William M. Briggs

“Hey, Sarge. Got a lady here who wants to file a missing person report…Sarge?” Officer Hannigan stood in front of Sergeant Fitzgerald’s desk and rustled a sheaf of paper just loud enough so that it didn’t sound intentional, but with enough force to still be heard.

Sergeant Fitzgerald was dozing and he started at the noise, but long experience enabled him to remain mostly still. He did not want his junior to know he had been asleep, so he counted to three then slowly made the sign of the cross and said, “Amen.” He then let his watery eyes find Hannigan’s.

“Uh, sorry, Sarge.” Hannigan was new enough not to have seen this act before. “But I got this strange call and I didn’t know what to do.” Fitzgerald raised both eyebrows a millimeter. “This lady wants to report a missing person, only…”

Enough consciousness had seeped into Fitzgerald’s limbs that he was able to slap the table. “Now, young Hannigan. Nothing could be easier, sure. You have the right forms?” A nod. “You’ve asked the right questions?”

“I have.”

“Then there is no problem.” He shifted his weight and turned his attention inward.

“But Sarge, the answers made no sense!”

Fitzgerald sighed and knew that sleep was banished. “Well, then. Let’s have it. Who’s missing?”

“Global Warming.”

“And what’s that, then?” A shrug was his answer. He sighed. “How long has it been missing?”

“Lady said about eight years, maybe nine.”

“Nine years! Good God in Heaven! You’re having me on.” But Hannigan stood his ground. “Who made the complaint?”

“Somebody called Fanny Armstrong. Said she was a movie director. Called from some kind of ’solar movie tent’ over by the U.N.” To forestall any snide comment he added, “What she said, Sarge.”

“Gimme the number.” Hannigan handed over the paperwork gratefully and made his way to the coffee pot. As he was stirring in his two sugars he heard Fitzgerald make contact.

“Mrs. Armstrong…Ah, sorry, then. Miss Armstrong…Oh, Mizz, is it? Well, then, Mizz. This is Sergeant Fitzgerald from the 17th precinct. I understand you are looking for Global Warming?…Yes, yes…I see…Yes, quite understandable. But Mizz Armstrong, what puzzles us is why you waited for—what was it?—nine years before making a complaint?…Ah, you do, then…Yes…No, I see that could be a problem…No, Mizz, I don’t mind holding.”

Hannigan brought over a second coffee and placed it on Fitzgerald’s desk. The Sergeant took a sip then covered the microphone with his hand. “Mizz Armstrong is taking a call from His Eminence Kofi Annan.” More coffee.

“You were right about that tent-thing, Hannigan. This Global Warming, as far as I can make out, is the star of her movie premiere, a world-wide broadcast. They’re in a panic because their star can’t be found. Fetch me a new pen, now, would you? This one is dry.”

Fitzgerald sipped at his coffee and settled back to wait, but not for long. “Ah, Mizz. Mr Anan doing well, is he?…Good, good. Remember me to him, would you? Mention parking tickets…Don’t worry, he’ll remember. Now, we need some facts before we can help. For instance, what does this Global Warming look like?…Uh huh…Yes…yes…Are you sure, Mizz?…Well, the reason I ask, Mizz, is that the description doesn’t match anything that we…True, Mizz, true. Just a second. Let me ask one of my men who knows the area well.”

He held the phone low, but didn’t bother to cover the microphone. “Hannigan, there. Young Mizz says that Global Warming can be found in the temperature record. Just you have a look at it. She says that it will show as a steady, dangerously increasing line, starting from about 1970.”

“Nothing like that here, Sarge. Line seems to be going down, and has been for a few years.”

“Did you check the outer boroughs? Be careful with Staten Island. Being that close to the ocean can hide changes in diurnal temperature variations.”

“No, Sarge, nothing. Not in Compstat¹. Not anywhere in the world. No record of a Global Warming answering to her description.”

“You heard, Mizz?…No, I assure you our records are quite complete…Um, hmm…Yes. Well, let’s put it this way. How do you even know this Global Warming exists? You’ve never actually see it…Radiohead? No, Mizz, I have not. Gillian Anderson?…No. Me and the Mrs. prefer quiet evenings…I see. That is a lot of movie stars you have there…What is the name of your movie?…The Age of Stupid, is it?…About how people ignore Global Warming? Perhaps they should, since it doesn’t seem to exist?…No, sorry; just a wee joke. Don’t you worry, Mizz. With all those celebrities involved, nobody will even notice that your Global Warming is missing…Quite, sure, Mizz…You have a nice day, too.” He hung up the phone and said to Harrigan, “Another case solved.”

Hannigan went off to finish some paperwork, glad he didn’t have to go out, and Fitzgerald, even though nobody was looking, crossed himself, closed his eyes, and said a silent prayer to St. Genesius. “Watch out for these celebrities if you can. They’re a pretty nervous bunch.”

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¹Compstat is New York City’s up-to-the-minute crime tracking database. Commissioner Ray Kelly has been able to use this software, even in the face of decreasing police budgets, to assist in lowering the crime rate dramatically.