The call came over the radio just after lunch, and it was a weird one.

I acknowledged the call and told dispatch that we were responding.

Then I looked over at Weaver.

He looked back at me with raised eyebrows and thinned lips.

Maybe it's a midday prayer meeting, he said.

Some Karen is freaking out because she thinks a terrorist attack is about to happen.

It sounds a little more involved than that, I said, putting the cruiser in drive and pulling away from the curb.

Yeah, well, you know how these things are, weaver said.

Dispatch hears what they want to hear. I had to give them that.

Many times we got calls where the actual

situation was completely different from what dispatch said. That was just the name of the game

working as a patrol officer. We arrived at the office building about 10 minutes later. We hadn't

really hurried because it didn't sound like an emergency. It sounded like a misunderstanding. The sunlight

glinted off the glass and metal facade of the large commercial structure. The parking lot

was full, and we headed inside. The receptionist pointing the way to the elevators.

What do you want to bet they're rolling up their prayer rugs as we get up there." Weaver said as the elevator ascended,

How much? I said.

But before Weaver could answer, the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor.

The hallway was darker than it should have been, and we stepped out to see that one of the

light fixtures in the little elevator foyer had been smashed.

Glass crunched under our boots

as we moved away from the elevators, unclipping the leather straps over our barretas. Rounding the

...