Lena stood at the front desk, her fingers tapping against the cool, dark leather of the purse. She expected a smile, perhaps a “thank you” for her civic duty. “I found this in Halden Park,” she said, her voice echoing in the sterile lobby. “On a bench.” The officer behind the glass didn’t smile; he merely pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves with a sharp snap.
He unzipped the gold clasp, his eyes darting between the ID inside and Lena’s face. “Where exactly?” he asked, his tone dropping an octave. Lena’s pride flickered. “The bench near the fountain. Is something wrong?” He didn’t answer. He tilted the bag, peering into the empty velvet lining, then looked at the computer screen. “Wait here, Ms. Thorne. Don’t leave.”
The silence that followed was heavy with the smell of floor wax and old coffee. Two officers emerged from a side door, their footfalls heavy. One snatched the purse, sealing it into a clear plastic bag as if it were a biohazard. The other, a burly man with a clipped mustache, gestured for Lena to stand. “Hands behind your back.” Lena laughed, a short, nervous sound. “You’re joking, right?” The cold bite of the handcuffs was his only reply.