by C. M. Sutter
Jack and I turned left. Eight Italian marble steps down and a stainless steel handrail took us to a hallway on the bottom floor. The first room on the right was the crime lab. We pushed through the glass door and saw Kyle seated in front of his computer. He had returned early with Doug and Jason to work on the fingerprints.
“Got anything?” I asked.
We grabbed a couple of roller chairs and pulled up alongside him.
“Yeah, we have a fingerprint match. I was just about to call you. Take a look. This guy has plenty of priors. His rap sheet is extensive for a kid”—he paused to scroll the sidebar—“that’s only twenty years old. Name is Morris King, and he’s been around the block a few times, starting with juvie at age eleven. Petty theft, burglary, battery, and most recently he spent six months in jail for distributing controlled substances, primarily oxy.”
“Where did he live?” I leaned over Kyle’s shoulder to take a closer look.
“Milwaukee. Address is in the inner city off North Avenue. Nothing good ever happens in that neighborhood. A lot of gang-related activity like drive-by shootings, robbery, battery, and rape. It’s all par for the course in that area.”
“Did you figure out what was in the baggie?”
“Yeah, OxyContin. As far as the body goes, he looks relatively clean on the initial exam, according to Doug. The autopsy hasn’t begun yet, but the kid doesn’t have any track marks or other obvious signs of substance abuse. Toxicology will take a few days.”
“Hmm… okay. Print out the home address for me. Ready for a drive, Jack? It looks like we’re off to Milwaukee to notify his family.” I checked the time on the analog clock above the bank of computers stationed at the back wall—almost two p.m. “Maybe we can grab something at a drive-through on our way.”
My cell phone rang just before we headed out. Clayton was calling.
“Hey, Jade, just checking in.”
“Clayton. How’s the search going?”
“Still nothing. Found a few old rusty chunks of metal in one field. Looks to be something that fell off a tractor. Other than that—zilch.”
“Yeah, sounds like our perp covered his tracks pretty well. You’ve got four deputies out there with you?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay, give it another hour or so, then call it quits. Report in to the lieutenant when you get back. Jack and I are headed to Milwaukee to inform the next of kin.”
“So the boys found a fingerprint match?”
“Yeah, they sure did. It looks like the kid has been in the system for a while.”
“Roger that. Okay, talk to you later.”
At three o’clock, we pulled up along the curb in front of a modest, worn-looking clapboard bungalow on Garfield, just south of and parallel to North Avenue. Plastic sheeting covered a broken window, and the peeling paint curled upward from sun damage and years of neglect. Fallen roof shingles lay in the unattended weed-filled yard. The neighborhood was littered with vacant boarded-up houses mixed in with the occupied ones. Images of criminal activity filled my mind thanks to the unkempt area and the number of people lingering at street corners and on stoops as they watched us exit our unmarked cruiser. That was one of the most run-down, crime-ridden areas of Milwaukee.
I knocked on the door twice before I heard footsteps approaching. A deep growl came from not more than ten inches away. Only a front door that had seen better days separated us from what sounded like a large, angry dog. The curtain to our right shifted. A man’s face stared out at us, giving us the once-over. He looked to be a tall, skinny man in his midforties, I’d guess. He resembled the type of person that got most of their needs fulfilled with beer and cigarettes rather than healthy meals.
“Sir, we’re with the Washburn County Sheriff’s Department.” Jack and I showed him our badges through the glass. “We need to speak to somebody about Morris King. We’d like to come in, but the dog will have to be removed from the room first.”
“What’s this about?”
“Are you related to Morris King, sir?”
“I’m his uncle and his legal guardian. What do you want?”
“May we come in? We have information about Morris.”
He dropped the curtain back, and I heard him call the dog away. The sound of footsteps returned, and he opened the door to the end of the chain lock.
“Is the dog secure in another room?”
“Yeah.”
“May we enter?”
He closed the door, released the chain lock, and opened it fully.
“Sir, I’m Sergeant Jade Monroe, and this is Detective Jack Steele. We’re from the criminal investigations unit of the sheriff’s department. We’d like to talk to you about Morris. Your name is?”
“The name is Terrance King. Criminal investigations unit? What did Morris do now?”
He pointed to the sofa. He took a seat on the rocking chair facing us from the other side of the small living room. I did a quick assessment of the area I could see. The smell of stale cigarettes and garbage filled the house. I wished a window had been open. Dirty ashtrays sat scattered about on every flat surface. Disarray was rampant. What looked like years of stacked newspapers and magazines sat in the corner of the living room. Most of the window blinds had broken slats, and the beige carpet was threadbare and filthy. A quick glance into the kitchen told me the dishes hadn’t been washed in who knew how long. They overflowed the sink onto the countertops, and the table was just as bad. I turned my attention back to Terrance King.
“Does Morris legally live here? You said you were his guardian.”
He smirked. “This is his address on record, but is he ever around? No, ma’am. I see that boy now and then when he comes home to shower and put on clean clothes. He’s out with his crew most all day and night.”
“Does Morris have a job?” I asked. I watched Jack jot down everything Terrance was saying.
Mr. King laughed and slapped his knee. “He sure does. That’s if selling drugs and stolen goods is a job.”
“Mr. King, I don’t want to prolong this more than I have to. We’re here to inform you that Morris has passed away. We’ll need to know everything you can possibly tell us about his friends, his hangouts, and so on.”
“Oh my, my, my, dear Jesus… did he overdose on something?” Terrance wiped his eyes and shook his head. “It was only a matter of time.”
I stole a glance at Jack and let him continue for me.
“Mr. King, we need to know if Morris had enemies or if anyone has threatened your family.”
“What… enemies? I don’t know. Like I said, he hardly comes home anymore. Why are you asking about that?”
“Morris met up with foul play, Mr. King. He was murdered,” Jack said.
Terrance hung his head and whispered what sounded like a prayer.
Jack waited out of respect, then continued, “We’re going to need you to identify the body since you were his guardian. We have a picture with us today, but you’ll still need to come to our county morgue for an official ID.”
I opened my iPad and brought up the picture Doug had taken of Morris on the autopsy table. We made sure he was exposed only from the chin up.
Terrance studied the photo while a tear rolled down his cheek and fell to his shirt. He reached for a tissue, blew his nose, and cleared his throat. He nodded. “It’s Morris.”
“Mr. King, the reason we’re here is because his body was found in our county. Now keep in mind, Washburn County is thirty-five miles from here. Do you know if Morris knew anyone out our way?”
“Can’t say that I do. That boy didn’t talk much, especially to me, even though I was his only kin. He was court ordered to live with me when his mama died ten years back. She was a junkie, nothing but bad news. His old man, my brother, Leonard, has been in the system for fifteen years.”
“Prison?” Jack asked.
“Waupun. Haven’t seen the man since he was sent up. He’s no good.”
Jack wrote it down. “No o
ther siblings?”
“Nope, it was only Morris.”
“What about his boys—the crew Morris hung with?” I asked.
“I only know first names, but they all live nearby. Devon, Kev, Marshon, and James come to mind. That’s all I know.”
Jack wrote down the names.
“Did Morris have a cell phone?”
“Cell phone? Yeah, sure he did.”
“Would you happen to know what service provider he used? There wasn’t a cell phone on his person, but we could order up his records if we knew the provider and number.”
“Give me a minute.”
Mr. King rose and walked down the hall, his shoulders slumped. He entered the second room on the left. There were sounds of drawers opening, papers shuffling, and drawers closing before we heard footsteps walking the hallway back toward us. Mr. King had a phone bill in his hand.
“Morris’s phone bill came last week. Guess he won’t be needing it now.” He handed it to me.
“Thank you, sir. This should be a big help. Did Morris have his own bedroom here?”
“Yeah, sure, that’s where the phone bill was. I put all his mail in his room.”
“How often do you think he actually came home?” Jack asked.
“Once a week, I suppose.”
I gave Jack a hopeful glance. “Would you mind if we took a look in his room? I’d hate to go through the red tape of getting a warrant if we don’t need to. There may be something in there that could help us.”
“It’s a mess, but go ahead. He won’t care anymore.” Terrance led us down the hall to Morris’s room. “This is it.”
“Okay, thank you. We won’t take too long.” Then I told Jack, “We better glove up.”
Jack and I entered the small, darkened room. I flipped on the light. Only one bulb lit up in the three-bulb ceiling fixture. I looked up. The other two were definitely burned out. The bed was unmade, clothes were strewn across the floor, and the room was a mess. We opened drawers, looked under the bed, and checked the closet. A shoebox on the top shelf caught my attention. The dozen or so shoes in the closet were tossed on the floor as though they meant nothing. Why keep a box?
“Jack, can you reach that shoebox? Let’s take a look inside.”
“Yeah, sure.”
He pulled it down and opened it on the bed. Inside was a .22 Ruger revolver, a stack of cash, and plenty of bagged pills.
“Yeah, that’s not good.” I took several pictures with my cell phone. “Crap—now what? This isn’t our jurisdiction.”
“Call the lieutenant and see what he says. We haven’t had a predicament like this before.”
I agreed and made a quick call to Lieutenant Clark and explained the situation. I told him the room didn’t appear to be a crime scene, yet the things we’d found so far could be considered evidence related to Morris’s murder.
I looked around as I spoke. “The room is a mess, Lieutenant. What should we do?”
“Okay, I’ll make calls to the proper authorities in Milwaukee. I’ll explain the situation and have them meet you at the residence. Turn over the evidence you found to them and they can take it from there.”
“Will do.”
Jack and I found Terrance sitting in the kitchen on the only chair that wasn’t covered with an accumulation of junk. We stood.
“Mr. King, we found some illegal items in Morris’s room that are going to be confiscated. As long as your fingerprints aren’t on any of those items, you’re in the clear. The Milwaukee PD is coming by to take what we found and to fingerprint you. It’s in your best interest to cooperate with them. It shouldn’t take long.”
Terrance nodded. “I never go in that boy’s room other than to set his phone bill in there. I don’t know what he has, and I sure haven’t touched anything illegal.”
“We understand and appreciate your cooperation. We’ll wait here for them to show up. Should only be a few minutes.”
“Mr. King, do you have a pastor or someone to contact for funeral arrangements?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, Brother Tate Johnson at Calvary Baptist Church two blocks away. He’s a good man and our local minister. I’ll take care of it. When will Morris’s body be brought home?”
“It might take a while, but we do need the official ID as soon as possible. This is a criminal case, Mr. King, and we have investigating to do. As soon as we have something concrete to go on, we’ll let you know when the body can be released.”
“I’ll come by tomorrow,” he said.
I saw the cruiser pull up to the curb. We handed Terrance our cards, and I told him we’d be in touch.
“Please call either of us if you think of anything else that might help. We want to apprehend Morris’s killer as soon as possible.”
We shook his hand and went outside with the shoebox to explain the situation to the officers.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out of my pocket. The lieutenant was calling back.
“Hey, boss.”
“Jade, here’s how we’re going to do this. I talked to the third district PD, and they want you to stop in before you head back. You’ll go over everything you guys know up to this point with them. Ask for a Detective Lindstrom. Apparently he knew Morris and the boys he runs with. It looks like this may end up being a joint effort, but they’re fine with taking the house off our hands.”
“Got it. I’ll update you after we talk to them. The officers just arrived, and we’re explaining the situation to them. We’re giving them the items we found as we speak.”
I hung up, and we left. From there, we had only a six-block drive to the third district police station.
“This looks like the place,” I said as Jack pulled up. “Let’s see what Detective Lindstrom knows.”
Jack parked, and we walked up the sidewalk to the Cream City brick modern-looking police station. The curved facade held green-tinted windows that spanned the entire front of the building. We entered at the ground level, approached the reception counter, and introduced ourselves to the officer. I told him we were there to speak with Detective Lindstrom. He nodded, asked us to wait, and disappeared through the gray steel door behind the counter.
The lobby was nice, clean, and brightly lit for a police station. Black granite floors sparkled beneath our feet, and the cushy green guest chairs in the waiting area were comfortable. Matching potted ficus trees flanked each side of the double glass entry doors that bore the police department logo facing the street side.
Five minutes had passed, and the door finally opened. A fortyish looking tall gentleman walked toward us and extended his hand. I sized him up immediately. He was dressed nicely in a starched white shirt tucked into black pleated trousers. A dark blue paisley-patterned tie was double Windsor knotted around his neck. He had a thick head of blond hair and pretty blue eyes. He looked like a decent guy.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Detective Bill Lindstrom,” he said as he vigorously shook our hands.
I introduced Jack and myself, then we followed him back to his desk. Their bull pen was huge. Twenty desks filled the room, with plenty of activity going on. Each desk faced another, likely partners grouped together. A guest chair sat to the left of each desk. Glassed-in offices surrounded the bull pen, and the hallway to the right led to the interrogation rooms and holding cells.
“Have a seat.” He pointed to the chair closest to his desk and pulled another one over for Jack. “Lieutenant Colgate is out right now. He would normally be sitting in on this, but I’m sure you’ll meet him later. Anyway, I took the liberty of making you copies of each of Morris King’s known associates that has a jacket with us. I know these characters, and most of them are nothing but trouble. Hopefully you can get a little information that might help, but they’re a tight-lipped group. It sounds like we might be working together for a bit.”
“Anything you can do to help us would be appreciated. We’ve never had a murder case that crossed county lines.”
“I understand. So Morris died y
esterday, huh?”
“Yes. We have a window putting his TOD in the early hours of yesterday morning, most likely a little after midnight. Two men fishing on a lake in Washburn County came upon his body against the shoreline. They called it in shortly after seven a.m.”
Detective Lindstrom glanced in each direction before continuing. “Lieutenant Clark said his throat was slashed?”
“I’m afraid so. The scene was pretty horrific, yet we didn’t find a shred of forensic evidence.”
He rubbed his chin and raised his brows. “That makes me think the murder would have been from someone else. These knuckleheads Morris knows aren’t that smart. There would have been something left behind just from clumsiness if nothing else. Plus there are plenty of places right in the city to dump a body. It doesn’t sound like the work of the punks in this neighborhood. They aren’t that ambitious to drive to another county to dump off a dead body. Seems like someone thought this one out.”
I shrugged and looked toward Jack. “He has a point, you know.”
“Have you heard of any chatter about Morris? Bragging, posturing, and the sort? Anyone with a beef against him?” Jack asked.
Detective Lindstrom leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “Around here, everyone has a beef against somebody. There’s a lot of gang activity in these parts. They could have been your boy’s best friend yesterday and his killer today. Depends on what’s in it for the person doing the dirty work, if you know what I mean.”