Magnolia

Our radios had been squawking like a mob of magpies for at least half an hour. That amount of chatter was unusual for that time of day. Something big must have happened.

"Unit Twenty-Four, what's your ten seventy-seven for Magnolia?" That was the latest thing from dispatch to come over the squawk box. Ten Seventy was a request for how long it would take to get to the scene. Unit Twenty-Four... That was us.

My new partner keyed the mic on his radio and answered. "We're ten seventy-six, looking at fifteen." An ETA of 15 minutes. At least he got that right. My last partner never did catch on to the codes we use to keep the radio chatter to a minimum. At least this new guy had that going for him.

"Ten four." The crackling radio voice came back."See Officer O'Malley on scene when you arrive."

"That's a ten dispatch." Bill signed off, trying sound cool instead of sticking to protocol. I made a mental note to talk to him about that later.

Four-Twenty-Four Magnolia Street. That's where we had been dispatched, and the call came in just as I was about to bite into the first warm meal I'd had in days. It's just as well. This was a call to a murder scene, and from what I could gather from the radio chatter it was going to be a messy one.

My experience told me that it's best to go into these things on an empty stomach. My new partner Bill didn't see it that way. He started wolfing down his dinner the moment we got the call. I made a bet with myself that he would puke it all up in the next 30 minutes.

I got up and dropped a twenty on the table, and let Flo know I'd come back later for my dinner. A twenty was nearly double the price of my meal, but she deserved every penny. Despite the name, the Copper Cafe wasn't exactly the kind of place that caters to the police, but Flo always took special care of me whenever I dropped in.

"I'll box this up and keep it for you Hon." Flo offered as she took up my plate.

"Thanks. I really appreciate that Flo."

"When you are ready, you know where to find me dear." Flo smiled and winked, just before heading back toward the kitchen.

Bill didn't say a word. I guess he must have been really hungry. In the thirty-odd seconds it took for Flo to gather my plate he had completely cleaned his. He was still chewing when he got up to head to the scene. I had to remind Bill that my twenty was a tip for Flo and he needed to pay for the burger he had just inhaled. He threw a ten on the table and we headed out the door.

Bill blabbed at me the whole way to Magnolia Street. Trying to pick my brain I guess. I didn't say much. My mind was already hard at work on the case. I'd seen my share of these sorts of things over the years. A woman was brutally murdered in the prime of her life. Nine times out of ten that meant we were on our way to see a dead addict or a hooker, but we weren't investigating a hooker on this one.

This time the victim was a wife and a mother. Unlike the hooker cases, odds were someone close to her did the killing. A husband, a sister, even a disgruntled child. They call these sorts of murders a crime of passion. I never did see anything passionate about it.

The radio chatter told me most of the squad already had their money on the husband for this one. It's a sad commentary that cops are still allowed to run betting pools on cases like this. We called them doer pools, and the guys would all bet on who the perp was. Most of the squad had nothing more to go on than what they heard come over the radio, but that didn't stop them from placing their bets.

I hated that betting game, and years ago I stepped away from it for good... Right after I realized just what kind of damage a doer pool can do to a case. Placing one of those bets provided a younger me with a hard lesson in life. I now know that each and every person we happen to share this miserable planet with deserves a fair shake, and those doer pools can take that fairness away in the blink of an eye.

I was one of the lucky ones I guess. I got that lesson about the doer pools early in my career. I was a new detective and my field Sargent was showing me the ropes, not unlike what I was doing with Bill on this case. I was working my very first murder back then, and I placed my bet on a man no one else suspected. Somehow, I thought I was smart. I acted as if I knew better than all the seasoned veterans on the case put together.

That one stupid bet clouded my judgment. I just couldn't think clearly. It made me see things that weren't there. It made me jump to conclusions. That ridiculous bet nearly cost an innocent man his life... And my miserable fuck of a field Sargent didn't say a damn word about it. He didn't care who really did the crime. All he cared about was making an arrest. He just cared about making his numbers.

From that point on I swore I'd never be that kind of cop, and now as Bill's sergeant I wasn't about to just stand by and let him make the same kind of mistake I did. Not on this case anyway. If I didn't teach my new recruit anything else, I was going to teach him to stay clear of those doer pools.

Of course I know things are different now than when I was new on the force. There are new laws and procedures help protect the innocent against the kind of railroading that suspects were up against back when I first started working this game. Still, from the very day I fucked up by making that bet, I swore I'd never take part in wrongly accusing a man again.

Maybe my stance makes this job a lot tougher, but I don't care. I never want to wrongly accuse the innocent, but by god I'm not about to let a guilty man go free either. In the end, being honest and forthright is the only way to do this job, even if the world is filled with liars, cheats, and scumbags.

What did all this mean? It meant that Bill and I had our work cut out for us. We needed to be careful in how we took our witness's statements, and even more careful about how we collected evidence. One misstep by any one of the cops on this case, and those new laws that protect the innocent could be used by some slick defense attorney to get the case tossed.

Getting a case tossed on a technicality is always damn shame too, because it basically allows a guilty man to get off scott free. On the other hand jumping to the wrong conclusion, like I almost did on my first case, and an innocent man could end up riding the lightning. Doing this job right is a lot like walking tightrope.

As we rounded the turn onto Magnolia Street it wasn't hard to see which house was number four-twenty-four. A sea of flashing lights, and barricades of yellow tape surrounded the place. It all seemed strangely surreal. It isn't often that this sort of thing happens in the class of neighborhood we were in. I showed my badge to the officer at the barricade and he waived us through.

"Pull into the driveway Bill." I instructed my new partner as I slid the bubble light off the top of our unmarked unit and pointed to a uniformed officer. "That's O'Malley standing there at the edge of the garage."

"Got it Sarge." My young recruit spouted trying to sound official as he pulled in.

"Bill, if we're going to work together, you're going to have to call me by my name. The name is Joe, not Sir or Sarge."

"Sorry Sir... I mean got it Sarge." Bill didn't even crack a smile when he called me both Sir and Sarge again. I had to assume he said it as a joke. No one on the force could be that fucking dumb and still remember to breathe... but this guy had been saying stupid shit like that all night.

All I could do was shake my head, wondering how the hell a guy this dense ever made it through the academy. It must have been a slow day at the recruiting office. I know the force has test score standards, but in these first few hours of working together, I figured Bill to be about as dumb as a left handed nail.

I guess this was my lot in life. My last task before I would be allowed to retire and be free from this cesspool for good. With just under three weeks left on the force, the captain assigned me to show this new recruit the ropes. I didn't figure there was much I could do to teach a guy about surviving in this never ending shit-show in such a short time, but those were my orders.

I guess luck was on my side, or maybe the luck was Bill's. I couldn't have ordered a better call to break in a greenhorn. If there ever was a case that could separate the men from the boys, this one was it. I figured I better start handing out the advice before he made the sort of rookie blunders that could derail our investigation.

"Okay Bill, let's get the lay of the land before we go charging in to case the scene. You always want to know what you're working with before you go into something like this. Let's go find out what we know so far."

"Hey O'Malley." I nodded to the officer guarding the entrance to the garage. "Sounds like we caught a nasty one here."

"Sure enough. As bad as they come. A single victim. Female. In the tub. Most of her face is gone. My best guess is a shotgun, but I'll leave that particular diagnosis to you homicide guys."

"Any sign of a struggle, or forced entry?"

"Not that I could see. Hell, the place is pristine other than the mess in the shitter room Sarge."

"The name's Joe..." I corrected O'Malley. "Was there anyone else in the house?"

"Not when my squad got here."

"Who called it in?"

"The baby sitter. That's her in the swimsuit over by the ambo getting checked out. She was bringing the kids home from the pool and found the mom in the tub. She's pretty shook up. Kids are at the neighbors. They didn't see anything, but I'll bet they are scared to death."

"Who's the older woman standing next to the sitter?"

"That's Mrs. Clayton. The neighbor from across the street. She was the last one to see the victim alive."

"What about your doer O'Malley? You didn't forgot your doer did you?"

"A doer? What's a doer?" O'Malley patted his gun belt, checking to make sure he wasn't missing some newly required piece of equipment.

"You know, the one that committed the crime. The murderer. The doo'er. He's always the last one to see the victim alive."

"Oh yeah, I guess you're right." O'Malley lifted his hat to scratch his head. "We don't know who the um... doer is. I guess that's where you detective types come in."

"Oh," Bill piped up. "I guess that's why the guys call that who-done-it betting thing a doer pool."

"A word of advice to both of you." I warned. "Stay clear of those doer pools. They will take you far down a rat hole you don't want to be in."

"Got it Sarge." Both Bill and O'Malley answered in unison.

"Well, I'm here to help." I gave a quick wink to O'Malley and a nod to Bill, letting them know I had this investigation under control.

With that little nod, Bill stepped toward the door heading into the house. I grabbed him by the fucking tree trunk he called an arm and stopped him. The guy was fit, I'll give him that, but he didn't have a clue how to case a scene.

"Wait Bill." I barked as I stopped him. "Don't go into the house just yet. First things first. Go over there and get statements from our witnesses. Find out what they know. And for Christ's sake make sure that the Clayton woman isn't truly the last one to see our vic alive?

"Vick? I thought it was a woman that got killed. Vick is a guy's name ain't it Sarge?"

"Victim. Vic is short for victim. Forget it Bill. Just go get statements from Mrs. Clayton and the sitter, then come find me when you are done."

I'd trained my share of newbies over the years, but this Bill character was as green as they come. Every other guy I'd trained had spent years as a street cop before they got bumped up to detective. Bill was different. He was part of some new program. A program as untested as our new Chief of Police, Andrea Moore. Chief Moore's big idea was to take recruits right out of the academy and plug them into jobs based on some bull shit aptitude test. Moore was the first woman to make Chief of police anywhere in the state, and these kinds of programs had always been her thing.

I suppose a woman like her had to make a name for herself somehow, but I couldn't have disagreed more with the Chief's plan. In my book, a guy's got to walk a beat for a while before he knows what's going on. He's got to get in tune with society... to know the good guys from the dirt bags. But what the shit, no one ever asks me what I think. At my age, I guess shouldn't really care. After I'm gone, I won't give a screaming fuck how Chief Moore mans the ranks. But for the sake of the city I call home, I hoped like hell she is right about this job aptitude shit.

I kept my eye on Bill the whole time he was across the street with our witnesses. The damn fool didn't even take out his note pad. It looked to me like he was just fucking around with his phone the whole time. Guys his age just can't seem to put those fucking things down.

Bill probably thought he was far enough away that I couldn't see him dickin' around with his phone. I'm sure he thought he was safe over there. I figured he was getting in on one of those doer pools I told him to stay away from, but I couldn't know for sure. What I did know was this... I was going to have to go back and re-interview those witnesses myself, just so we would have notes when it came time to write our reports.

No skin off of my dick, I guess. Every cop's got to learn the ropes some time, and I suppose I did some dumb shit stuff when I first made detective. As much as I wanted to go over and interview those witnesses myself, I knew this would be a good learning experience for Bill.

Didn't matter that Bill didn't seem to be paying attention. I knew I could easily fix this if he fucked it up. So I just stood there making small talk with O'Malley while I watched the body language of our witnesses. Any cop worth his salt gets more information from a person's body language than from the stream of lies coming out of their pie hole anyway.

What I saw in that body language was that Mrs. Clayton had an ax to grind about something. My bet was that she was bitching about some delinquents that egged her house, or was filling Bill's ear about a neighbor's barking dog. It probably had nothing to do with our murder case.

The sitter's body language was just flat. It looked to me like she was still in shock. Bill seemed to be doing the right thing by asking the Clayton woman most of his questions. The girl probably wasn't going to be much help. Not tonight anyway.

Whatever was going on over there, it didn't take Bill long to finish doing what I sent him to do. He was on his way back before I could remember the punch line to the joke I was trying to tell O'Malley. Even on his way back Bill couldn't tear himself away from his damn cell phone.

Like I said... Bill's generation is fucking married to those god damn things. They act as if they were to stop texting for five fucking minutes they would shrivel up and die. God forbid if something important in life were to come along and they couldn't send everyone in their friend zone a picture of what they are having for lunch, or even worse, some stupid cat hanging from a tree branch.

"Okay Bill." I managed to tear bill's attention from his phone as he walked up to me and O'Malley. "What did our witnesses have to say?"

"Mrs. Clayton said she saw Mrs. Gash... I think it's pronounced like gosh, as in gosh darn, but Clayton kept saying Gash like it rhymed with cash. Anyway, she saw Mrs. Gash taking out the trash at quarter to nine."

"Ok, that's a start. What about the sitter? Other than finding the body, what does she know?"

"The sitter said that Mrs. Gash arrived home around seven, and asked if she would take the kids to their swimming lesson. The sitter left with the kids around seven thirty, and as far as she knows Mrs. Gash was alone in the house after that."

"Well there's the start of our timeline Bill. Did you get anything else?"

"Yeah, Mrs. Clayton said she thinks Richard did it."

"Richard? Who's Richard?"

"Richard Gash. He's the dead woman's husband. The Clayton woman said he's a real pervert. She claims he puts his hands in his pockets and plays with himself while he stares at her granddaughters. She said she can't let them play outside anymore because of Richard. She said we should at least arrest him for being a pedophile."

Now there was a ready made teaching moment if I ever saw one. This bit of information from the Clayton woman was exactly the kind of thing I was looking for on this case. A witness that swears she knows exactly who did it, even though she didn't actually see a damn thing. What the Clayton woman said was hearsay at best, and that kind of thing didn't belong in our murder investigation. I figured this was as good of a time as any to school Bill on not jumping to conclusions.

"So, who do you like Bill?" I asked, leading my new partner along a path to analyze the info he had just gathered.

"Oh, I like my mom, and my uncle. I also like my neighbor. Not the one next door, but the one that borrows my lawn tools and brings them back looking better than when he took them. Why? Who do you like?"

"No not who do -you- like... Who do you like for this murder? Who do you think did it?"

"Why didn't you just ask me that? It's the husband of course. It's always the husband, and this particular husband is a total pervert."

"First order of business son... Never jump to conclusions. Sure the husband is likely, but it's our job to check out all of the possibilities. If your wife got murdered would you want to fry in old sparky just because you happened to be married to her?"

"Oh, I'm not married Sarge."

"It was a hypothetical Bill. You're just supposed imagine that you are married."

"Can I imagine my wife has some big ol' titties?" Bill grinned.

"Forget it Bill. Forget about your imaginary wife and her bra size. The point is we can't railroad a guy just because he happens to be married to the victim, and especially not just because the neighbor saw him with his hands in his pockets. For all we know he might have been checking to make sure he didn't forget his keys or something."

"Okay. Got it. We've got to check out all the possibilities so we don't put the wrong guy in jail."

"By the way..." I directed a question to O'Malley, "Does anyone know whereabouts of that rotten murderous bastard of a husband?"

The old cop joke I had just made just flew right over both of their heads, and they both stood there looking at me like I was from another planet.

"Nope. No one's seen the guy." O'Malley finally chimed in as if he thought my question might be serious.

I guess looking for the husband wasn't really all that far-fetched. We did need to at least talk to the guy. I didn't bother to explain why saying he was a murderous bastard should have been funny. I just went on with the investigation.

"Let's put out a trace on the husband's credit cards Bill. If he is the perp, maybe we'll get him buying gas or something as he makes a run for it."

"A perp? I thought we were looking for a doer on this one Sarge."

"We -are- looking for a doer, newbie." I've always hated when people rolled their eyes, but I felt mine doing summersaults over this guy's lack of knowledge of common police lingo. "A perp and a doer are one and the same Bill. Didn't they teach you anything at the academy?"

"Credit cards Sarge."

"What?"

"They taught us about credit card traces, and the husband's trace is already done. I ordered the trace right after I talked to Mrs. Clayton. Got his cell phone trace ordered too."

"Good work newbie... But how the hell did you do all that so fast?"

"I used my smart phone Sarge. There's an app for it. See right here. You just tap this button and..."