked by the captain. The problem is my own butt would also get kicked in the process, and I'm particularly fond of my butt. I don't want any of his boot prints on it. It will ruin my reputation, as my butt's been kick-free for years, you know."
Reyes paused, taking a sip of steaming coffee.
"OK, so what do you have? You have a bag full of meth found in a car, and trace meth found in a urine test. That's all you've got. Out of context, it might look good," Reyes emphasized.
He loved to teach. He had always been partnered with young detectives, because of his passion for developing skills in others.
"In context — not so much," he continued. "What's your context?"
"The broad lied to us when she said she wasn't using," Holt ventured the argument he thought was the key point in this case.
"First of all, calling her a "broad" is uncalled for and clouds your judgment. Considering the cases you normally handle and the company you usually keep, I can see why you would call all women broads." Reyes stopped to receive the second fist to his right shoulder. "This lady is no broad in the sense you mean it. She's a highly paid professional," Reyes said, going through Alex's purse, extracting a business card. "This woman is a director with NanoLance, no less. What do you know about NanoLance?"
"They're a large defense contractor, right?"
"Right. Pay attention now. What does it mean for our case that NanoLance is a defense contractor?"
"I–I don't know," Holt admitted, reluctantly.
"Stringent security checks, random drug tests, and at least 'confidential' or 'secret' clearance for employees. For a director-level employee, I'd think 'top secret' clearance is more likely."
"So, practically, what does that mean?"
"You are more of an idiot than I had assumed," Reyes said, his smile softening the harshness of his words. "That means the employees are scrutinized periodically, and they know it. She would never willingly touch drugs."
Silence, as Holt processed the information. "OK, I guess you're right," he conceded.
"Let's look at the lab reports next." Reyes took the case file and browsed through it. "Someone has to, you know," he said laughing, as he was taking yet another stab at Holt's unsatisfactory work. "Her clothing — high end. Her suit is labeled "Calvin Klein." I looked it up online; it's one of the current models, sells for more than $700. Her blouse is pure silk — has this French brand name I can't even pronounce, but it must be worth a couple of bucks. Her shoes are," he struggled to read, "Salvatore Ferragamo. Did my job, sorry, did your job and looked these up on the Internet too, they go for $400 a pair."