Somehow, the detective survived the journey. Countless brushes with death weren't enough to take her out, it seemed. Well, the toxic air of the suburbs was probably already doing a number on her health anyway, so really, how much worse could getting run over really be?
«Dying today; Dying tomorrow...»
Thankfully, as the bus ascended the hill, things slowly started to change. There wasn't a clear delineation between what counted as the suburbs and what was the city center, but it was easy to tell who lived on which side of the non-existent divide. As she approached the police station, more and more people could be seen walking the streets in nice suits and fancy shoes; their hair was shiny and well-groomed; their skin glistened... Sure, the uptowners mixed with the low-lifers, in a physical sense, but they were clearly a different breed; they visibly led a very different life.
The air did clear up, at some point, as well.
The most startling difference, however, was the police presence. The further up the hill one went - approaching the seat of government - the more cops could be found wandering the streets, their faces were obscured by scary masks with breathing apparatus and opaque visors. When the first suits showed on the pavement, so did the first blues.
She got off the bus without much trouble, and rushed her way to the station. It was a tall and narrow building, like a lance mercilessly piercing the clouded sky above. The stone blocks making up the structure had a slight blue tint to them, as if they had been painted with a vivid azure many centuries ago, the violence of the sun eventually wearing down the pigment to what it was now. There were countless windows going up the skyscraper - all surrounded by thick metal bars kept in pristine condition - with the ground floor also sporting some tall glass doors that allowed passersby a look into the inner machinations of the department.
Currently, it seemed that the cogs of the police force were nervous and rattled.
The man handling the reception was sweating, the dark hair that escaped from under his blue cap sticking to his forehead, and his eyes were darting around the room, always looking at the same place more than anywhere else. It was similar for all the other officers either hanging around or moving in and out of the station - a few walked in wearing a smile, or at least something that could be seen as a relaxed demeanor, under the mask - but as soon as they spotted that one spot in the room, everything about them changed. Jones had no choice but to peer at the window and look as well, and that's when she saw a tall and burly man sitting on a chair.
He didn't look particularly notable, really. He wasn't wearing a mask, which indicated he wasn't one of the patrolling officers, and while the rest of his uniform wasn't different from the other cops she'd seen, she did notice a badge on his right breast with three gold stars, which must've indicated something about his position in the stiff hierarchy of the force - he was likely a lieutenant, maybe even a captain.
He wasn't particularly handsome, but there was something to him. His serious expression gave his angular face a very heavy feel, and while his beard and thick mustache were very precisely groomed, the obvious greying was very unexpected for someone with such a notorious position - these days, anyone with money would dye their hair and probably endure countless surgeries and medications to look their best at all times, it was truly a rarity to see someone uptown looking natural. His eyes were cold and merciless, though they seemed lost in thought. The man simply looked at a wall, his thick arms crossed over his chest, as if waiting for someone.
«Some big wig, maybe...»
Regardless, Jones had no time for people-watching. She rushed into the station, barely squeezing past the automatic doors that opened a little slower than she expected. For a moment, all eyes were on her. Her heart dropped as her steps echoed in the wide room, but soon enough everyone returned to what they were doing. The detective was painfully aware of how out of place someone like her looked in a place like that - based on everything, she looked more like someone that would want to avoid entering the field of vision of an officer more than anything - but it seemed the presence of the burly man was keeping the attention off her, for now.
"Good morning..." She sounded winded from the sprints and the death-defying stunt of riding the bus, but at least Jones managed to keep some semblance of composure to herself. "My names detective Jones. I was contacted by a captain... Huh... Yeah, by a captain, they requested my serviced in advance."
The man at the reception glanced at her, then at his desk, then around the room, then at where the burly man was sitting, then around the room a bit more, and finally settled back on the ragged woman still trying to catch her breath.
She'd forgotten the name of the captain, but that should be enough to get her something, at least. How many captains in this department were in the habit of hiring haruspex? Not many, surely.
The receptionist typed and clicked around the terminal, and then paled. His skin was unnaturally clear and pale before, but now it looked like all blood had drained out of him.
"C-- Captain M-- Michael Francis, sir."
«How dilapidated do I look that he thinks I'm a man... And what is going on with this guy, anyway?»
"Yes, Michael Francis, that's it. My name's Clara Jones." She said, in between ragged breaths. "Look, are you OK?"
"He's fine, detective."
A deep voice slammed into the back of her head like a monster truck. A thousand probabilities ran through her head in a split second, and she came to the right conclusion, in the end. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her dark hair was sticking to the back of her neck, her shirt was filthy, her shoes were falling apart, but at least she remembered to bring her briefcase. She glanced at her wrist. The digital clock marked 7:02. Was she late? How long had she been inside the station? She put on a professional smile before turning around, startling the young man at the reception.
She was faced with a wide chest hidden behind thick forearms wrapped in blue cloth. She looked up, and the burly man stared back at her. Suddenly, those cold and calculating eyes didn't seem as harmless, staring her down from his towering height.
"Captain Francis, I presume?"