by Andrew Gruse
He saw red. Red liquid. Viscous. Is this blood? What the…
The bedroom door burst open. He jumped. He saw men in the black tactical suits, Baltimore police, in the doorway, each pointing a long rifle at him. He moved, the knife still in his hand, to protect himself or to run, he didn’t know.
“He’s got a knife!” One yelled.
“Take him down!” Another yelled.
The man on the bed saw the muzzle flash from a 12-gauge shotgun. A trident bean bag slammed into his left shoulder and knocked him off the bed. The knife flew from his hand and he hit the floor hard.
The man laid incapacitated on the floor. A detective entered behind the tactical team and saw the grisly sight of the bedroom. He walked to the man on the floor, turned his head to see his face and smiled.
“Hey, buddy. Remember Schmidt and O’Malley? They were friends of mine. This is for them.” The detective punched the man in the face and knocked him out. The detective stood straight. “Get this garbage out of here. Arrest him. Someone read him his rights.”
Two cops flipped the man over, one drove a knee into his back and yanked the man’s wrists behind him to cuff him. They lifted the man off the floor, dragged him out of the bedroom and threw him to the floor in the living room. One of the cops added a swift kick to the man’s ribcage.
The detective exited the bedroom and saw the man on the floor. “Get him out of my sight.”
Two cops covered the man’s head, not his body though he only wore boxer shorts, and dragged him out of the room. Another detective entered the room and looked around. He peaked inside the bedroom and gasped in shock.
A black woman, only wearing underwear, laid on the bed on her back. Her throat slashed and the blood from that wound had poured out over her body and covered her and the bed. Her arm draped off the bed and a thin line of blood followed her arm and dripped off a finger onto the carpet.
Gash wounds littered her body, and blood spattered everywhere. The woman’s gray and lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling and the detective wondered if she even knew what happened. He took a deep, slow breath and looked at his partner.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Detective Dylan Kael said softly. “What the hell would drive a man to do that?”
Detective Steve Kirby shook his head. “Beats the hell out of me. Call it in. We have ourselves a murder scene.” Kirby turned away from the gruesome scene on the bed. “At least we finally have that sonofabitch.”
CHAPTER 2
Captain Ted Barnes arrived at the scene at 4:30 AM. Not how he wanted to begin his Friday workday. Forty minutes after the arrest, a lot had happened. Apartment 6-F. End of the hall and top floor of a nice building in Fells Point, Maryland. On the drive over, he received the rundown of the 911 call. Received at 3:22 AM, a neighbor reported a domestic disturbance call. The caller said it was violent, he was afraid, there was yelling and screaming, a woman begging for him to stop and then loud thumps. Like someone was being beaten and thrown into wall. Police responded quickly with a tactical team. Barnes entered the apartment and saw Detective Kirby.
“What do we got?” Barnes asked Kirby
“Vicious murder,” Kirby said. “White suspect, black victim. See for yourself.”
The victim still lied on the bed but covered by a sheet after pictures had been taken by crime scene investigators.
Barnes looked at the bed. The sheets soaked in blood and a pool on the floor. The blankets were scattered about the large, king-size bed. The woman on the right side and the man, now in custody and headed to the station, had been on the left. Barnes quickly observed the rest of the room.
Blood on the walls and ceiling. A wine glass on each nightstand, both half-full. He noticed the pictures on the walls and the items atop the tables. He spun and saw the chest of drawers and closet door and bathroom. Other than the clothes scattered on the floor like being tossed away during a bout of passion, nothing was out of place. All the action took place on the bed.
Barnes investigated plenty of murder scenes before; this one was as violent as the rest. Horrific. Gruesome. Grotesque. He’s heard all the adjectives. Never made it easier. Someone died and in the end, Barnes knew it shouldn’t have happened. Barnes also knew as well as anyone the human being was capable of the absolute worst and it never surprised him anymore.
But this one seemed very neat.
Barnes saw the BPD CSI scouring over the scene. “Knife?”
“Yeah, a Ka-Bar. Suspect was in the military so it may be his,” Kirby said. “Looks like a crime of passion. Slit her throat and stabbed her at least a dozen times. Blood spatter everywhere.”
Barnes watched the action in the room. Cameras flashed as pictures recorded every aspect of the room. Every single item in the room photographed. Much of it bagged as evidence. One crime scene investigator focused on the blood spatter and photographed it thoroughly.
“No signs of forced entry. No signs anyone else was here. Preliminary speculation, if you’re into that, looks like the couple decided on an alcohol and drugged induced party night, got into a fight or something and the boyfriend pulled a knife and killed her,” Kirby said.
Barnes nodded and saw Kayla Dorsey. “Is Dorsey senior on this?”
Kirby nodded.
“Good. She’s thorough.” Barnes looked at his watch. It was just the beginning. “The press here yet?” He expected to see at least one familiar investigative reporter but did not.
“Outside. Not allowed inside yet.”
“Good. Keep them far from this. Keep it under wraps as long as we can. This one could get ugly. Give them the standard delay answers. And for God’s sake, do not give any details on the victim or suspect.”
Barnes did the math. The police arrested a white man for killing a black woman. Allegedly. Always had to say allegedly until the verdict. Regardless of what it looked like, they had to prove it. There would be demands for justice. The police needed a conviction and needed it quick. The city had seen enough racial strife already. “I mean it. Stall the press.”
“Will do, boss,” Kirby said. “I’ve got the team doing legwork right now.”
Barnes nodded. He walked to Dorsey. “Hey, Kayla. What’s it look like?”
“You don’t want to know what I think,” she said.
Barnes looked at the victim but could not see her face. “Let’s concentrate on what we can prove. Keep me informed.”
‘Yeah, you bet. Patterson just got here. We’ll have the preliminary done soon then get the body to the lab for processing.”
“Hey, Ted, you’re going to want to see this,” Kirby said from the chest of drawers. “Check it out.” Kirby pointed to a tray on the dresser with remnants of a white powder. Cocaine. Some pills were scattered haphazardly beside it and three bottles of red wine, one unopened, one empty, and one half-full stood close by. Barnes looked at the bottle labels. A red blend from California Barnes knew cost about eight bucks a bottle.
“Mixing drugs and alcohol. Dangerous combination,” Kirby said.
“What do we know about the suspect?”
“Male, Caucasian, former military,” Kirby paused. He knew who it was and knew Barnes’ connection. “We found him kneeling on the bed with the knife in his hand. Covered in blood. Suspect reacted and we, uhh, subdued the threat.”
Barnes looked at Kirby. “ID on either yet?”
“The woman he killed is Alexis Parker.”
Barnes stopped.
“The murderer is Zack Stack.”
* * * *
Barnes knew that things happened fast. The evidence was fresh, it was collected and processed. Detectives dug up everything they could find on the victim and suspect and linked the stories together. They would canvass the area and talk to neighbors to create a timeline, see the relationship from the outside, try to find a reason why she was murdered. It wasn’t just figuring out who and how it happened. They wanted to know why. And they had to make sure what they believed happened was as ironclad as could be. Defense lawy
ers were good. Losing in court was embarrassing. And costly.
This time the suspect wasn’t some thug or abusive boyfriend. He wasn’t a gang member earning his stripes or some psychopath who lost it or a druggy that took too much LSD and heard the voice of Satan telling him to kill everyone. This time the suspect was his friend. This time, Barnes and his wife had just had dinner with the victim and suspect a week earlier. This time it was a private detective, owner of the Dre-Zack Detective Agency, collaborator who helped Barnes solve cases in the past, Zack Stack.
And that was a problem.
Barnes sat at his desk early that Friday morning and stirred his coffee. It felt like a day where coffee would not be enough. He looked at his watch. Barnes knew his cell would ring before long. Until then it was a waiting game that could take days or weeks or longer. The press would ask questions and not be as patient as a thorough investigation needed the press to be. And the question of race would make headlines.
Barnes found himself in an ethical battle. He couldn’t help Zack in this one. People knew of Zack’s work with Barnes before. Conflict of interest was the first thing that popped into Barnes’ head. He’d lose his job for sure.
But if he didn’t get involved, he could lose much more. Zack’s past always hovered above Barnes and Zack’s group like a persistent fog. Sometimes it rose high enough that no one cared about it, but other times, like now, it settled in for the long haul sure to cloud everyone’s view.
Barnes rubbed his forehead. What am I going to do? Zack did not do this. I don’t think. Did he? I have to stay involved. Goddamnit, Zack. What the hell did you do now?
Barnes looked at his watch again. Eight AM. His cell should ring anytime now. He stood from his desk and saw lead homicide detective, Steve Kirby, enter the squad room. Barnes left his office and met him.
“Steve, how does it look?”
Kirby took his suit coat and placed it over his chair. “I’ll tell ya, Cap, this one looks like it was wrapped in lace and topped with a gold ribbon for us. One of those too-good-to-be-true things.”
“How long between the call and the first responders arrival?”
Kirby looked at his notes. “From the call until we broke in took twenty-eight minutes.”
“In twenty-eight minutes, we went from a guy hearing a girl getting beat up, to a guy slashing a woman, her bleeding out?”
“The guy was kneeling on the bed when we broke in. Maybe he was taking his time.”
“Any follow up with the initial caller?”
“No. Dispatch said the caller wouldn’t give any personal information. In the wind now.”
Barnes nodded. “Let’s see if we can find out who made that call,” he said.
“We’re asking the tenants now.”
“Did they do a tox screen?”
“Should have. I’ll check.”
Barnes frowned and Kirby disappeared with his cell phone in hand. Barnes pulled his cell phone out of the case on his belt and dialed a number. “This is Barnes, where’s the murder suspect now?...No, he’s not going there. Take him to ISO 1 and keep him there. My orders and keep it quiet. This is my deal.” He hung up and dialed the number to Kayla Dorsey. “Hey, Kayla, it’s Barnes.”
“Hey, Captain, what’s up?”
“Did you order a tox screen on the suspect?”
“Of course I did. That’s SOP. You know that. Why?”
“Crossing t’s and dotting I’s, that’s all. I’ll find you later.” He hung up and saw Kirby return with a disappointed look on his face.
“No,” he said. “Not yet. They’re on it now.”
Barnes shook his head angrily. “What the fuck was the hold-up?”
Kirby shrugged. “I guess we brought in some doped-up gangbangers overnight and the lab team is backed up processing them.”
Barnes shook his head. He understood being understaffed and overworked. “Make sure it gets top priority.”
“Captain, did I hear you correctly? You want this guy in ISO 1? He’s a cold-blooded murderer. The press will fry you if they find out you’re giving him special treatment.”
“Then make sure the press doesn’t find out. No one does,” Barnes said firmly. “Or we all go down together. Understood?”
Kirby understood. He stared at his captain. “Ted,” he said at length, “I know enough about Stack. Two of our brothers were killed by him. Why are you protecting him?”
Barnes knew otherwise. I shot them because they were bad cops and tried to kill Stack. “Stall the press. Standard we’re not releasing information until we notify crap. Don’t even mention her color and if it comes up, say you can’t answer anything until we notify the family. Do you understand?”
Kirby nodded. “I understand something is going on here and you aren’t telling me about it.”
Barnes shook his head. “Just don’t leak a damn thing.” Ted Barnes turned and walked away. There’s more than something going on here I’m not telling you about. Damn it, Zack. I knew my association with him would come back to haunt me.
Copyright © 2020 Andrew Gruse