45 CAMERON CAITIFF
November 7
“Calling all units. Calling all units. Reporting a 10-89 at the Neelan Thomas Bank on East Jefferson.” Marge’s voice crackled over the radio as I inched my truck along the drive-through at Dunkin’ Donuts.
“This is 0-4-7. Marge, I thought I heard you say there was a 10-89. Is that a bomb threat?” She must be joking. No one has ever called that code in Monroe. At least not since I’ve been with the force.
“It sure is, Cammy,” Marge said, a hint of concern in her voice.
“10-4. I’m on my way,” I rushed my words into the radio and clicked off. As soon as I returned it to its cradle, I clicked back on and added, “And don’t call me Cammy!”
I flipped on the flashers and forced the cars ahead of me to move past the pickup window without grabbing their food. That’s
