©1 February 2025 Levite
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1.
Every so often we have to go back for what we all call "the Refresher Course". It involves sitting in a classroom listening to a training officer from either the State or County Police. Then there is always a presentation by the State's Attorney's office, as well as a medical refresher, and, of course, a self-defense refresher, for which I am usually drafted to assist the others in the class. And then there is the firearm refresher and re-qualification. The course was five full days over the course of a week.
And this time, as usual, there were officers in the training center at the big County Complex in Hauppauge from all over this end of the Island. Including two from the County Police, several municipal officers including two I remembered from seeing in Hempstead in Nassau county, a handful of others. And me.
I've been through a lot of these. Once, sometimes twice, a year. It is part of the job. Some will take one class at a time and spread it out over a period of six months or more. But, usually, I prefer to come over here from our main office, and get it over with in a week.
But I was always nervous on the first day of the classroom work.
It wasn't because I was the only female officer, although I had been before, this time there were three other women in the classroom. It wasn't because I was the only plainclothes officer, there were others in there this time as well. It was just nerves.
The same nerves I remember feeling walking into some of the classes in High School and College. Some would say it was a feeling of self-doubt and last of confidence. I just think it is being nervous at the beginning of a new, and unknown, situation.
My case of the nerves didn't last long.
"Good morning," a gentleman said as he walked in. "I'm Sergeant Martiniza of the New York State Police, and I drew the short straw this week, so I'm your training officer." He looked around as we chuckled, "I see some familiar faces in here, evidently some of you drew the short straw as well. Welcome back Bill, I hope you're feeling better."
"I am, thank you, sir."
"Good. In case the rest of you are curious, Officer Sangrove from Westhampton was involved in a bit of an unfortunate incident a few months ago on the Expressway just outside of Queens. He'd stopped in his personal car to assist another motorist and got sideswiped."
We all reacted as we were supposed to.
"Yes, sir, but it was minor. I'm pretty much back to full speed."
"He says minor. What, two weeks in the hospital and a couple of surgeries. But, we did catch the individual, and she's been taken off the road for awhile."
"Good!" Somebody from behind me said.
"And I know some of the others of you," the Sergeant nodded at me, as he had been my instructor a couple of years ago as well, "but I may pass you anyway." He smiled and picked up the remote control to start the presentation, "Oh, for those of you who may have forgotten, some important items to mention. The restrooms are back down the hall to the right. The lunch room and vending area is just past them. There's a couple of places that will deliver lunch, we usually do a group order from a couple of them so if you get tired of Chinese you can get a sub or, for our Detective here, pizza."
"You did remember." I smiled at him.
"How could I forget that cheese and sauce explosion?" Sergeant Martiniza looked at the class, "If she offers to split a stuffed pizza with you, unless you brought a spare shirt with you, decline." They laughed, as did I. "It was delicious, and probably met my cholesterol limit for the month, but it was the biggest mess ever."
"And it was worth it." I added.
"Yes it was. Get another one this week. I'll bring an extra shirt."
It was lunch on the Thursday of the class week two years ago. Like he said, I was wanting pizza, and he offered to split whatever I ordered with me. So I went all out for the place's special double stuffed pizza.
When it arrived it was possibly the heaviest pizza box I'd ever picked up. But the pie inside was the story. I sat it on the table in the lunch room it drew the attention of everybody in there. I opened the box and was treated to an amazing face full of steam and the most amazing smells. The box was FULL of the double crust stuffed pizza that was bulging like it was about to give birth, and some sauce was leaking out here and there.
It also came with a large plastic knife to cut it with. I handed the knife to the Sergeant and asked him to do the honors.
The pizza almost exploded when he sliced into it. And getting a piece out intact was all but impossible. As for eating it, I was glad I had made a bib out of paper towels and put another layer in my lap. The sergeant didn't.
And when the class began the afternoon session he had to put up with some good natured ribbing about the evidence lunch left all over his shirt.
The week of training included some basic changes that we should have all been aware of to the language considered standard for rights of the accused. And various updates to evidence laws and the minutia of procedures recognized by the State of New York. We all had a chance to play with a new type of fingerprint and facial recognition scanner that was being trialed in a few places, and even watched a video about AI assisted report writing which was supposed to minimize the typos and verb tense issues that tended to go unnoticed until they were trotted out by a defense attorney during the trial.
And we had a quick technology review of some of the latest and greatest gadgets and toys, of which a good number of examples were already out in my kit in the trunk of my car.
On Wednesday I got singled out, as always, by the personal defense instructor who had his rookie assistant run up and grab me.
Of course, he had warned me ahead of time and told me to "be gentle" with the novice instructor. So I was, I made sure he landed on the mat and that I didn't dislocate anything of his that he'd need to finish the class.
On Thursday there were four of us that ordered the double stuffed pizza. One of them was a Forensic Investigator for the Medical Examiner's Office.
"I'm glad you're the Detective Elaine I've heard about," Mr. Mills said as we made a serious attempt to destroy what could be considered a work of pizza art.
"Oh, why's that?" I said as I tried to control some cheese that was attempting an escape.
"I need to talk to you about an issue we've had for... well, for as long as I've worked there."
I reached into my purse and got out one of my cards, "My mobile is on there. Call me next week and we'll talk."
He looked at the card, "Wonderful. I'll do that."
I passed the classroom work and the weapon's re-qualification with no problem. Sergeant Martiniza tried to give me a hard time about the self-defense class, but then he admitted that my abilities exceeded their requirements, and gave me my certificate.
I shook hands with the Sergeant and thanked him for the interesting week, and told him that the next time I came to training we'd get another pizza.
"That's about how long it'll take before I want another one. That was the most intense pizza experience of my life."
"It was good wasn't it?" I smiled and took my certificates and walked back to my seat.
Then later I said goodbye to everybody and spent Friday afternoon in the office catching up on emails and messages.
2.
Bright and early Monday morning Mister Mills from what I still think of as the Coroner's Office called and asked if I could come back to the complex in Smithtown.
"I know you were just here for a week, but our offices are on the other side of everything."
"I'll leave in a few minutes and be there in about an hour."
"I look forward to seeing you, have the front desk page me when you get here."
I'd just driven the route every day last week, so I knew the way to go, until I got to the complex, then I had to read the signs to find the office. Today it was later than I had been making the trip, so there was less traffic and I made better time, and in less than an hour I was walking into the Wenberg Forensic Science building.
And then Mister Mills came down and walked me back to his section where he had a small office and a laboratory with some fascinating apparatus around on tables, freestanding on the floor in the corner, and even suspended from the ceiling.
After he let me look for a few moments, and made the comment that I looked like I was about to make a shopping list for my department.
"Well, I have an older version of this," I said as I admired the binocular microscope, "but I think the one I have does everything I need it to do."
"This one can put the image you're seeing on the big screen, and capture it in high definition, and use different wavelength filters." Mister Mills said.
"Oh. Well, maybe in next year's budget." I patted the table the microscope was on. "So, other than to drool over your toys, why did you want me to come up here?"
"The voices."
"The voices." I repeated.
"Yes, and I've tried to investigate and determine if it is a radio somewhere, or maybe feedback through one of the desk phones, but I'm not really very good at that. Detecting toxins or pathogens in a blood sample from a crime scene, I can do, but that."
"And so when you found out that I was that crazy investigator from the Sheriff's Office that chases ghosts around, you volunteered to kick in on the pizza."
He pursed his lips, then nodded, "Well, yeah, basically. Is that OK?"
"Yes. I've got no problem with it." I smiled, "Tell me about the voices."
According to Mister Mills, and then later confirmed by a lab tech and even the custodian, Mr. Paul, they have always heard voices from time to time in the building. Sometimes louder, sometimes more than one, but they'd just labeled them The Night Shift, and gone about their business.
"Oh. I don't know," the older man said to me. "More up this way than down by the cold room, which is where you'd expect it, right? I mean, that's where all... them... are."
I knew exactly what he meant. "When do you hear them?" I asked.
"Different times. Usually early in the morning or later in the evening. But I've heard them at noon once in awhile."
"But always in this area?" I gestured to the hallway and the lab.
"Yeah. Pretty much," Mr. Paul answered.
"Can you tell what they're saying?"
"Sometimes I think I can, a word or two, but I'm not really sure of what it was saying."
"Is there ever music or anything?"
He paused and thought about it, "No ma'am. Sometimes you hear like a machine noise or something. But it's usually just a couple of voices."
We walked down the hall to where he said they usually stopped.
"Thank you very much. This has been a big help. If I have any more questions can I come find you?" I asked him.
"Oh, yes, ma'am." Mr. Paul nodded and pointed and gestured around a corner, "My room is down there. If I'm not there I'm wandering around the building looking busy." He smiled.
"Thank you, sir."
"Excuse me, miss lady, you are a real cop. Right? Frankie said you was but...."
I took my badge and ID holder out of my pocket for him to see.
"Well, I'll be. Sorry about that. It's just that, well, you're the prettiest cop I've ever seen."
"Thank you, but I am a real detective, and this is a real investigation into something going on in a county owned building that could be the result of a hoax or other malicious activity."
He took a deep breath, "It's been an honor to help you with it."
I was gracious. "Thank you again."
I'd bought a couple of devices awhile back that I had read about, again, too late to help with the original investigation, but I kept them none the less. I had showed them to the new deputies, but as I hadn't used them other than learning how to work them, we moved on to a different subject.
Now I got out the two digital recorders and put brand new batteries in them, then tried them out to make sure I still remembered how to use them, and put them in my small kit bag.
The smaller unit was a simple high quality digital recorder that could be set to voice activated or to run continuously until the memory card was full. Which would be over a hundred hours worth of audio, which included frequencies just higher and lower than the average human ear could detect.
The other one was more complicated and recorded directionally through a set of microphones on top of it to be replayed through an app on a laptop so you could see where the sound was coming from, as versus the other more general recorder.
I put my EMF/RF detector in my small bag as well, and went in to Mr. Mill's lab and got a worktable.
From what Mr. Paul had said I didn't think what they were hearing were the voices of the deceased that were kept down the hall.
To me, there was probably a more mundane, but no less interesting answer.
I stayed in and around the county complex all day, including visiting the pizza place in person.
Then as the other employees of the Medical Examiner's office left for the day, and I waved to Mr. Paul as he walked by, I took the folding table down the hallway and set both recorders on it.
The building was getting quiet around me. I left the recorders running and just slowly walked down the hall outside the lab, and then I carefully opened that door and stood just inside, and listened.
Nothing.
After a few minutes I decided to go down and see what sort of soft drinks they had in the vending area and take a break.
The least obnoxious of their offerings was a lemon-lime drink that almost had real juice in it and wasn't horribly sweet. I sat and sipped some of it and looked over their office newsletter for awhile. Then I headed back to the lab.
I was opposite Mr. Paul's side hallway when I heard something that sounded like radio static.
As I got closer to the lab I could almost hear a voice. It was faint, and kept cutting out. But it was a voice.
I gently picked my EMF detector up off the table and set it for radio frequencies. Then I stood in the middle of the hallway, holding it well over my head, and watching the numbers. All I got was the same background I'd seen before on my first sweep. But I could still hear the occasional sounds that were word-ish, and then, once in awhile, something that sounded like an open microphone.
I slowly walked down the hall and noted where I could hear the sounds the best. And saw a pattern.
"Every five ceiling tiles." I said looking up. "Every fifteen feet."
I went back to Mr. Paul's room and got a stepladder, and then dug in my bag to find my flashlight.
Then I picked one of the places where I'd heard the sound and got up on the ladder and carefully moved the ceiling tile to one side. Then I pointed my flashlight up into the hole.
And found another ceiling a good two feet above the tiles.
And I solved the mystery.
So I went home.
The next morning back in the office I listened to the recorders, and was able to hear things in the sounds that I couldn't hear in the hallway.
Including one of the voices calling to dispatch unit seven to the junction of route 25 and 25A for a cleanup. After a moment of silence, the same voice thanked unit seven for their response
Later in the recording there was a different voice announcing that patrol three was coming in to have a tire checked. The first voice acknowledged and told them that Rick was on duty and would be waiting on them. The second voice ended the conversation with what sounded to me like a County Police dispatch call sign.
I did a bit of checking.
The first voice had a name. She was Jenny, a radio dispatcher for County Communications.
The other voice worked for the County Police.
I called the Coroner's office and told Mr. Mills I was on my way with the solution to what they'd been hearing, and I'd meet him in his lab with a recording that explained it.
On my way in I found Mr. Paul and asked him to join me in the lab with the stepladder.
I thanked both gentlemen for making time for this and then played the recordings.
"What is it?" Mr. Mills asked.
I looked at Mr. Paul, "Do you know?" I asked the old timer.
"Sounds like highway dispatch."
"It is. From right across the parking lot."
Mr. Mills seemed confused, "But there's no PA system in here, it's part of the phones, and I've never heard it on them."
"There used to be a PA in here, when this section was built. That's why the ladder is outside." I told him. "Come on."
"I told ya she's as smart as she is pretty," Mr. Paul said to Mr. Mills in a stage whisper.
I ignored the remark and set the ladder up under the tile I'd moved last night.
We took turns up the ladder looking at the old built in speakers next to outdated light fixtures.
"They're not active, but they are connected, and in the right conditions, they're picking up the transmission from the communications tower that's, well, right across the parking lot."
"Well, if that don't beat all. I guess it's better than ghosts."
"And easier to fix." I smiled at Mr. Paul, "maybe you can get somebody to pull the wires off them. They're all through here."
"I'll do it myself right after lunch."
And with that, I closed that case. And then the media came to call.
3.
I knew there was a risk that my unusual cases would draw unusual attention.
It had already happened a couple of times. But we were able to brush it off and make it sound dull enough that it got no more than a mention in a larger story. Such as the article about Trembelie's case in the showbiz section of on of the second tier papers in the city.
This time, it was a TV crew, from a second tier station near the City, but still, it was on television.
Apparently, Mr. Paul was related to, or good friends with, or had some other sort of a connection with an anchor at the suburban TV station. And a few days after I'd closed the Cornoner's case I found myself sitting at my desk while an overly shiny TV guy was telling me how fascinating it was that I did what I do.
The Sheriff stood behind him, "If you want to talk to them, you can. If not, we can lock him up in the holding room for a couple of hours while I run his info for any outstanding paper."
I sat there for a minute and wondered how much the reporter spent on tooth whitening before I answered. "All I do is try to solve problems. Like with this last case, they had an issue with obsolete technology. All you had to do is think about it, and record the sound, and then it made sense. That's all."
"But at the golf course...."
"It was a natural phenomenon involving minerals in a glacial moraine. We took care of it."
"I spent a day looking at some of the cases you worked in the official files, not every case can be explained away as swamp gas reflecting the light from Venus."
I chuckled for a second, "I remember that movie. No, not everything can be. But then again, not everything that goes bump in the night is a snarling demon in the crawlspace looking to steal your soul either."
He was standing there looking at me, and I was sitting there looking at him. An awkward silence followed.
He broke it.
"Maybe I can interest you in a case," he said.
"What kind of case?"
And that begins another story.
-end voice-
[NOTE: The above story were written as adventure fiction, and is to be taken as such. While most of the geographical features of Suffolk County exist, including the County Complex in Smithtown, the rest of the setting is fictional.
Thank you, Dr. Leftover, TheMediaDesk.com]
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