‘Wait,’ Hunter interrupted him. ‘Don’t radio it in.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t radio it in yet.’
Both Emiliano and the kid looked back at Hunter in surprise.
‘And why not?’ Emiliano asked.
Hunter handed him the kid’s backpack.
The radio on Emiliano’s shoulder cracked once before a female voice came through.
‘PO 2842, go ahead.’
Emiliano looked inside the bag before his eyes ping-ponged between Hunter and Garcia for a second. He reached for his comms.
‘Dispatch, please stand by. I might need a 10-16 in response to a 484. Just checking now.’
‘Ten-four, 2842. Standing by.’
Emiliano checked the bag again. ‘Food?’ he asked the kid. ‘You were stealing food?’
The kid looked down at the floor, shame covering him like an ill-fitting coat. He was visibly shivering… and it wasn’t from cold.
‘And medicine,’ Garcia said, nodding at the backpack.
Emiliano rummaged through it again. There was no alcohol, no money, no illegal drugs, no weapons… just food, water,two boxes of Band-Aids and a box of Ibuprofen. All of it from Smart & Final.
Emiliano shook his head at the detectives before reaching for his shoulder comms again.
‘Dispatch, this is PO 2842 in Watts. Please disregard last comms. False alarm.’
‘Ten-four, 2842.’
He turned to address the kid again. ‘When was the last time you ate?’
The kid kept his eyes on the ground. ‘Two days ago, sir.’
‘What’s your name, kid?’ Garcia asked.
‘Craig, sir,’ the kid replied. ‘Craig Thompson.’
Hunter picked up a slight drawl as the kid pronounced his last name.
‘Where in Texas are you from, Craig?’ he asked.
‘Lubbock, sir. Northwest Texas.’
‘And when did you get to LA?’
‘Two days ago, sir.’ Craig’s eyes finally lifted from the ground to look at the three police officers around him. He was clearly struggling to hold back tears.
‘How old are you, Craig?’ Garcia, this time.
‘I’m seventeen, sir.’
‘Do you have any ID on you?’ Emiliano asked.