Free Tree of Life and Death by Gin Jones

hospital. He was about average height, and his uniform seemed to be a little bit tighter around the middle every time I saw him, since his favorite coping tool for stress was to indulge in sugary treats. Fred was in his mid-thirties, a seasoned officer, with no particular aspirations to rise through the ranks. He liked being on patrol where he felt like he was making a difference, stopping to chat with the local citizens. He took crimes personally, as if he alone were to blame for not having anticipated and prevented them, which led to his need for the stress support group meetings.
    "I heard there were refreshments," he said. "Where are they?"
    "Gone, I'm afraid." Seeing the look of disappointment on his face, I added, "You didn't miss much. Most of the treats had chocolate in them." That was about the only sugary food I'd ever seen him refuse, and if he was desperate enough, he'd eat a chocolate chip cookie and spit out the chips as if they were watermelon seeds.
    He sighed. "I was hoping there might be some oatmeal-raisin cookies. Oatmeal's good for me. My wife's always making it for me."
    Not in the form of cookies, I suspected, but all I said was, "How long do you think we'll be stuck here?"
    "It could be a while," he said. "I'm under orders to make sure no one leaves until everyone's contact information has been collected, along with anything they might know about the incident. I'm going to need to take your phone, by the way. I've already collected everyone else's. No calls until you've given your statement. Unless you want to call a lawyer, of course, and then I'll make the arrangements."
    I dug the phone out of my pocket and stared at it, reluctant to hand it over. It had taken me a long time to accept that I needed to have that kind of lifeline within reach at all times for medical reasons, but now that I had accepted this new reality, I found it nerve wracking to let go of the phone. Still, I didn't really need it as long as I was here at the museum, surrounded by cops who could summon help if I needed it.
    I handed Fred the phone, and he dropped it into a plastic baggie. He wrote my name on the outside and then tucked it into the pocket of his uniform jacket. "I'll add it to the rest of the collection when I get a chance."
    "Any idea what happened to Alan Miller?"
    Fred narrowed his eyes, and his stiff posture radiated disapproval that a crime had taken place in his town. "All I know is that a young guy is dead. What a waste."
    "I heard he had a record," I said. "Or not exactly a record, but he was 'well known to police.' Did you know him?"
    "He wasn't that bad," he said. "Stupid stuff, nothing malicious. Just didn't think before he acted or spoke."
    "I met him briefly this morning, and I was wondering if he might have been high on something."
    "It's possible," Fred said. "And drugs can certainly make people do stupid things, ruin their lives before they get a chance to do anything."
    "Or end their lives." It just seemed so wrong that a young man had been killed while trying to do something nice for his grandmother.
    Fred nodded and stared desperately at the empty cookie plates, as if he might have overlooked something there that would help him cope with his distress.
    My stomach grumbled, unmoved by the tragedy. "I know none of us can make any phone calls, but do you think you could call in a take-out lunch order for us? I'm starved, and I bet other people are too. Most of the people in the room have been here since before I arrived, and they've been working nonstop. We could get something for Carl's dog too, if he says it's okay."
    "I think that could be arranged. If Ohlsen doesn't want anyone coming over here to deliver, I'll find someone to run across the street to the teriyaki place. You'll have to put together the order and arrange for payment though. Faria will rat me out if I get too involved. Not proper procedure, he'll say. Like he's got so much experience. I may not be as formally educated as he is, but