Story-police head quarters and aliens

Police Headquarters was a 5 story building built in the 70’s but rather along the familiar lines of high schools built in the cold war era.  There was a heavy functionariness about it  There was little glass on the first floor but quite enough on the floors above it.  Police cars with their distinctive black and white colouring were parked about the base.  A sort of human factory place.  Lots of activity with no apparent purpose.   Busy.  Lots of people mulling about at the entrance.  Quite a few sitting in the waiting room.  Lots of open area desks, themselves made of steel, heavy.  A faint human odor pervaded.  The lighting was florescent. Unpleasant.
“I’ve looked up everything we have on killings and there’s no similarity. Not that there’s any pattern but I just thought I might check the records."
“Good try."
“I doubt we’ll get anything from the crime scene. Fairly cut and dry. "
“Interviews then."
“Yes. Might turn up a lead."
“Do you have the address?"
“Yes."
He took his jacket from the back of his chair. His police 38 was in his shoulder holster.  The jacket concealed it well enough.  She followed him to the car.  It wasn’t much of a drive. They didn’t talk. There wasn’t anything to say.  So much was a waiting game.  Patience was critical in ambush and stalk.
The house they were looking for had an ornate metal fence around it.
“Must be worth a million in this neighbourhood."
“I’d say."
Two white Doric columns framed the door.  He rang the bell.  Shortly a flicker of movement appeared in the eye hole before the heavy door was opened a crack.
“Can I help you?"
“Are you Mrs. Jones-Whitaker?"
“Yes."
“We’re from the police."
“Yes”.
“Might we come in."
“Certainly."
She opened the big door and invited them into a large foyer where they all stood awkwardly for a bit.  She was dressed in a white robe. No jewelry. She was beautiful in a fragile way.  The thought of “porcelain looks” came to mind for the female detective.  The male detective was looking beyond the foyer into a rather elegant sitting room of mostly white furnishings offset by a large reddish toned persian rug.
“Could we speak to your husband?"
“He’s not here. He didn’t come in last night.  I was actually getting worried and considering calling you."
“I’m sorry to say there’s been a shooting."
“Yes”.
“We believe your husband was the man who was shot."
“Ooh."
She went quite pale which was itself extraordinary because she was already so pale to begin with.  Walking away from them she moved into the waiting room and sat down on the settee.
“I know this is quite a shock and I really am sorry to bring this news but could you tell me when you last saw him.” he said
“He really is dead?” she asked.
“Yes."
“Last night I guess.  He came home from work.  We had dinner here. It wasn’t much.  Just some left overs I cooked up. He said he had to return to work for a bit.  Some sort of unfinished business.  He left.  I stayed.  I fell asleep watching tv and awoke this morning. I was just getting dressed."
“Was he concerned about anything in particular.?"
“Not that I know of. He’d been a little distant.  Distracted by his work.  That’s not unusual. He had a lot of responsibilities."
“What was his work?"
“Guidance systems.  He built missile guidance systems."
“Was there anyone you knew who might want to hurt him."
“No. This really is appalling. I must get dressed and call his father.  HIs father is still alive if this doesn’t kill him.  His mother died only last year.  Will I be able to see him."
“Yes we could take you there now."
“I’ll just be a minute then.  Please make yourself at home. I just made a pot of coffee in the kitchen.  Help yourself."
She ran up the stairs, a faint sob, echoing down as she scurried up.
The detectives wandered into the kitchen deeper in the direction she’d waved.
“She took that well enough."
“She did. Nothing seemed awry though.  She certainly showed surprise. "
“That sob just now was  something."
“Grieving widow.  Didn’t sound faked by any means."
“She tried to remain composed if anything.  Breeding some might say.”  He was pouring the coffee, 2 cups, opening the refrigerator to find the cream and pouring quite a dollop. She took hers black.
“They’ve got a child.” he said
“How do you know that.”
"The pictures on the fridge. And a photo of the three of them.  A girl, must be early teens.”
“I’d guess she got herself off to school on her own today.  Likely won’t be happy to hear her father died."
“Could she be a suspect."
“No.  It’s not a teen crime by any means.  Almost professional.  Ear markings of a hit, if anything.  Maybe to do with the missile business."
“Very good coffee."
“It is.”
A  short while later the wife came down the stairs dressed in sensible shoes, nylons, a black skirt and blouse.  She had tucked her blond hair into a scarf. Some make up had been dabbed about her eyes which were still red from what appeared a private cry she’d had upstairs, alone.
They drove back to the station.
She gasped when she saw the body at the morgue.  Death does that to loved ones. Especially when they’re not the shooter.  The detectives looked knowingly at each other when they heard that sound. It was like the earlier sob.  Sounds of innocence.
Before leaving her back home at her front steps they acquired the names of his employer.
A NASA and Boeing collaboration.  He’d looked them up on his iPhone while she drove.
“It was a very large building situated on an industrial complex at the south of the city.  Everything was new and neither could remember hearing anything about the building or the major contracts that wickipedia said were being developed here.
Aliens watched their car as it pulled into the long driveway that lead to the first security check point.  They had eyes in the trees.  Humans would have taken them for nests.  They were but in addition they were sensors that relayed visual auditory and sensual contents of the whole region back to the mother ship cloaked and orbiting the earth at that very moment. This complex was indeed one of their interests.  A glutinous creature wasn’t very happy with the way the day was unfolding.  The glutinous creatures looked oddly like a bowl of jelloThey’d had a minor interest in the man who had been shot.  No one really thought it would change things except the bowl of jello. The bowl of jello was quivering and this caused its colours to change. Right now the orange was evidence of interest and maybe fear.  Even the jello had difficulty with self reflection.  Watching the sensors wasn’t a particularly appealing position.  It would rather be in the meeting right now that was taking place down what otherwise might be called a hall.  Odd sounds and flashes of light emanated from that region further on and if the truth be known the jello was trying to make sense of what was being communicated.  It had something to do with this whole complex.
The police car had passed both check points and pulled into the parking lot.
“It’s quite impressive,”
“Yes, in that glass and steel sort of way."
They walked through the glass doorway across the reception floor to the information security station beside the elevators.
“We’re hear to see, Mr. Rogers,” she said showing her id.
“He’s on the 15th floor. You can take the elevator there, the smiling ex military sort replied.  She wondered which service he’d served in. Likely marines she guessed as they headed for the elevator.
The main concern of the aliens was the progress the humans were making.  They weren’t quite ready for earth to learn of what they were using her solar system for.  Once they were in space their property would naturally become theirs.  But in the meantime they really weren’t in a position to object to the pilfering of saturn’s rings or mining on Nepture.  But once they established a presence in their space the rules simply were that they were to be left alone to make the next leap to the galaxy.   All new races were left with just enough propellant to get to the nearest star.  They’d be poor for a millennium or so but it wasn’t other races fault they’d not hurried up and got ahead with space travel when they first thought of it.  The longer a new race took the more their resources were depleted.  Intelligence sort of flashed about the galaxy and that attracted theives. Not that jello though of their expedition that way.  They just knew that where intelligent life blossomed there were usually excessive deposits of the means of travel across space. Some called it intelligent design. Others called it coincidence.  Jello didn’t speak.  Quivering was its sole means of communication and such ideas didn’t seem to have a place in a glutinous body of desire and need with loosely linked purpose and telekinetic capabilities.