“Yes, sir.”
The sergeant returns.
“Everybody’s on J band, Boss. And 2505 shows two registered weapons: one Sig P210-9 mil, and one Pump action Remington Model 870 shotgun, with an eighteen-and-a-half-inch barrel.”
Mickey turns to the eager Stakeout team. “You got that?”
Both men give the thumbs-up.
“Okay. Then let’s do this.”
The two Stakeout cops cautiously make their way up the steps of 2505 Olive. They make eye contact, then turn back to Mickey and give a black glove thumbs-up. Mickey returns the gesture. They open the storm door, then kick in the front door as Mickey simultaneously transmits their entry to the district cops using the sergeant’s radio.
“Charlie 32 to Radio.”
“32.”
“Stakeout is inside the property. Stand-by.”
Within seconds, Mickey can hear them yelling back and forth, “living room clear,” basement clear,” “front bedroom clear,” until they secure the entire property. Mickey looks at the 9th District sergeant and says, “I don’t hear any shots. That’s a good sign.”
One of the Stakeout officers suddenly appears at the door and yells to Mickey, “Property secure, Captain.” The entire mission took less than eight minutes to complete. Mickey and the sergeant leave their position and walk to the front of the home.
The same Stakeout officer addresses Mickey. “Got an obvious 52-92, Boss. No other occupants. The vic is in the kitchen. Right side of his head is missing. Brain matter everywhere. White male. I’d say in his early sixties. He’s sitting at the kitchen table. Looks like two to the head and one to the chest.”
“Sounds right. I heard three shots. Did you find the Sig and the Remington?”
“Shotgun only, Boss. My partner already tagged it and secured it. It doesn’t look like it’s been discharged in a while. You coming in, Cap?”
“In a minute.”
Mickey turns to the sergeant. “Update Radio. Let them know no injuries to police. Have them cancel Rescue, notify Central and Homicide and send the ME. The detectives can make the rest of the notifications from here. And you can resume all your guys except two cops to guard the scene. You and your people did a nice job today, Sergeant.”
“Thanks, Boss. I’m on it.”
As Mickey follows the Stakeout officer through the house on the way to the kitchen, he makes mental notes of each area he passes. Experience has taught him that depending on their specialty some cops have tunnel vision. For example, a narcotics cop will step over a dead body to get to the drugs. But the homicide investigator will step over the drugs to get to the body. Stakeout cops are somewhere in between depending on their training and on the job experience.
When Mickey worked Homicide, he would often go back to a scene after it was processed. He’d stand there and take in the entire scene and record his impressions. Mickey was one of the few investigators who genuinely believed in the adage “mortui vivos docent,” let the dead teach the living. And that a crime scene can reveal what happened and in what sequence the crime occurred. It can also reveal what didn’t happen. And sometimes no evidence is evidence.
“He a friend of yours, Boss?”
“Negative. Only met Jerry once. But I was hoping to get to know him a little better. I came here this morning to talk to him about an old job.”
“Guess that’s not gonna happen now. Unless you can talk to the dead, Boss.”
Mickey laughs. “That only happens if they have saint in front of their name. Other than that…”
All three men laugh aloud.
Mickey points to a white PD-style memo pad under the kitchen table. Bannered across the top of the pad is a facsimile of the commander’s badge and the words FROM THE DESK OF. Pads just like them are used throughout the Police Department. Commanders request them through the Print Shop who then fabricates the pads with the commander’s name on them. The pad under Drum’s table has blood splatter down one side and is under the vic’s hanging pant legs partially obscuring the commander’s name.
“Looks like one of those notepads our boss uses. The ones with his name across the top. Don’t it?”
Not wanting to contaminate the scene any more than it already is, Mickey takes out his mini flashlight from his inside breast pocket, and aims it at the stained notepad. He tries to make out the name on the bloodstained pad.
“Mary, mother of God.”
One of the Stakeout officers comments, “That’s a strange name for a commander, Boss.”
Mickey smiles and chuckles.
“That’s my Catholic roots showing again. Do me a favor. Read the name printed across the top of that pad.”
The officer takes off his goggles, leans over and moves his black rubber-grip flashlight slowly back and forth across the pad. He adjusts his vision for the difference in lighting and reads the name aloud.
“Chief Inspector Michael Odysseus.”
“Hello! Maybe I can’t talk to the dead. But that doesn’t rule out the dead talking to me.”
The Stakeout officer remarks, “Odysseus? Man. I haven’t heard that name for a while. When I first got to Stakeout, back in ‘91, I remember how pissed off my CO was about the chief’s guys stealing one of our weapons vans. How did Drum get a memo pad with the chief’s moniker on it? He’s been gone for years.”
“TBD.”
“Say again.”
“TBD—to be determined. But I’d say this job is definitely not gonna be a simple ground-ball homicide. This is gonna get legs. I can feel it.”
The Stakeout cop takes a second look at the bloody pad, partially obstructed by the right cuff of Drum’s denim pant leg.
“Looks like there’s something printed on the bottom, Boss. Looks like—two words. I can only make out a few letters.” The officer begins to read each letter.
“D-u-l-i-n—Dulin? O-d-s-e-y—Odsey? Dulin Odsey. Mean anything to you, Boss?”
Mickey shines his light back on the bottom of the pad this time. He squints to help focus his less than 20-20 vision. He takes a few seconds to slowly mouth the two words aloud, then says, “Dulin Odsey—Dulin—Odsey—Dublin—Dublin Odyssey.”
“Dublin Odyssey? Yeah, that’s it. How ‘bout that, Boss? Does that mean something to you?”
“Motive! I’m thinking it could be the motive behind Jerry Drum’s demise. The who and maybe the why.”
The Stakeout officer shrugs at Mickey’s suggestion.
“Any idea who whacked this old guy, Cap?”
“Just a theory at this point. Whoever did it must have slipped out the back between the time I called it in and when the first unit arrived.”
“Looks like a pro hit. Quick in. Quick out. Two to the head and one center mass. No chance for survival.”
“Let’s see what Homicide can do with it. They’re the experts.”
“They have some good ones. But they also have some duds, Cap.”
“You’re right about that. But speaking of experts—you two guys did one heck of a job today. I was fortunate to have both of you on board. I’ll be sure to let your boss know. Is Captain Sinclair still your CO?”
“Teddy Sinclair. Yes, he is, Boss. And it was a pleasure to work for ya. It’s rare to meet a big boss who actually listens.”
“Listening and observing is the name of the game in this business.”
The 9th District sergeant, not wanting to violate crime scene protocol, calls Mickey from the front steps.
“Captain Devlin? Everyone has been resumed except 9-7 car sitting on the Stakeout truck, and the two officers you wanted to secure the scene. Radio just got back with a thirty-minute ETA for the Medical Examiner’s crew. And Homicide just pulled up.”
Mickey walks to the hallway to where he can better hear and see the sergeant. “Okay, Saarg. Be right with you. Oh, before I forget, extend your crime scene to include the yard and the alley. After Drum’s house, a cyclone fence runs along the rest of the alley and out to Meredith Street. I would have
seen if somebody ran that way. So, I’m certain the doer made his or her exit out the back and through the alley to 25th. I’ll get Homicide to add 25th Street to their neighborhood survey list. Somebody further up the road may have seen something they can run on.”
“I’ll take care of it, Boss.”
Mickey and the Stakeout team carefully walk back through the house down the steps to the front sidewalk. He sends the team over to Detective Cliver for a quick statement and turns the scene over to the sergeant for safekeeping. Then Mickey greets his old friend, Detective Sly Cliver from Homicide.
“Good morning, Clive. You all alone today?”
“My partner’s in court. He’ll join me shortly. I already have the Crime Scene Unit guys coming out. When I heard it was your job, I figured you’d want the whole nine yards.”
“Thanks, Clive. It does look like you may have caught a hummer with this one.”
Mickey gives Sly the rundown on the Drum drama and writes down a couple of things for him.
“Sounds like one of those jobs where there was only one witness and he’s dead, Boss.”
“That’s your specialty, Sly. But don’t forget the doer in that equation. When you get done here, call me, here’s my cell, and I’ll give you my formal statement. I’m on last out, so if you type it up and leave it in your box, I can drop by Homicide tonight and sign it. And I’d appreciate it if you could keep me in the loop on this one, unofficially of course.”
“Affirmative on all counts, Cap. Was the dead one a friend of yours?”
“Not really. Just a possible link to an old case.”
After Mickey “catches up” on all the new Homicide Unit rumors and scandals with Detective Cliver, he gets in his Mustang and heads for home.
What a morning. Wonder who’s gonna get the job of notifying Jerry’s loved ones. Retired PD employee? Should be the commissioner. Fat chance of that happening.
Mickey relishes the thought of the PC dialing up Castleknock, Ireland. Maybe I’ll suggest that I make the notification in person on my “Official Business” trip to the Emerald Isle. Mickey snickers, then turns on his favorite FM oldies radio station, turns the volume up just enough to cover his own singing.
Every night I hope and pray
A dream lover will hmm hmm
A girl to hold in my hmm hmm
And know the magic…
Mickey adjusts the volume again and makes his way back up “The Drive.”
CHAPTER 9
“Though there is no bone in the tongue, it has often broken a person’s head.”
Irish Proverb
Halfway up Kelly Drive, Mickey decides to call his good friend at the ME’s Office, Doctor David Steinberg. He and Mickey have worked together on countless high-profile jobs over the years. In 1993, they united to investigate the murder of a veteran narcotics detective and the senseless homicide of a senior citizen beloved by the residents of her west Kensington neighborhood. When the case made it to court, it was tagged by the national media as “The Bog Murders.”
Mickey turns down the volume on his radio and punches in the doctor’s office number. “The Doc” dodges most calls to his office number. But with any luck Mickey will catch Doc at a weak moment and he’ll pick up.
Sitting at his desk Doctor Steinberg lets the phone ring twice waiting for caller ID to kick in. But then decides to answer.
“Steinberg.”
“Devlin.”
“Oh, no! I cannot believe I’m getting a call from the famous PD Commander, Captain Mickey Devlin. How the hell ya doing, my old Irish friend? The bride and I were just talking about you at dinner last night.”
“Hey, Doc. Doing fine. Still on the PC’s bad boy list though. But all things considered, I’ll survive. And it’s always good to get back to the street. It recharges the soul. I’m doing my best to keep our city safe after the sun goes down.”
“Still in CIB?”
“Yep! But nothing is forever.”
“You’ll get discovered again. You always do. But I feel a lot better now that I know you’re out there patrolling the mean streets while I’m sleeping.”
“Yeah, right. Glad I could make your day, Doc.”
“So tell me, lad. Why the call? You should be in bed yourself.”
“You’re right. I should be in bed. But I got in the middle of a situation this morning. What I thought was gonna be a nice friendly discussion with a retired PD tow-truck driver turned into shots fired and the guy getting half his head blown off.”
“A head shot doesn’t sound like you. You’re more of a two quick shots to center mass kind of shooter. So I’m pretty certain you weren’t the triggerman on this one, Mick.” Doc can visualize Mickey holding the phone to his ear with a big smile on his ruddy complexioned face. “Am I right, Mister Night Commander and PD shooting team member?”
“You know me too well, Doc.”
“I should. I’ve handle enough of your jobs over the years. All righteous I would add. So I can easily recognize your preferred method for incapacitating an adversary.”
“Hard to break old habits, Doc. Besides, my preferred method as you call it, keeps me going home at the end of the tour. Why change now, right?”
“Absolutely! If it ain’t broke, right? Now tell me all about your ‘situation,’ Mick. Can’t wait to hear all the down and dirty details.”
Mickey fills the doctor in on how he came to know the recently departed Jerry Drum from the “old neighborhood.” Mickey begins with his early morning “talk” with Jerry at Central Detectives, Big Jack’s perusal of Jerry’s work history, and ends by summarizing the job on 2505 Olive Street. He also tells Doc that Drum had a 9 mil and a shotgun registered to him. For the moment, Mickey omits the discussion he had with the Dublin superintendent about Jerry and his brother Patrick and any link to the infamous Chief Odysseus. He also leaves out any mention of the photos he was faxed by Michael O’Leary of the two American “persons of interest” in Dublin.
“So how does the Medical Examiner’s office fit into all this? And I know you’re not telling me everything, Mick. I’m sure you have your reasons.”
Mickey doesn’t respond to the doctor’s supposition. Doc never thought he would. It’s just the way these two longtime friends and crime solvers let each other know, “they know.”
“Don’t want to prejudice your autopsy of Jerry Drum, Doc. You know what you always say, ‘An autopsy is only as good as the background information that accompanies it.’”
“You did read my book. Didn’t you, Mick?”
“Of course I did, Doc. I especially enjoyed all those gory, color, crime-scene photos you took of jobs I worked on while in Homicide.”
“I thought you’d like those, Mick. And I did give you honorable mention.”
“Indeed you did, Doc. Who knows, maybe we can get together on a second edition—if I ever, as you put it, get discovered again and find my way back to Homicide.”
“The PD would be wise to make that happen, Mick. But I have the feeling that regardless of where you end up there’ll be drama. It just seems to find you.”
“Seems that way, Doc.”
“So anyway I’m guessing you want a yell when I finish with your Jerry Drum. Am I right?”
“Yes. But let’s keep it on the down low for now, okay? This is a Homicide job all the way, for now anyway. Here’s my new cell number.”
“What? Mickey ‘those things give you brain cancer’ Devlin has a cell phone? What the hell happened to you, Mick?”
“I made captain. So via Commissioner’s Memo, yadda, yadda, yadda, all captains and above have to carry a cell phone on duty. In fact, the PC issued them to us. I try to keep the darn thing turned off. But it’s been getting harder and harder to do it.”
Doctor Steinberg writes down Mickey’s number in his pocket black-leather limited-entry book. “Okay, Mick. I got it. And I’ll call you, ‘on the down low,’ when the Drum prelims are done. And as a previous PD guy, I’ll push Jerry to the he
ad of the line.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“You gonna go home and try and get some shut-eye now, Mick?”
“Can’t, Doc. I need to get myself together and make an appearance at the PC’s. Gotta make a case for why I should be allowed to fly to Ireland on his dime.”
“Good luck with that. Whenever I talk to that guy, it’s like speaking to an empty shell inhabited by something pretending to be human.”
“That’s a classic, Doc.”
“Can’t take credit for that one, Mick. Heard it at a ME’s convention in New York.”
“I’m definitely gonna use that one. Gotta be just the right moment though.”
“Be my guest. And I knew you were looking for more than just autopsy results, Mick.”
“Also from your bestselling book, The Language of Bones, ‘What’s not looked for will not be found.’”
“Okay, Mick. You’re killing me with admiration. Please, no more quotes.”
“If you say so, Doc. I got a hundred of them.”
Doc laughs. “I’ll call ya, Mick. Good luck with that whole Ireland thing.”
“Thanks, Doc. I’ll need it.”
Mickey hits the end-call key on his cell. He looks at his watch. I may never get any sleep. By now Mickey’s off the drive and passing under the Cottman Street overpass on the Roosevelt Boulevard. After stopping at the WAWA on Grant Avenue for a low-fat French-vanilla cappuccino, he drives the mile to his single home just off Welsh and Pine roads.
After a quick shower, Mickey is still a bit hyper over the Kuhn DUI arrest and the Drum Homicide. He glances at his watch again. No way I’m gettin’ any shut-eye yet. Might as well pay an unannounced visit to the PC’s office. I-95 should be good by now.
So it’s back out the door and onto I-95 south. He finds his favorite oldies station again. Coincidently, his friend of forty years, Bernie Rabbit, is on the air and playing “Expressway to Your Heart,” the ‘67 hit by the Soul Survivors, a Philly R and B group. One of Mickey’s favorites. It reminds him of his teenage years and dancing with his future wife, on the Rabbit TV show. In fact in 1968, it was Bernie Rabbit who got the band for Mickey’s wedding. A band formed by the lead guitarist of The Maze, when the Survivors broke up. Mickey in his best second tenor voice sings along to the parts he can remember.
Dublin Odyssey Page 7