True Blue Detective

by Vito Zuppardo

  “What does this mean?” Maxwell said walking to Jason. “What’s this book all about, son?”

  “Just people I know,” he said. He tried to stay calm, but he could feel his hands shaking, and he was afraid to talk for fear his voice would crack.

  “It doesn’t look like a typical address book, Jason.”

  “Yes, sir, it’s just people I know,” he said, trying to be convincing.

  Maxwell handed the address book to Officer Williams. “Have you ever seen notes kept on people like this?”

  “I can’t say I have,” he responded as he thumbed through the book. It hit Williams like a lightning bolt. “Maxwell,” he said as he motioned for him to meet him by his police car.

  “Stay put, hands high on the hood,” Maxwell said to Jason.

  Officer Williams turned to a page. “You see this name, Tom Nelson?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The address next to the name, 3705 Willow Street; that’s where a woman was murdered yesterday.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I was on the scene. I know the detective who is working the case.”

  Maxwell took Jason one hand at a time and handcuffed him, reading him his rights.

  “Man, this is bullshit. That’s not my weed, and it’s not enough marijuana to hold me,” Jason said as Maxwell put him in the backseat of his police car.

  Officer Williams followed Maxwell to the police station. On the way, Williams called the police station and asked for Detective Armando. It only took a few seconds, and they found Armando at home.

  “Detective Armando here,” he said, answering the telephone.

  “Sir, this is Officer Williams of the Third Police District. I’ve got Jason Sanders en route to the station, and he looks like a legitimate lead on the Willow Street murder.”

  “Lock him down and make sure no one talks to him,” Armando demanded. “I’m on my way.”

  Detective Armando drove from his Warehouse District condo to the downtown police station. It was pushing midnight and traffic was light, so it didn’t take long. Arriving at the police station, he went directly to the squad commander and checked in. Commander Waters briefed him on how the officers came to arrest Jason Sanders. Armando stopped to get a fresh cup of coffee on his way to the interrogation room.

  He poured his cup of coffee as he looked through Jason’s address book. “These notes just don’t make any sense,” Armando said to the commander. “Have you looked into this yet?”

  “We’re working on it,” the commander said.

  “See if these other addresses are linked to any crimes while I’m interviewing him.”

  “We are already working on it,” the commander said.

  Armando walked into the office next to the interrogation room and asked for an update from the arresting officer, Maxwell. The lighting wasn’t the best, and the desk was facing a one-way mirror into the interrogation area. Armando took a seat and asked Maxwell to tell his story, but he got no new information.

  Two police officers walked Jason into the interrogation room. They took the handcuffs off him, and he sat at the table. Armando picked up Jason’s address book. The commander handed him an earpiece, in case they wanted to tell him something while he was conducting the interview.

  “I guess it’s show time,” Armando said, opening the door.

  “Jason Sanders, I’m Detective Armando,” he said as he sat across the table from Jason.

  Armando had done these interviews a thousand times. Everyone who sat across the table from him had the same opening statement. They were innocent.

  “It would make life so easy if you would just confess from the start,” Armando said, then sat motionless staring at Jason. It was the game of who would blink first or who would turn away first. It didn’t matter, Armando always won.

  “What are you doing, man? Say something,” Jason said as he squirmed in his seat.

  Armando sat silently just looking into his eyes.

  Jason stood up and walked to the corner of the room, glancing back at Armando.

  “Say something!”

  Jason pulled a chair out and sat down. “You’re a freaky man. So, you’re going to sit and say nothing?”

  Armando had Jason in a panic. It was just the frame of mind he wanted him in so he could start the interrogation. Armando broke his silence.

  “What do you want me to say? Okay, I got something to say,” Armando said as he stood up and put one leg on his chair. “Why did you kill Jennifer Thompson?”

  “Kill who? I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Was Patty Nelson the primary target? Jennifer got in the way, so you killed her?” Armando said, never once blinking.

  “What kind of cop are you? I’m here because of some bullshit drug stop.”

  “Explain the notes next to the names in your address book.”

  “What notes?”

  “Next to Tom Nelson; wife sickly. How did you know she was recovering from cancer? Or, this one that has a note stating, old people. What does that mean?”

  “Man, I don’t know.”

  “Don’t bullshit me—Jason!” Armando shouted. Pushing a chair closer and taking a seat—then leaning into Jason’s face.

  “Is it just your bad luck that Jennifer is dead, and both old people are dead? Is that it, you’re running some bad luck?”

  “Detective Armando, we are not sure the old couple is dead,” a voice said over his earpiece.

  Armando looked at the one-way mirror as if to say, shut up, I’m running this investigation.

  “So tell me, Jason, do I need to check any other people in your book? How many are going to come up dead?”

  “Man, you’re crazy,” Jason said with fear in his eyes.

  “Come clean now, and I’ll cut you a break. Make me work for the truth, and you’ll be at the Louisiana State Penitentiary as Bubba’s girlfriend. That’s right, Angola for twenty-five years; you think about it,” Armando said as he walked out of the room.

  Armando walked into the adjoining room. The commander was quick to ask him, “You’re sure that is the best way to handle this kid?”

  “Yes, he is about to crap his pants, and now I’m going to lean a little harder.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” the Commander said as he pulled out a chair and took a seat.

  “Of course, I do,” said Armando, giving his usual smirk he knew the commander hated. Armando headed back into the interrogation room with two police officers.

  He opened the door to the room with force and aggressiveness. The two police officers followed.

  “Book him! First-degree murder.”

  “What! Man, this won’t stick. I didn’t kill anyone!” Jason fearfully shouted.

  “Your fingerprints are all over this,” Armando said, staring Jason down.

  The officers handcuffed Jason and put him in shackles. The fear in Jason’s eyes grew stronger with every second. It was just what Armando wanted.

  Jason walked passed him dragging the shackles, and Armando just looked into his eyes. He took his fingers and put it to his ear like a phone. “Wait, Jason, this call is for you,” Armando said, getting his attention. “What’s that? Oh, it’s Bubba from Angola prison. He said he couldn’t wait to see you.”

  Jason’s face went from fear to horror, and Armando wanted that.

  He walked down the hall with a police officer on each arm twisting his head back to view Armando, shouting. “You can’t do this, man!”

  The commander rushed in. “What grounds do you have to book him?”

  “None yet; but I’ll have something before the arraignment in the morning,” Armando said with confidence.

  Chapter 12

  It was three in the morning, and Armando headed home to get some sleep before he started another day of investigating crime-stricken New Orleans. He was a devoted detective, and that was the lifestyle he chose. Armando rolled into bed; put his hand over the police academy book he kept on his nightstand and sm
iled. As he drifted off to sleep, he reminisced about the Christmas that changed his life.

  A bicycle, video games, or some hot toy of the season is what most twelve-year-old kids put on their Christmas list; not Armando. He lobbied his mom and dad for just a few items. Strange request for a twelve-year-old; he kept promoting and moving the most important gift he wanted to the top of the list.

  At twelve years old, Armando knew he wanted to be a police officer. He would watch all the police shows on television. In the privacy of his home, Armando would act out arresting someone in front of his bathroom mirror. He memorized police codes from television programs.

  Then it happened, the long-anticipated Christmas morning arrived. Like most kids, he made it down to the Christmas tree hours before anyone else. There it was, the three, most-wanted items. A New Orleans police jacket with big print on the front and back that stated this is not an official police jacket. It didn’t matter because the jacket was black and he put black electrical tape over the inscription and printed his name on top of the tape. In his mind, it was official, and that is all that mattered to Armando.

  Then he opened the next gift. It was heavy, and from the shape, he knew what it was. He ripped the wrapping paper off, and his eyes took in the bright blue police scanner. Not just a scanner but also a scanner radio, allowing him to hear numerous police calls at once. A dream come true, to hear firsthand the dispatcher talking directly to the police. Some people said it was bordering on illegal to own one, but he now had one and didn’t care.

  Then he opened the last gift. He had asked for it but had no idea if such a thing would be available. He knew his dad could work miracles, but this was over the top. He savored the moment and slowly slipped it out of the box. There it was in the traditional black leather with the official New Orleans police symbol on the cover. Printed in white letters was New Orleans Police Academy Handbook. The real study guide that officers received the first day they got to the academy. He counted on his fingers; he was eight years away from being eligible to even take the test. It didn’t matter to Armando. The wait was worth it, and he had an eight-year head start on becoming a New Orleans police officer.

  His alarm went off at six in the morning, and Armando was up and ready for his morning run. He dressed in a worn-out, New Orleans Saints jersey that should have been retired years ago, shorts with the New Orleans police logo on each leg, and running shoes. He took the elevator to the ground floor and stretched his legs, getting ready for his run as the elevator slowly descended.

  “Good morning, Detective Armando,” Jeremy, the doorman, said in a loud tone as Armando walked out of the elevator.

  Jeremy always announced Armando’s name loud and clear as did other residents of the building. They were very appreciative that Armando lived there and wanted everyone to know he was an officer of the law. The condo board approved his application for residency within hours of submitting, something that rarely happened. The board even allowed a private parking place in the front of the building, an old cotton warehouse from years ago turned into upscale condos, like many of the old Warehouse District buildings. Having a New Orleans police officer living in the building and his police cruiser so obviously visible sent a message to the thieves of the city. When Armando moved in, the word spread quickly that a New Orleans police detective was a resident and that alone kept the place safe.

  He made his run down Magazine Street, across Canal Street, and through the French Quarter, occasionally waving to restaurant owners sweeping the front of their businesses as they got ready to open for breakfast. His two-mile run finished at the Napoleon House Café, a building that dated to the 1800s. He sat at his usual table, and the waiter brought over his usual cup of coffee with a plate of fresh beignets. His corner table allowed him to people-watch as truck drivers started their morning deliveries before the French Quarter got crowded with tourists.

  He jogged back to his condo, took a quick shower, and threw on a fresh, white, dress shirt. Little more than an hour had passed and Armando was in his police cruiser heading to his first stop of the day to solve the Nelson home break-in and homicide.

  His first stop was Riverside Inn. He pulled up at the front entrance and parked in a no-parking zone. When on the job, a police officer can park anyplace, even in the street if he thinks it’s necessary. Armando, like many police officers, took advantage of that.

  He walked to the reception desk and asked for Zack Nelson. A nurse aide escorted Armando to his room. She knocked lightly, and Zack opened the door.

  “Detective Armando!” Zack said, surprised to see him so early in the morning. “Come in and have a seat.”

  Armando took a seat in the small bedroom.

  “Mr. Nelson, I have gone over in my mind many times trying to understand why your daughter’s house was a target.”

  “You think it was a target and not a random break-in?” Zack asked.

  “I’m sure it was not random. Maybe the criminal was after your police uniform,” Armando said as he got up and walked around the small room. “Sorry, I do my best thinking on my feet.”

  “No problem, whatever works for you,” Zack said. “But why would someone want my old uniform? It’s outdated, faded, and even has a smell.”

  “So dated that he walked out in broad daylight in front of about twenty police officers without being noticed,” Armando quickly replied.

  “But why?”

  “A bigger score; if the criminal knew you had a police uniform, he might parlay the break-in into a much larger payoff,” Armando said.

  “That’s difficult to believe,” Zack said in amazement.

  “Remember, someone getting killed might not have been in the plan. Just that person’s misfortune, unless it was some kind of hit?”

  “I’m sure it was not a hit; more like the wrong place at the wrong time,” Zack sadly said, looking at Armando with some confirmation he was right.

  “You’re probably right,” Armando said, grabbing the door handle. “You want to come along; I’m going to interview your daughter-in-law again.”

  “Sure!” Zack said, surprised at the offer.

  Detective Armando called ahead and told Patty they were on their way. She knew the police process through many stories Zack had told over the years. To solve any crime, the key witnesses had to provide themselves whenever the police called. Patty wanted justice for her friend Jennifer and would do anything to assist.

  Zack got into Armando’s police cruiser, and they took off, heading uptown.

  Zack listened to the police calls coming over the radio. “This brings back old memories; some good and some bad, mostly bad.”

  “You called Patty? It’s only eight-fifteen a.m. She might be sleeping,” Zack said.

  “Of course I called Patty, and she was getting dressed for work and asked if I would pick up a pack of cigarettes,” Armando said, handing Zack a bag from a local supermarket.

  “She got off the phone so quick, she failed to tell me the brand.”

  “Cigarettes?” Zack fearfully replied. He became terrified. “Something is wrong. Patty doesn’t smoke and she sure as hell doesn’t work. She has been recuperating from cancer. She’s not even discharged from her doctor yet.”

  Armando looked at Zack and could see he was concerned. “You sure about this?”

  “The cop in me tells me something is wrong,” Zack said with slight anxiety to his voice. “She doesn’t smoke, man!”

  “Something is wrong! She called me by my partner’s name. I thought she just made a mistake. She said ‘Truman, I can’t wait for you; I’m rushing to get to work’ and then said, ‘Okay, but pick up some cigarettes for me. I’m a nervous wreck and out of cigarettes.’ Then the phone went dead. No goodbye, no see you later, just silence.”

  Armando turned his flashing blue and red lights on as he stepped on the gas, weaving through morning traffic on Canal Street. He called for backup and told them not to approach the house. Everything had to look ordinary. They arrived a
t the corner of Willow Street and were met by two police cruisers. They parked down the street out of the view of Patty’s house.

  Armando and Zack got out of the car and tried to get a game plan together on how to approach the situation and most of all, to determine if there were any real threats involving Patty.

  Zack spotted a mail carrier delivering mail house to house on foot. The Uptown District was one of the few areas that still had door-to-door mail delivery. Zack discussed the plan with Armando, and they agreed, he would dress as the mail carrier to get closer to Patty’s house. The mail carrier walked to the corner of Willow Street and met with Armando, who explained the situation to him while sitting in the backseat of the police car. The mail carrier was a little reluctant at first, but seeing more police gathering, he understood the crisis.

  He and Zack exchanged clothes in the backseat of the police car. Zack came out looking like a conventional mail carrier with his hat pulled down over his forehead. Armando went over the plan for him to observe the house and seek information to feed back to him. The police were to make the deciding factor if Patty was in harm’s way.

  Zack walked up the street with the mailbag over his shoulder. Stopping at the first house, he slowly walked up the steps, observing his surroundings. He looked through the bundle of mail in his hand and dropped the letters and magazines through the front door mail slot for that address. He slowly strolled up the walkway to the next house, trying to see if there were any signs of distress at Patty’s house. The house was located only a few feet away, separated by a small, flower garden. He delivered the mail to the second house and slowly walked down the steps. He tried to take as much time as possible, focusing on Patty’s house for any clue of a problem or an intruder.