It was 6.15 p.m. as Leighton packed a few more items in the box, before placing his car keys on top of it. Hugging it to his body, he made his way through the building to the car park.

He passed through the report writing area, which was essentially a long rectangular room lined with small wooden booths. Each had its own black swivel chair and laptop computer. However, technology had not quite provided the promised revolution, and Leighton was secretly pleased by the numerous shelves above the booths which were stacked with a variety of report forms and paper documents.

‘Good night, Danny,’ Leighton said to a young bearded detective, who had a phone cradled to his ear and was typing into a computer. In response to this, he twisted around in the chair, and nodded and smiled back at the older Detective.

As he walked towards the exit, Leighton tilted his head in to the dispatch room, where two female workers were moving their attention between a wall of display screens.

‘Hey ladies, thanks for the gift, though you really shouldn’t have.’

‘You’re welcome, L.J.,’ said Laura, one of the dispatch officers, without looking around from the screens featuring maps and live feeds from car cameras.

The other female, Wendy, glanced around for a second, and gave the Detective a warm smile.

‘You all set for the big night out, Jonesy?’ she asked with a wink. ‘Maybe if the Chief has forgiven you for upstaging him with that Black Mountain Ranch mess, he’ll hire you a stripper as a parting gift.’

‘Well, I’ll be happy, as long as Chief isn’t going to be the stripper.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Laura said cheerfully.

‘Not on duty, of course.’ Leighton wagged his finger mockingly.

‘Well, you can have one for me tonight,’ Wendy grinned.

‘The only drink I’ll be having is cocoa.’

‘Ah, old age does not come alone, L.J.’

‘Never a truer word,’ Leighton said, with a wave. ‘You girls have a quiet night. Remember, if you can’t be good, get a decent lawyer.’

All three of them laughed, and Leighton departed, leaving the dispatchers to the busy night ahead.

In reality, Leighton had no intention of showing up for his farewell bash. His venue of choice had been an unpretentious bar named Red Rooster over on the Boulevard. Leighton had spent a number of his younger years working in the area as part of the Traffic Division. As a fresh-faced officer with nothing but his TV for company, he had finished many shifts there, consumed his fair share of burgers, and sampled most of the tap beers.

The Rooster was a dive bar, but in a good way, with feisty staff, honest food, and hardworking regulars, who were welcoming to the lonely young officer. More than that, it was a connection to his lost past - when he had first met Rita, and the world had still been good.

On the rare occasions Leighton had stopped in at the Rooster – finding the place unchanged through the years - he sat at the bar and felt he had somehow travelled back in time. He would sip at his beer, enjoying the seductive feeling he could step out of the door into the past, and drive home to his previous house on Maple Street, where Rita would be bathing their baby daughter.

In such moments, it was all Leighton could do to stop himself from sobbing into his beer glass. For this reason, the Rooster was more than some random venue; it was a conduit to his lost past, and the only place he would like to raise a glass to the end of his career.

Unfortunately, Chief Gretsch liked to stage-manage all the Oceanside Police station social events – even to the point of arranging uplifting background music - and the Rooster didn’t fit with his version of a good time. He liked to choose a clean venue he could book solely for the event. That way, there would be little risk of his carefully rehearsed speech being interrupted by catcalls from any cynical retired cops.

Normally detectives would leave via the staff exit at the rear of the building, but because he was using both hands to carry the carton, Leighton opted for the reception with automatic doors. As he walked towards the front desk, he spotted a girl leaning onto the counter. She was in her twenties and making what looked like an emotional plea to the Janine, the reception officer.

‘I’m telling you, I know,’ she said, through the hole in the Plexiglas.

‘Well, it’s probably just anxiety,’ Janine said, ‘but it I’ll take your details, and we can register your friend as a missing person.’

As he passed by the desk en route to the automatic doors, Leighton offered the desk officer a quick smile, and quirked an eyebrow knowingly.

It was a warm afternoon and a slight haze from the ocean hung in the air. Leighton liked it like that - finding something clean and optimistic in the quality of the light. Somewhere overhead, a helicopter was droning out towards the sparkling Pacific.

Stepping around to the side of the building, Leighton opened his car, and deposited his box of memories on the passenger seat. He walked around the rear of the vehicle, and climbed into the driver’s side. Sliding the key into the ignition, he did not turn on the engine. For a moment, he simply held on to the steering wheel, and stared into the past, as if, in some way, given the right conditions, he could put the car in gear and drive towards it. Despite the light and heat of the day, his internal vision was consumed by a dark, rainy stretch of highway and the bitter stench of burning tyres.

The sound of the sirens in his memory merged with the wail of a cruiser leaving the station behind him. Leighton blinked away the memory, turned on the engine, and rolled smoothly out of the station car park.

It was then, as he turned on to Mission Avenue and was about to accelerate, Leighton noticed the girl from reception. She was sitting on a park bench across from the station, staring at her feet, but her hunched posture told the nearly-retired Detective she felt utterly defeated.

Leighton checked his mirror, pulled his car alongside the kerbside, and got out.

As he walked over the lawn towards the girl, a driver of BMW, who was irritated at the location of Leighton’s car, honked his horn, and began shouting abuse at him. Without turning around, Leighton withdrew his badge, and held it backwards. The BMW driver fell silent, and drove off, revving his engine as he went.

‘Can I help you, Miss?’ Leighton asked from a comfortable distance.

‘What?’ She blinked, and wiped her eyes in embarrassment.

‘My name is Leighton Jones, I’m a detective.’ He turned the badge around so she could see it, and moved a tentative step closer to her. ‘I overheard you speaking to my colleague at reception.’

‘For all the good that did,’ the girl sniffed, and rubbed at one eye, smudging her eyeliner into a bruise.

‘What was the problem?’ Leighton persisted.

‘The stupid woman at the desk didn’t believe me.’

‘Do you mind if I sit down, Miss?’

He took a seat next to the girl, but was careful to maintain a non-threatening distance from her. He could see by her folded arms she was already reluctant to trust him.

‘Were you reporting a crime, back there at the desk?’

‘Trying to.’ The girl wiped again at her smudged eye make-up, and looked wearily at the detective’s face.

‘I don’t know,’ the girl shrugged, ‘I was supposed to meet my friend yesterday, and she didn’t show up.’ She leaned forward a bit, and held her face in her hands. ‘Have you ever had a feeling something just wasn’t right?

‘Many times – comes with the job. So, this friend didn’t show up.’

‘I know how it sounds,’ she sighed, looking at the ground. ‘I’m not a total idiot, but something’s not right.’

‘Look, Miss, it is Miss, isn’t it?’

The woman nodded.

‘Well, Miss, people go missing all the time. Most of them just have a change of plan, and forget to tell anyone. On occasion, they forget by accident; mostly, it’s a choice. Some are runaways, some are lost, but they almost always show up again.'