Story code: ST-001155
Part 3: The Verification
The phone speaker buzzed with a second click, followed by a woman’s voice. “Apex Reentry Housing Trust emergency dispatch. State your name and unit number.”
Nora held the phone flat in her palm, keeping the speaker volume high. “This is Nora Kelly. I am calling regarding Marcus Kelly’s unit, number 4B on Elm Street. We have a report of a major pipe burst and an emergency maintenance entry requirement.”
Greg took a step forward, his hand twitching toward the phone before he caught my eye. I shifted my position, placing myself between him and Nora’s hand. I tapped my transition agency badge against my collar to remind him of my presence.
“I have no record of any emergency dispatch for the Elm Street facility tonight,” the dispatcher said. Her voice was flat, mechanical. “Let me check the active maintenance tickets. Please hold.”
“Hang up, Nora,” Greg said. His voice was no longer loud; it had thinned to a tight, hushed tone. He reached out to touch the blue parole folder still resting on the sideboard, but Nora pulled it closer to her side. “I probably got the units mixed up. You know how those apartment complexes are. It was probably 4D or 3B. Just tell her it was a mistake.”
“No,” Nora said, keeping her eyes fixed on Greg. “Marcus’s voucher is tied specifically to unit 4B. If there is a leak in 4D that threatens 4B, the system logs it. We need the dispatcher’s formal clearance.”
“It’s fine, really,” Greg said. He wiped his palms on his trousers. He looked at Marcus, who remained seated with both hands flat on the dining table. “Marcus, tell her. You don’t want them digging into your file over a minor mistake on my part.”
Marcus did not look up. He kept his eyes fixed on the salt shaker in the center of the table. “You said the landlord called you directly, Greg. You said he named me.”
“I… I thought he did,” Greg said, his voice rising in pitch. He moved to the edge of the dining table, his fingers tapping against the back of Nora’s chair. “It was a quick phone call. He said ‘the Kelly unit.’ Maybe he meant a different name. Or maybe it was just a warning for tomorrow.”
The dispatcher’s voice returned to the line. “There are no active maintenance tickets for Elm Street. However, because this involves a transition program resident, I am transferring this call to the on-duty parole supervisor to verify the resident’s physical location. Hold one moment.”
Greg froze. The color drained from his face, leaving it a dull, waxy gray. “Nora, click it off. If the parole supervisor gets on, they’ll write up a report anyway. They’ll think Marcus is trying to make an excuse to leave.”
“Marcus isn’t leaving,” Nora said. “He is sitting right here.”
“But they’ll log the inquiry!” Greg’s voice cracked. “They’ll note that someone tried to report an unauthorized transit. They track those calls, Nora. They keep records of who calls the hotline.”
I watched Greg’s shoulders rise toward his ears. He turned toward the hallway, then stopped, looking back at the blue parole folder in Nora’s hands.
“If they trace the call back to my number,” Greg whispered, his chest heaving, “they’ll see I made the initial report. They have penalties for filing false emergency transit requests for parolees.”
A deep male voice cut through the static on the phone. “This is Officer Reynolds, duty supervisor. Who am I speaking with, and what is the emergency transit request?”
Nora held the phone closer to her mouth, her eyes locked onto Greg’s trembling hands.