The Catalyst Chronicles
Episode 4 - Sheriff
The vandalism bothered me more than I thought it would. My personal space was violated and that single act tumbled my all my plans and aspirations. I could feel myself spiraling into a manic analysis-paralysis cycle that would be crippling if I let it continue. I fought the growing compulsion and concentrated on immediate tasks, immediate wins. Step one--get dressed. Step two-- start the coffee. Caffeine brings clarity,
“Irma, what’s happening outside?”
“A doe and a fawn just crossed the highway near the east drive. There are no warm vehicles, human shapes, or other heat sources in the immediate vicinity.
“OK. I’m going to finish this cup and start working on the surveillance cameras. Let me know if anyone approaches.”
“Will do.”
I opened the far bay door and brought out a ladder and a tool belt. There was little traffic this morning and the misty stillness gave the scene a surreal otherworldliness. The moist air carried the tangy odors of damp gravel and the rich loamy smell of the woods beyond the drive.
Removing the canopy camera took longer than I expected because a bird nest was tucked into the space between the camera and the fascia boards. I had to remove shit, feathers, and nesting materials before I could dismount the unit. The camera case was pretty beat up and the unit rattled alarmingly as I descended the ladder. The jerks really made a mess of this one.
“Police coming up the drive,” Irma announced through a speaker in the open bay.
Gravel crunched loudly as a patrol car pulled up in front of the station canopy. A silver-haired three-striper got out carrying a clipboard and a small camera.
“Collin Mercer?” the officer asked.
“Yes.”
“Deputy Ramy, Washtenaw County Sheriff Department,”
“Thanks for stopping by,” I said, shaking the officer's outstretched hand. Ramy's handshake bespoke controlled strength and his gray eyes coolly evaluated me and the surroundings. I stood a little straighter under his professional scrutiny. The moment passed and couldn't help but wonder if I passed muster.
“I understand you had some visitors yesterday. Can you tell me what happened?”
I shook my head and spread my hands. “I don’t know if I can add much to the security company report. I was working at the university library when it happened.”
“Did the security company call you?”
I winced sheepishly, “I don’t know. Calling my cell is part of the protocol but my phone was off.”
The deputy raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“Our company is installing an on-demand bookmaking machine in the graduate library. This is our first installation and my boss was calling me two or three times an hour for updates. The librarians finally asked me to turn off my phone.”
“When did you find out about the vandalism?”
“Last night. The security company called the house phone and left a message. My cell is still off.”
“What damage did they do?” Ramy asked.
“So far it looks like they destroyed three of the surveillance cameras,” I said, shaking the camera to make it rattle. “I don't know if they did anything else. ”
“How many cameras do you have?”
“There are eight closed circuit surveillance cameras with feeds to the security company.”
“Why so many?”
“Well, there’s a lot of area to cover out here. More importantly, someone was stealing materials and tools when I was remodeling the station. It pissed me off so I brought in the security cams.”
“When was that?”
“About a year and a half ago. I filed a report with your office at that time.”
Ramy made a few notations on his form and asked, “Can you show me the damage?”
“Sure.”
I left the broken camera inside the open service bay and accompanied the deputy as he walked around the building. I pointed out the damaged cameras and Ramy took photographs, sketched the building, and marked locations.
“The cameras should be higher so vandals can’t get to them.” Ramy observed.
“That’s what the security company said, but they wanted a fortune to install masts and supports. I should have listened to them.”
Ramy pointed at the back door with his pen. “What’s this discoloration around the lock?”
“I don’t know,” I said, lying to keep my story consistent. “This is the first time I’ve been back here since it happened.”
Ramy finished marking up his report and looked at me curiously. “What made you buy an old gas station?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I was looking for a place in the country. The building was in pretty bad shape but I fell in love with it. My friends and the real estate folks told me I should tear down the structure and rebuild, but I couldn’t do that.”
Ramy smiled and shook his head.
“My Dad and my uncles worked at the old cement plant,” he said, pointing down Emmerson Road on the West side of the property. “They stopped here a lot. It was Jessops then. Old man Jessop sold bait out of one of the service bays and we would stop when my Dad took us kids fishing. Dad let us buy pop from the machine. That was a big deal back then.
When the plant closed and the expressway was finished, there wasn’t enough traffic to keep the station open. Damned shame.”
“Still fish much?” I asked.
“Not often enough. Two or three times a year. Used to do more when the kids were young.”
Ramy’s radio squawked, asking for a location update. He excused himself and moved off to talk with the dispatcher. A few minutes later, Ramy returned and extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Mercer.”
“Thanks, the pleasure is mine,” I replied truthfully. “Appreciate your help.”
Offering his contact card, Ramy said, “Please call me if you find any more damage. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t knock down the building.”
“Irma, what’s happening outside?”
“A doe and a fawn just crossed the highway near the east drive. There are no warm vehicles, human shapes, or other heat sources in the immediate vicinity.
“OK. I’m going to finish this cup and start working on the surveillance cameras. Let me know if anyone approaches.”
“Will do.”
I opened the far bay door and brought out a ladder and a tool belt. There was little traffic this morning and the misty stillness gave the scene a surreal otherworldliness. The moist air carried the tangy odors of damp gravel and the rich loamy smell of the woods beyond the drive.
Removing the canopy camera took longer than I expected because a bird nest was tucked into the space between the camera and the fascia boards. I had to remove shit, feathers, and nesting materials before I could dismount the unit. The camera case was pretty beat up and the unit rattled alarmingly as I descended the ladder. The jerks really made a mess of this one.
“Police coming up the drive,” Irma announced through a speaker in the open bay.
Gravel crunched loudly as a patrol car pulled up in front of the station canopy. A silver-haired three-striper got out carrying a clipboard and a small camera.
“Collin Mercer?” the officer asked.
“Yes.”
“Deputy Ramy, Washtenaw County Sheriff Department,”
“Thanks for stopping by,” I said, shaking the officer's outstretched hand. Ramy's handshake bespoke controlled strength and his gray eyes coolly evaluated me and the surroundings. I stood a little straighter under his professional scrutiny. The moment passed and couldn't help but wonder if I passed muster.
“I understand you had some visitors yesterday. Can you tell me what happened?”
I shook my head and spread my hands. “I don’t know if I can add much to the security company report. I was working at the university library when it happened.”
“Did the security company call you?”
I winced sheepishly, “I don’t know. Calling my cell is part of the protocol but my phone was off.”
The deputy raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“Our company is installing an on-demand bookmaking machine in the graduate library. This is our first installation and my boss was calling me two or three times an hour for updates. The librarians finally asked me to turn off my phone.”
“When did you find out about the vandalism?”
“Last night. The security company called the house phone and left a message. My cell is still off.”
“What damage did they do?” Ramy asked.
“So far it looks like they destroyed three of the surveillance cameras,” I said, shaking the camera to make it rattle. “I don't know if they did anything else. ”
“How many cameras do you have?”
“There are eight closed circuit surveillance cameras with feeds to the security company.”
“Why so many?”
“Well, there’s a lot of area to cover out here. More importantly, someone was stealing materials and tools when I was remodeling the station. It pissed me off so I brought in the security cams.”
“When was that?”
“About a year and a half ago. I filed a report with your office at that time.”
Ramy made a few notations on his form and asked, “Can you show me the damage?”
“Sure.”
I left the broken camera inside the open service bay and accompanied the deputy as he walked around the building. I pointed out the damaged cameras and Ramy took photographs, sketched the building, and marked locations.
“The cameras should be higher so vandals can’t get to them.” Ramy observed.
“That’s what the security company said, but they wanted a fortune to install masts and supports. I should have listened to them.”
Ramy pointed at the back door with his pen. “What’s this discoloration around the lock?”
“I don’t know,” I said, lying to keep my story consistent. “This is the first time I’ve been back here since it happened.”
Ramy finished marking up his report and looked at me curiously. “What made you buy an old gas station?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I was looking for a place in the country. The building was in pretty bad shape but I fell in love with it. My friends and the real estate folks told me I should tear down the structure and rebuild, but I couldn’t do that.”
Ramy smiled and shook his head.
“My Dad and my uncles worked at the old cement plant,” he said, pointing down Emmerson Road on the West side of the property. “They stopped here a lot. It was Jessops then. Old man Jessop sold bait out of one of the service bays and we would stop when my Dad took us kids fishing. Dad let us buy pop from the machine. That was a big deal back then.
When the plant closed and the expressway was finished, there wasn’t enough traffic to keep the station open. Damned shame.”
“Still fish much?” I asked.
“Not often enough. Two or three times a year. Used to do more when the kids were young.”
Ramy’s radio squawked, asking for a location update. He excused himself and moved off to talk with the dispatcher. A few minutes later, Ramy returned and extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Mercer.”
“Thanks, the pleasure is mine,” I replied truthfully. “Appreciate your help.”
Offering his contact card, Ramy said, “Please call me if you find any more damage. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t knock down the building.”
