Find all the parts of this story here.
Chapter 2: Let’s Dance
Part 3: Sam
Sam had actually been a little glad to get a call on Friday night, especially this one. He could live without the drunk and disorderly calls at 2am. A noise complaint at 8:45 was probably not a big deal. Maybe some teenagers being obnoxious.
His curiosity and concern grew when he realized the address was a random building along the riverfront. This stretch had mostly warehouses and closed-for-the-weekend offices. Who was actually bothered by any noise here, now?
The specific warehouse in question was surrounded by dark buildings. No vehicles were parked in the neighboring lots, no pedestrians wandered. The closest restaurant was a quarter mile away. The whole block would have looked deserted if it weren’t for lights on in a warehouse, and a handful of cars parked behind it, along the river.
Sam brought his vehicle to a stop in front of the warehouse. He wondered briefly if he should call for backup with that many vehicles. He decided to just scope out the situation before making that decision. He called in that he was exiting his vehicle, ensuring the handheld radio clipped to his shoulder was on and functioning.
He walked along the side of the building, counting five cars and a motorcycle. He reported that to the dispatcher. He could barely make out the sound of voices coming from the warehouse, and definitely not the loud music the caller had complained about.
When he reached the rear of the building, he stopped short at the sound of the door opening. He paused in the shadows and watched.
A slender figure dressed in black, with a long light-brown ponytail hanging over her shoulder, stuck her head out the door.
“Officer Harrison? Is that you?” she called just above a whisper.
Sam ground his teeth. Not that he wasn’t happy to see the shy little brunette that had been randomly popping into his thoughts this week – but didn’t she have the good sense not to be in a sketchy place in the dark, and then go poking her head out the door when she wasn’t sure who was out there? Between this and her choice of residence, Sam was beginning to think God had brought them together just so he could give her a stern talking-to.
“Miss Lane,” he greeted as he stepped into the watery light by the back door. “What brings you here?”
Upon closer inspection, he noticed she looked a little flushed and had a sheen of sweat on her face. She opened the door wider for him and stepped back into the building. He entered and stood to the side of the door, taking in a quiet group of adults dressed in comfortable exercise clothing, all staring at him.
“We’re, uh, dancing,” she replied with a shrug.
Dancing? In a warehouse on a Friday night?
“Why not go to a club?” he asked. He watched Sophie swallow hard, her eyes darting to her – were they friends? – acquaintances and back to him.
“We, um… we do our own choreography,” she finally stammered.
“You’re a dancer? Like, ballet?” Sam couldn’t stop the surprise in his voice.
“Not ballet, but yes. Contemporary dance. Or hip-hop. Stuff like that.”
Sam noticed Sophie was avoiding eye contact with him. Was she guilty of a crime? Embarrassed about her dancing? Flat-out lying about what she’s doing here?
“Someone called the police reporting loud music coming from this building. I assume you play music when you dance.” He paused and waited for her to nod. “How loud?”
“May I?” she gestured to a phone sitting on top of a portable speaker.
“Please.”
Sophie approached the phone, tapped a few times, and music filled the space. He didn’t recognize the song, but he did note that the volume wasn’t unreasonable. Someone walking down the sidewalk probably wouldn’t have been able to hear enough to know who the singer was, let alone be annoyed by the volume.
“Thank you. You can turn it off now,” he said after about 30 seconds. She did so and turned to face him.
“Am I in trouble?” she asked. He found it interesting that she singled herself out. He’d bet this week’s paycheck she wanted to protect her friends from any fallout of the noise complaint.
“No. I’ll take down your names and contact information just in case, and ask you to disperse for tonight.” Then a thought occurred to him. “Do you have permission to be here?”
He knew the small warehouse was owned by a man name Edbridge. What connection could Sophie Lane have to him?
“I do,” she insisted, her eyes flaring a little. “I can show you the emails.”
“Let me take down your friends’ names first, then we can go over that.” Sam’s tone brooked no argument, even though he knew from experience none of these people wanted their names in any kind of police report. He had no idea what was going on here, but the fact that someone called in a noise complaint on people who weren’t being all that loud had his suspicions running. He was looking forward to picking the lieutenant’s brain on this one.
With a surprisingly low amount of grumbling, he recorded the names, addresses, and phone numbers of Sophie’s ten friends. She stood by quietly as they packed up and left, offering not even a farewell. She had put on a thick cardigan and wrapped her arms around her waist. To be fair, she was probably cold, having worked up a sweat dancing before standing around for half an hour in an unheated warehouse. As was common for the spring, once the sun set, all the warmth in the air disappeared.
“I’ll message you later,” the one named Amy promised with a squeeze to Sophie’s hand as she left. Sophie just nodded and watched her leave. She finally turned back to Sam with sorrow in her eyes and apprehension on her face.
“Can you show me those emails, please?” Sam prompted. Business first, then he would at least make sure Sophie got home safely. Maybe even start that talking-to about her ridiculous safety choices…
“Right.” Sophie reached for the phone again, and, after tapping a few times, handed it over. He accepted the small iPhone in a floral case – how very Sophie – and skimmed the messages. Seems she had gone to the trouble of identifying the warehouse owner via property records, then found his email through social media. Resourceful girl, he noted, even if she wasn’t street-smart.
“Would you be willing to forward those emails to me for my records?” he asked, handing the phone back. Edbridge had given her explicit permission to use the warehouse for dance rehearsal, on this specific day and time. He’d even included instructions for the lights and the code for the door.
“Um…” Sophie hesitated, her brow furrowing. “I guess so.”
“Thanks.” Sam rattled off his department email, and she fired off the message. He confirmed receiving it before pocketing his phone.
“Now.” He waited for her to look at him. “I’m going to follow you home to make sure you get there in one piece, and we’re going to have a little chat about your choices.”