17 CAMERON CAITIFF
October 19
“Calling O-four-seven, calling O-four-seven,” Marge’s elderly voice crackled more than my truck’s radio equipment. She’d been working dispatch in Morson County for thirty-eight years and had been a smoker since she was fifteen.
“This is O-four-seven. Go ahead.” I held the radio close to my mouth and talked slow and loud so the old bat could hear me. There was nothing more frustrating that having to repeat myself.
“Cammy, we got a call from Mayor Winnifred at his house. He sounded distressed. All I could get out of him was that he needed an officer right away. Can you get over there real quick?” she asked.
“Marge, I told you to quit calling me Cammy. Do you think the dispatch out in Atlanta addresses their officers that way?” I warned, but I knew she didn’
