We had a few hours to kill before going out to the Stewart residence again and so we decided to go back to the squad room and do some digging. Digging into old arrest and Intel files. Getting some info about a hood named Arsenio Salvatore. As we walked into an empty squad room Frank reached for the phone on his desk and punched a number for the files department down in the basement.
No doubt in other departments in other cities, cities who still had a budget in the black, the files from all their precincts probably had been computerized a decade ago. All a detective would have to do was sit down at their desk and punch up the information on their computer screen. That’s swell. I’m happy for those who had this technology at their fingertips. But not here. Not in this city. Not in the sea o
