by Randall Dale
The forensics tech reached for the apparatus and studied the workings of the prosthesis and the sole of the shoe. With nimble fingers, he unbuckled the device and extracted it from the shoe, turning it over and around in both hands to see from all angles. He shook his head. “There’s no way this made the prints at the murder scene. I’ve gone over the casts with a fine-toothed comb.” He slid the shoe and prosthetic device across the table.
“It won’t match. This is not the guy.”
Demetrius sat back in his chair. “Whoa, wait a minute. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Aren’t you?”
The big man looked across the table at William’s calm face and realized that like Dusty, he was sure. He waved his hand.
“But you don’t even limp.”
“No, sir. I’ve worked for the last two years to learn to walk normally. I’m just like everyone else except my foot is metal and leather. Outside of my family, I doubt anyone knows.”
Demetrius rubbed the table, his face screwed into a frown. “But the bullet with the fingerprints. How did it get into your backpack?”
“Can’t answer that other than I guess someone slipped it in there.”
Demetrius felt an inexplicable release of tension in his back and shoulders. He wanted to put somebody in jail, but was relieved this boy was innocent.
“Would you mind waiting for just a moment longer?”
“I’ll wait, sir.”
The three men stood and walked to the handleless door. It was opened from the outside by a uniformed officer. They congregated in the hall for a discussion on what to do now. Before a word could be spoken, another detective rushed toward them. He motioned for them to join him quickly.
“You guys have to see this.”
They followed him down a hall to a group of men and women huddled around a computer screen. Demetrius situated himself to look over everyone’s shoulders while Dan pushed forward so he could see. The screen showed a live, local TV station broadcast of the front of the building they currently occupied. A podium had been set up and the Lieutenant leaned to the microphone.
“We have a suspect in custody for the thumb murders. I’ve been right on top of this case and instructed the detectives to work around the clock if needed to bring the culprit to justice. I’m proud to say that my efforts and those of the detectives inside this building have come to fruition. Everyone can rest easy now. Our fair city is safe again.” He expansively waved his arm toward the horizon. “I’ll be glad to answer any questions you might have.”
Demetrius blinked dumbly. Surely he’d hadn’t actually heard what he thought he’d heard. It must be a joke. He focused again on the screen. A handful of reporters screamed questions at the Lieutenant. The man held his hands up, then chose an attractive news anchor.
She stepped forward. “Who is he and why did he kill?”
The Lieutenant got a worried look on his face. To Demetrius, he looked just like he did the day he’d jerked him over the desk with his tie.
“Uh… I can’t give that information out at this time. Thank you for your attendance and for your confidence in the Tucson Police Department.” He turned abruptly, leaving the podium and entering the double glass doors of the Violent Crimes Division Office.
Demetrius groaned. This wasn’t good. They were minutes away from giving William a ride home. He knew they would search his apartment for any additional evidence, but he was also sure they would find nothing. The crowd around the computer dispersed with several of the detectives slapping him on the back with congratulations. What was he going to do now?
◆◆◆
The actual killer read about the press conference later that evening in his apartment. His roommate was at his usual Tuesday night library appointment studying for finals. Edward sat at the kitchen table in his apartment checking the news on his computer when the headline caught his attention. THUMB MURDERER ARRESTED. He sucked air and quickly clicked the link. There was no picture, not even a name, only the statement made by some big-wig police guy about the murderer getting caught.
He wondered if his actions had led Demetrius to William or if it was a totally unconnected turn of events. While drumming his fingers on the table, he decided it had to be William. Who else could it be?
Edward wondered if there was a chance the square-faced boy might get convicted based on the bullet in his backpack. He thought of what he’d done and how he’d been able to steer the police in a completely wrong direction. He found himself smiling at the thought and recognized the sublime feeling of absolute power. He was smarter than them all!
He stood and paced the floor from the kitchen stove to the TV on the opposite wall. It must be William, but a growing sliver of doubt crept into his consciousness. He had to know. He glanced out the window to make sure his roommate wasn’t coming. Satisfied, he reached for his phone. In his contact list, he found Demetrius Crown. He pushed the connect button.
“Hello, Edward.” The voice sounded subdued and there were added sounds of traffic. He must be driving.
“Hi, Demetrius. Congratulations.”
“Humpff.”
There was no other conversation offered, and that simply wasn’t like Demetrius. He was usually talkative and friendly on the phone.
“I see where you caught the guy.”
The phone was silent for ten seconds.
Edward cocked his head. “Hello?”
“I’m still here. It was the Lieutenant. He went off half-cocked and called a press conference. We brought in a boy for questioning, that was all, but the Lieutenant got the idea we had him dead to rights. Nothing could be further from the truth. The kid we brought in wasn’t the guy. We know that now.”
There was a sudden pain in Edward’s stomach. How could they be so sure so quickly? He was careful not to sound too anxious for news and debated whether to ask more questions, but his curiosity got the better of him.
“How do you know?”
“It was Dusty. You know, the guy I told you about? The forensics tech? It was his doing. He wanted to see if the feet matched his mockups of the prints from the inside of the shoes. The boy we had for questioning couldn’t have made the prints because he got his foot blown off in Iraq two years ago. He was almost killed. I guess that’s why he was so calm. He’s faced more trying circumstances.”
Edward was reeling. No foot? How could he have known that William didn’t have a foot? What were the chances of that? For a moment his concern doubled, then he realized again the police had no evidence even slightly pointing in his direction.
“So, what now?”
“As far as the case goes, back to square one.” Demetrius breathed into the phone. The loud, rasping sound irritated Edward. He held the phone from his ear.
“But as for the Lieutenant, we don’t know where that will lead. He’s going to have to issue some kind of statement and he’ll certainly be raked over the coals by the Chief. The idiot jumped to conclusions so now we all have egg on our face.”
Edward tried hard to sound caring and concerned. “You’ll get him, Demetrius. You’ll get him.”
He pushed the disconnect button then slid the phone into his shirt pocket. Maybe it was time to lay low for a while. This would be a good time. He’d be finished with finals in two days, then back to San Diego for Christmas break. He had almost four full weeks off. Yes, he decided, time to lay low.
◆◆◆
Dan waited in the parking lot when Demetrius drove up. He looked unhappy and it didn’t take much imagination for Demetrius as he thought about the Lieutenant. He’d fretted all night about the situation. He knew the Lieutenant well enough to know the man would do just about anything to escape the blame for this fiasco even though every ounce of it belonged on his shoulders.
The morning paper had carried the word-for-word transcript of the press conference and reporters were openly questioning why there was no release of the arrested man’s name or mug shot. They questioned if an arrest had been made at al
l.
Demetrius knew the Chief would be involved and would probably chew the Lieutenant up and spit him out, then it would roll downhill. Judging from the expression on Dan’s face, the rolling had already started.
The big man shook his head, inwardly knowing nothing good would come out of this. He would be blamed because he was the lead detective, but the blame would not stop there. He could picture the headline now, TUCSON POLICE INCOMPETENT. Well, there was one member of the police who fit that description, the Lieutenant over the Violent Crimes Division.
He parked and stepped out as Dan strolled to the car’s side.
“Morning.”
Demetrius leaned against his car. “What’s happening inside?”
Dan frowned while pointing over his shoulder. “The Lieutenant has been throwing things since before I got here. He’s been cussing you with every breath. I’m surprised he hasn’t had a stroke.”
Demetrius glanced toward the four-story building to his right, his mind’s eye imagining the unpleasant scene inside. He could feel his face tightening into a grimace. With a sigh, he touched his partner on the shoulder. “Shall we get it over with?”
Together they haltingly strolled toward the front entrance. They walked up the front steps, still twenty feet from the front door when it opened outward amidst screams of profanity. The Lieutenant ran toward the men with wide eyes and a flushed face. The veins of his neck protruded visibly. He really did look like he would have a stroke.
“How could you do this to me? You said his prints matched, then you turn him loose? The Chief is beyond mad, he’s threatened to demote me and it’s all your fault.”
Demetrius had never seen the man so worked up. The detectives stopped and so did the Lieutenant, one step above them. He and Demetrius were at eye level, noses barely twelve inches apart. As Demetrius gazed at the man, he had a sudden recollection. For some reason, he saw clearly a twenty-year-old memory of him sitting in the dorm room with half the football team watching reruns of an old Andy Griffith TV show. The screen showed Barney Fyfe, worked to a frenzy, his comb-over hair hanging at his forehead and his eyes blazing fire just like the Lieutenant. The team laughed hysterically at the bumbling deputy.
The big detective felt it coming and he tried to control it, but was unsuccessful. He started laughing. Maybe it was the stress he’d been under these past weeks or possibly he was just tired, but no matter the reason, he lost it. The realization of the similarities of Barney and this worthless administrator standing almost apoplectic was more than he could bear. It started as a chuckle then quickly advanced to raucous laughter so intense he could hardly breathe. He stood, hands on knees, peering up as the seething man turned and ran back into the building.
Demetrius regained some semblance of composure. He turned to face the street and with a grunt, lowered himself to sit on the steps. He looked at Dan, then chuckled again and invited his partner to sit with him.
“I’m sorry, Dan. I just couldn’t help it.” He laughed again. “I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard since I don’t know when.”
Dan grinned. “You’re braver than I am.”
“Nothing to do with brave. I think we’ve been under too much stress lately and that was just a good release.” He slapped his knee. “Did you see him turn tail and run back up the steps?” He howled again and elbowed his partner.
Dan joined in. Together they sat and laughed for another minute.
◆◆◆
Demetrius sat at his desk contemplating what the result of the scene on the steps might be. He’d been in the wrong and now the Lieutenant was madder than ever. Could this be the final straw? The thought was troubling. He’d been a good cop, the only blemish on his record the scuffle with the Lieutenant. In retrospect, he thought of his career and his climb through the ranks. He’d worked hard from the beginning. From the start, his goal had been to be a detective. That’s all he ever wanted to be.
He frowned. That wasn’t exactly true. He had wanted to be an NFL running back, to make the big money, to be on TV and to be famous. He thought of others who’d had the same dream. Of all he knew, only a tiny handful went pro and of those, only one came to be anything close to famous.
His thoughts turned to Carl Smallwood. If not for the professor, there was no telling where he might have ended. The previous twenty years flashed through his consciousness. They’d been good years, he’d been successful and he had a family.
A vision of Wanda popped into his brain. She was the love and light of his life, the best thing that had ever happened to him. With a shake of his head, he realized that Carl had been a player in that aspect of his life also. If not for the example and encouragement, he never would have had the courage to propose. Carl Smallwood’s impact on his life had been more than huge. In many ways, Demetrius owed his entire life to the man.
With that thought, his determination to find the killer grew in his chest. He combed through the files again, looking for some minuscule particle of information he’d overlooked, something that could start to tie the loose ends. The results were as before, disappointing. At the end of two hours, he abruptly stood. There was nothing in the files he could see, but there was something intangible, a fleeting essence of connection floating in the back of his mind, but he could not put his finger on it. Somewhere amidst the people involved in this case, there was a connection. He could feel it there, like the faintest hint of a woman’s perfume, but it was a blurry picture he could not bring into focus.
By midmorning, he still had his job and by all outward appearances, everything seemed to be back to normal. The Lieutenant stayed holed up in his office, probably afraid to show his face. Demetrius knew he should feel guilty for his actions but he just couldn’t bring himself to conjure up any pretense of feeling sorry for the man.
It had been the jerk’s own fault, calling a press conference without the facts, then trying to browbeat Demetrius on the steps as if it was the detective’s doing. Demetrius smiled again at thinking of the meeting on the steps and the mental picture of Barney Fyfe. He knew a price would have to be paid and the time was soon. The Lieutenant wouldn’t let something like that go unpunished for he was the boss, had the authority and would not be afraid to use it.
The big man knew full well the consequences could be severe. He might even lose his job. He hoped for a better outcome but accepted the drastic possibility. They’d be okay, he decided. He’d grown to love Tucson, his adopted city, and would hate to leave. He rubbed the polished wood of the desktop with a sigh. There were other detective positions in other cities. A man with his experience could get a job and over the years there had been offers from other municipalities, the most recent from Denver. The offer had been flattering but the thought of snow made him shiver. No city could compare with Tucson.
He walked down the hall toward the front door, slightly embarrassed at the half-hidden smiles from the other detectives. He shook his head, glad they at least found something funny about the situation. He exited the building into the bright winter sun for an outside stroll to clear his head.
Car horns honked in the distance as he thought of the events of the previous day. He pictured the interview with William, the bullet falling from the backpack and the way it bounced through the slats on the bench then clinked to the floor. In his mind, he could see the young man sitting relatively calmly in the interrogation room. He thought of his own emerging hope that William would not be a suspect and he remembered the search of William’s two-room apartment.
He and Dan had given the boy a ride home. They had been invited in with no mention of a search warrant. They were introduced to the lady of the house, an attractive young mother with relief written on her face that her husband was home.
Immediately upon entering, they noticed several framed photos on the walls showing the young man in Iraq. He was smiling and happy and looked out with the same calm eyes that Demetrius had noticed several times during his interrogations. William willingly showed them his Glock a
nd his cache of Federal ammunition. The gun was cleaned and oiled and well taken care of.
At their leaving, Demetrius searched the boy’s face. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“No, sir. Go ahead.”
“When we called you out of class this afternoon you seemed so calm. Even when the bullet fell out and you were in danger of being arrested for murder, that didn’t seem to faze you. You seemed so confident and self-aware. How do you do that?”
William smiled self-deprecatingly and gestured toward a picture of him and four other soldiers in full battle gear in the blazing Iraqi sun. They smiled at the camera, full of bravado. He pointed to one of his companions.
“Mark Davidson from Toledo. He was killed over there.” He paused, an obviously painful memory clouded his face. In time, he pointed to another. “Samuel Washington. He lost an arm and a leg in the same IED that got my foot.” He paused again then lifted his leg and pulled the pant leg up showing the attachment point of the prosthesis. “I’m lucky to be alive and in as good shape as I am. Whatever comes, it can’t be as bad as what some people over there went through.”
Demetrius shook his head at the remembrance as he stood at the crosswalk waiting for the light to turn green. He consciously made up his mind to adopt William’s philosophy. Whatever came of his gaffe with the Lieutenant, it couldn’t be as bad as some people have it.
Chapter 22
Edward’s last final exam concluded Wednesday morning at eleven. His car was already packed so after returning to the apartment and grabbing a soda and a bag of chips, he hit the road for the six-hour drive to San Diego. On his way out of town, he flipped through the channels on the radio. He passed over one channel then hurriedly returned when he was sure the announcer mentioned, “Smallwood.”
It was the local talk station and the two hosts were discussing the thumb murders and the embarrassing press conference called by the Lieutenant of the Violent Crimes division of the Tucson Police Department. They played a clip of the short speech indicating the murderer was in custody, then another clip from the Chief of Police explaining that no actual arrest had been made.