I reach his doorway and without hesitation, I enter his office. That’s the thing about being a homicide detective and my father’s daughter. Even in the midst of uncomfortable situations, I haven’t been bred to timidity. I know how to dive right in to the bloody moment. And every moment with the captain, at least for me, is a bloody moment.

He’s behind his desk, a Black man in his forties who is big in all ways; his presence is large and confident. His energy commanding. His office is cold, like the man, free of family photos. He’s also a man who clearly enjoys the gym, and I know from my history with him that he does so far more than he ever enjoyed a day at the ice cream parlor. I, on the other hand, enjoy the gym and the ice cream parlor, but he’s just not that divided on anything. He doesn’t see the gray that I believe solves crimes. There is only black and white, which to me explains why, my father aside, I prickle every nerve Moore owns. We both know that I learned to see that gray from my father, who was inarguably a damn good detective in his day. He simply saw a little too much gray.

“Shut the door,” Moore orders without looking up from his file.

Wonderful. A shut door is not good.

I do as I’m told and once I’m sealed in the rather small office with this extremely large man, he lifts his intelligent, brown, always-cranky stare to mine, judgment in its depths. Always the judgment, but that’s not what comes out of his mouth. “I hear that you know something about poetry.” He taps his computer screen. “That’s what your employment record says. You ran a poetry club in college.”

I frown. Maybe this is about the sergeant’s test. “Why exactly are you looking up my college record?”

“I wasn’t looking at you, Detective Jazz. I was looking for someone who knows poetry, even if it meant searching outside the department, but it turns out I got a hit with you.” He slides a file across the desk and sets it in front of me. “This should explain.”

My defenses lower, and the detective in me, the one who thrives on impossible puzzles, sits down, eager to work. Work is good. Work keeps me sane. It took me sixty days after my father died to convince the department shrink just how true that is. A month later, she’s seen me solve cases and perform at my best. Now, she believes me. Now, I’m rid of her.