The real life of an American police officer: Winning over others with virtue

Chapter 158 Dining
In cases like these, where the nature of the crime is clear and the perpetrator is identified, the time spent maintaining the crime scene is usually not very long.

Especially when the evidence is quite clear.

A suicide note belonging to the male homeowner was also found inside the house.

This suicide note can now serve as substantial evidence and has begun to enter into subsequent legal proceedings.

Of course, the duration of patrol officers assisting in sealing off the perimeter and controlling the crowd and media depends on the situation on the ground.

The more complex the situation, the longer it will last.

The clearer the scene and the shorter the duration, the less manpower is needed.

With Darren, who was always eager to be the first, even Will and the others had already left.

The main problem is a shortage of patrol personnel.

Eric only stayed for two hours before leaving the scene, getting into his police car, and preparing to resume patrols.

but
Eric glanced at the somewhat busy scene on the other side of the house and looked up at his watch.

Two hours have passed since the police report was received, and the clock has struck midnight.

"It's lunchtime," Eric muttered to himself, then called out to Darren.

Hey! Want me to bring you some late-night snacks?

Darren completely lacked that tact, or rather, Americans are very straightforward in these matters; they say what they mean and don't mince words.

"Thanks, buddy!" He put his index and middle fingers together and touched his forehead in a gesture.

Eric shrugged, took control of the steering wheel, stepped on the gas, and drove away.

But in the instant he left, he thought of the male and female detectives who had just left.

To be honest, there was something off about the way those two were looking at him, which made him wonder.

However, lacking too much information, he couldn't quite understand it.

"whatever."

Eric thought calmly to himself as he drove his patrol car toward his usual restaurant.

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In Los Angeles at midnight, the air still carried the heat of the day, mixed with exhaust fumes, dust, and the scent of the cool Pacific Ocean.

An Explorer patrol car was parked steadily on an inconspicuous corner of North Elvado Street.

It was parked around several police cars and trucks.

As soon as the engine was turned off, the light from the computer screens and the static noise from the radio inside the car were instantly replaced by the more vibrant and noisy sounds from outside.

Eric glanced around and saw that there were no bright neon signs, only a semicircle formed by a few food trucks, like a temporary, greasy haven.

The harbor was filled with tables and chairs, surrounded by strips of neon lights.

This is the midnight canteen that patrol officers from the West Canyon Police Station often visit.

So a good portion of the diners sitting there were truck drivers, as well as taciturn taxi drivers and patrol officers like him, wearing dark blue uniforms and heavy belts around their waists.

I didn't see Will and the others; they must have finished eating or been busy with police reports.

"It's okay, it's normal. Eating alone is quite common," Eric said calmly, picking up the walkie-talkie.

"10-L-11, Code 7 (Meal break)."

Dispatch Center: "Received!" The voice changed slightly, as if someone had temporarily replaced the previous dispatcher, allowing the previous dispatcher to have a late-night snack or rest.

Eric wasn't surprised. The reason he knew Abby was simply because Abby had been with the company for a long time; her voice had been present throughout his two years of employment.

Eric put down the walkie-talkie, gripped his duty belt, pushed open the door, got out of the car, and walked inside.

As they drew closer, the noise intensified, and a rich, complex aroma that instantly made them hungry waft over.

The aroma is especially enticing at this hour. The heart of the place is deep inside, where several weathered food trucks stand, their paint peeling, covered with faded menus and blurry food photos.

This alone tells you how long this place has been operating.

Hey! Eric!

Before he even reached the core area, he was greeted by voices.

This greeting also attracted many truck drivers and other diners present, as well as patrol officers who were already eating.

Aside from some curious ordinary diners, their gaze lingered for a few more seconds.

The patrol officers glanced at it and then looked away.

Eric looked in the direction of the sound and saw that the greeting came from a middle-aged man.

He wasn't very strong, had short hair, and his lips were partially hidden beneath a thick beard, thin and tightly pressed together. Above the beard was weathered skin.

The marks of long-term outdoor patrols are clearly visible; the skin tone is an uneven brownish-red, with darker colors on prominent areas such as the cheekbones and bridge of the nose.

Ray Mandel.

A legendary patrolman who served for 25 years, belonging to the Pacific Police Department, which is separated from the West Canyon Police Department by only one avenue, Mulholland Drive.

Eric nodded and noticed a young man who looked quite immature sitting in front of him. He pointed to the food cart inside and gestured for him to come over later.

Lei nodded to indicate OK.

Seeing his training instructor's expression, the young man sitting in front of him subconsciously glanced at the young patrolman who was heading to the dining car to order food.

To be honest, Holland's only first impression was that this young patrolman was too young, and even quite handsome, with a face that could make even men a little jealous.

Holland glanced at it a few more times.

"Doesn't he look very young? I can't see anything special about him?" a voice came from ahead.

Holland looked away and turned to his training instructor, nodding honestly.

"This guy is probably younger than me, around twenty? What made him think he'd become a patrolman?"

He paused for a moment, then said, "If I looked like him, I probably wouldn't be a patrolman?"

Upon hearing this, Lei chuckled, as if he had heard a funny joke.

What will it do?

Holland noticed the change in Ray's expression and sensed something, but he still answered honestly.

"Anything is fine, right? I think becoming a star wouldn't be bad?"

Ray chuckled. He realized that Holland had misjudged Eric because of his youth. He turned and looked at Eric, who was chatting with the old Mexican inside, and said calmly.

"Didn't you notice?"

Upon hearing this, Holland sensed a change in Ray's tone and hesitated for a moment: "What?"

“Look at the police officers eating here,” Lei said calmly, taking out a shrunken pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

Holland paused, glanced around instinctively, but still didn't understand what Ray meant.

“Take another look at Eric,” Ray reminded him again.

Is there anything different?

Holland's pupils contracted slightly, and by comparing the two, he seemed to understand something.

It seems that the patrol officers dining here are all in pairs, while the young patrol officer inside appears to be alone.

"one person?"

Holland seemed to have finally discovered a blind spot. He felt a lot of pressure on his first night shift, and this young patrolman who looked even younger than him dared to work alone.

(End of this chapter)