Chapter 4: Internship Day One: Orientation to Hell

Noah arrived at the Boise Police Department’s forensic support annex at 07:55 AM on a Monday morning that smelled like burnt coffee and fresh printer toner. He had already been up since 05:30 AM—reviewing the department’s evidence-handling protocols for the third time, double-checking his ID badge against the photo on his phone, and practicing the exact tone he would use to introduce himself without sounding like he was reading from a script.

He still sounded like he was reading from a script.

The annex entrance was a nondescript metal door between two loading bays. A small sign read “Authorized Personnel Only – No Exceptions.” Noah swiped his temporary intern badge. The light blinked red. He swiped again. Red. A third time—green. The door clicked.

He stepped inside to fluorescent lighting that seemed personally offended by natural daylight. The hallway stretched left and right, lined with locked cabinets and doors labeled things like “Controlled Substances” and “Biohazard Storage – Do Not Enter Without PPE.” Somewhere down the corridor, a radio crackled with static and a dispatcher’s bored voice.

A woman in her forties wearing a polo identical to Noah’s—except hers said “Forensic Support Supervisor” instead of “Intern”—rounded the corner carrying a stack of folders and a travel mug that read “I Survived Another Audit.”

“You must be Whitaker,” she said without preamble. “You’re early. Good. I hate late people.”

“Yes, ma’am. Noah Whitaker.”

“Call me Ruiz. Everyone does. Follow me.”

She led him through a maze of short hallways to a small bullpen-style room with four desks shoved together in the center like they were conspiring. Two were occupied: one by a tech typing furiously, earbuds in; the other empty except for a wilting plant and a nameplate that read “Det. Ramirez – On Loan to Narcotics.”

Ruiz dropped the folders on the empty desk. “This is yours for the next six months. Don’t get attached. We rotate interns like tires.”

Noah set his black case down carefully. “Understood.”

“Orientation packet.” She handed him a thick manila envelope. “Read it. Sign the confidentiality forms. Sign the chain-of-custody acknowledgment. Sign the sexual harassment training acknowledgment even though you’re the only intern right now and we’re all too tired for drama. Then sign the ‘I promise not to contaminate evidence with my lunch’ form. It’s real. We had an incident last year.”

Noah opened the envelope. The stack of forms was approximately the thickness of a paperback novel.

Ruiz didn’t wait for him to finish. “Lab rules: no food or drink on the benches. No phones in the controlled areas. No shortcuts on chain-of-custody. If you touch something, you log it. If you breathe on something funny, you log it. If you sneeze near the HPLC, you log it and then go home.”

She pointed to a door at the far end. “That’s the actual lab. You’ll spend most of your time there once we trust you not to set off the fire suppression system. Which, by the way, someone did last semester. Dry chemical everywhere. Looked like a snow globe exploded.”

Noah nodded solemnly. He was already mentally cataloging the rules like index cards.

Ruiz eyed him. “You’re quiet.”

“I listen better that way.”

She snorted. “Good. You’ll need to. Half the officers here talk like they’re auditioning for a cop show. The other half don’t talk at all. You’ll figure out who’s who fast.”

She walked him through the rest: break room (microwave that smelled like fish even when no one had brought fish), locker room (bring your own lock; someone always “borrows” space), evidence intake window (never hand anything over without a signature, even if they beg), and finally the small conference room where he’d met Officer Carter two days earlier.

“Carter’s your primary contact for case consults,” Ruiz said, tapping the whiteboard where someone had written “Carter – Probationary – Don’t Scare Him” in red marker and then crossed it out. “He’s new enough that he still cares about doing things right. Use him. He’ll use you. It’s symbiotic.”

Noah filed that away.

Ruiz glanced at her watch. “First task: shadow evidence intake for an hour. Then you’re on sample logging with Tech Ramirez. After lunch, you sit in on a case review. Carter might be there. Might not. He’s on patrol until 03:00 PM.”

She paused at the door. “Any questions?”

Noah hesitated. “Where’s the nearest restroom?”

Ruiz pointed left. “End of the hall. Don’t get lost. People have.”

She left.

Noah stood alone in the bullpen for a full thirty seconds, listening to the hum of the HVAC and the distant clack of keyboards. Then he opened the orientation packet and started signing forms.

By 09:30 AM he was at the evidence intake window, watching a uniformed officer hand over a paper bag labeled “Suspected Marijuana – Traffic Stop – 10/28.” The officer looked about twelve. Noah logged it, sealed it, initialed the chain-of-custody form, and handed the officer his copy.

The officer grinned. “You’re the new intern? You look like you should be studying for finals.”

“I am,” Noah said evenly. “This is concurrent.”

The officer laughed. “Welcome to hell, kid.”

Noah didn’t laugh back. He just nodded and moved on to the next item: a bloodstained shirt in a paper sack. He logged it. Sealed it. Initialed. Repeated.

At 11:00 AM Ramirez appeared—late thirties, ponytail, perpetual expression of mild exasperation— and handed him a tray of small evidence vials.

“Label these. Date, case number, your initials. Don’t mix them up or we both get written up.”

Noah labeled them with surgical precision.

Ramirez watched for a minute. “You’re fast.”

“I practiced.”

Ramirez raised an eyebrow. “On what?”

“Empty vials. At home. Last week.”

Ramirez stared at him for a beat. Then she laughed—short, surprised. “Okay. You’re weird, but I like weird. Weird gets shit done.”

Noah didn’t respond. He just kept labeling.

Lunch was a protein bar eaten standing in the hallway because the break room microwave was occupied by someone reheating chili that smelled like regret. Noah washed it down with water from the drinking fountain that tasted faintly metallic.

At 02:00 PM he was back in the conference room for the case review. Three officers, Ramirez, Ruiz, and—surprise—Officer Carter, who walked in at 02:02 PM carrying a fresh incident report and looking like he hadn’t slept since Friday.

Carter’s eyes flicked to Noah. A small nod. Nothing more.

Noah returned it. Then he opened his notebook and prepared to take notes like his grade depended on it.

Because it did.

The review was about a multi-vehicle crash with suspected impairment. Blood draws, field sobriety notes, witness statements. Noah listened, jotted, asked one quiet question about chain-of-custody timing that made Ruiz nod approvingly.

Carter answered it. Calm. Precise. No extra words.

When the meeting ended, everyone filed out. Carter lingered a second longer than necessary, gathering his papers.

Noah stayed seated, closing his notebook.

Carter glanced over. “First day?”

“Yes.”

“How’s it going?”

Noah considered lying. Then didn’t. “Orientation to hell, apparently.”

Carter’s mouth twitched—the tiniest crack in his professional mask. “They say that to everyone.”

“Do they mean it?”

“Usually.”

Noah stood, slung his case over his shoulder. “Then I’ll survive.”

Carter nodded once. “You will.”

They walked out together. Not side by side—more like two people happening to move in the same direction. The hallway lights buzzed overhead.

Somewhere in the back of Noah’s mind, a small, irrelevant part of him noted that Officer Carter had stayed behind just long enough to ask a question he didn’t have to ask.

He told that part of his brain to focus on the next set of forms.

Internship day one wasn’t over yet.

And hell apparently had paperwork.

(End of Chapter 4)

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***