Killer Triggers

by Joe Kenda

  Kris was teaching a Sunday school class the other day when a kid raised his hand and said, “Isn’t your dad that Joe Kenda guy with a reality show on television?”

  Her teaching partner in the class, a former ATF agent, interrupted and said, “Please say it correctly. Her father doesn’t have a reality show. He has a documentary show! Don’t you dare put it in the same category as all those fake reality shows. Joe Kenda’s show is the real thing!”

  I like that guy.

  My son has to deal with these questions more often because he wears a name tag with “Kenda” on it in his work for the US Navy. He served twenty-six years as a high-ranking naval intelligence officer and now works as a civilian doing much the same work for the Navy.

  He’s even had admirals and other top officers ask if there is a Kenda family connection. Most don’t believe that “the guy on TV” is his father, but they think I might be a distant relative.

  One admiral scoffed when someone told him that Dan was my son, so when I was visiting their base in Norfolk, I stopped by the admiral’s office with an autographed picture for him.

  He turned beet red when I walked into his office, handed him the photo, and said, “Yes, I really am Dan’s father!”

  On another occasion, Dan invited me aboard a “tiger cruise” warship, the Navy’s first nuclear carrier, for a three-day trip from Florida to Norfolk. As we boarded, Dan said, “I want to take you to the admiral’s office. He wants to meet you.”

  This was a different admiral, and a quite renowned one at that. He was a three-star vice admiral who had been a legendary fighter pilot. He’d flown 125 combat missions and held the record for most landings on aircraft carriers.

  He was a very impressive fellow, and I was prepared to be awestruck. We walked into the admiral’s office, and it looked like a super-fancy hotel room with wood-paneled walls and oil paintings.

  The distinguished vice admiral greeted me with this opener in front of my son:

  “I have a bone to pick with you,” said the ship’s commander. “My wife is in love with you!”

  This didn’t seem like a good thing, so I tried diplomacy.

  “Maybe she is in love with both of us,” I said.

  “Well, I’ll tell you this,” said the admiral, “I’m just coming home from a shooting war and nine months of combat, and my wife says I can’t come home unless I bring your autograph for her!

  “She said, ‘If you don’t get it, don’t come home’!”

  “Well, here,” I said, grabbing a pen. “Let me take care of that.”

  It was the least I could do to promote world peace and domestic bliss.

  Kathy accompanied me on another visit, this one to a nuclear submarine docked in Pearl Harbor, where our son was stationed. As Kathy was coming down a ladder into the mess hall on the sub, she could hear one of the chiefs telling a dirty joke.

  He shut up and snapped to attention when he saw her. I think he was scared to death she’d be offended and tell Dan, who was one of the highest-ranking sailors on board.

  Instead, Kathy walked up to him, put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t sweat it, Chief. I’ve told that joke myself!”

  fending off the demons

  I have been amused by my small slice of the celebrity experience. The greatest value from public recognition is the opportunity to connect with others, especially those in law enforcement and related fields who are dealing with demons of their own.

  Other cops and emergency responders know what I’m talking about. We all carry the burden. The horrific sights, sounds, and smells are impossible to erase. I had never talked much about the worst memories, not even with Kathy.

  When I was still on the job, she sat with me at the kitchen table most Friday nights, trying to pry out some of the pain. We’d have a few toddies, and I’d give her some of the details, but I never went into great depth on the real nightmare cases.

  She didn’t need to have those images in her head, too. No sense in both of us staying up all night, fending off the demons.

  But when I began taping the television show for the first season, I didn’t have to protect anyone on the crew. They wanted to hear it all, and I obliged. Honestly, I was surprised at how swiftly the raw memories poured out of me.

  They turned on the cameras, and the floodgates opened. The producers and crew absolutely loved it because my stories were honest, direct, and to the point. They had no idea about the healing effect those sessions had on me.

  After that first season was filmed and in the can, I felt better, but I couldn’t really explain why. Then, after every season that followed, I was more at peace. By the end of season nine, I experienced a strange sort of high, a sense of elation and relief.

  Have you ever had excruciating pain from a swollen joint—say, from gout or a sprain—and then taken a pill or shot that relieved it instantly? There is almost a sense of euphoria, a lightness and calm that settles in, and that is how it was with me.

  It was like taking a drug that actually worked to kill the emotional pain. Telling the stories eased my torment and anguish. I am now much better for the telling. As Kathy has said, “My Joe is back.”

  I’ve been able to repair a lot of the emotional damage, and that has been a very healthy thing. The nightmares still show up, but not as often. Not every night.

  So I’ve benefited more than I ever thought possible from doing the television series and writing my first book and now this one. I’m probably less crazy than I would have been otherwise. I’m still crazy, but I don’t feel the need to self-medicate, which has been a problem for many other cops I’ve known.

  I drink alcohol, but not to excess. Not every day, and not even every week. I avoided that trap, in part because I had friends who fell into alcoholism. One of my sergeants died of acute alcoholism. He crawled into the bottle, and it killed him. I didn’t want to follow him there.

  talking it out

  My greatest payoff from doing the television series was the opportunity to unload the accumulated horrors that had haunted my dreams during and after my career as a homicide detective. There is increasing awareness today that many in law enforcement suffer from PTSD. The awareness is a good thing because it opens the path to treatment.

  Still, when I speak to police groups, I note that post-traumatic stress is nothing new. During World War I, they called it “shell shock,” which sounded harsh, I guess.

  So in World War II, they called it something less scary: “battle fatigue.” I don’t think that term comes even close to capturing the torment that afflicts those who suffer from it. Nor does “post-traumatic stress disorder,” which sounds like something suffered by teenage girls who can’t figure out what to wear to prom.

  No matter what name you stick on the mental and emotional anguish that comes with witnessing horrifying acts of violence and cruelty, the pain is real. And you can’t afford to ignore it.

  There are all sorts of therapists out there who will tell you to relieve the symptoms by picturing a leaf floating down a stream or some nonsense like that. Maybe that works for some people. It didn’t work for me.

  They tell you to practice “mindfulness,” but maybe my mind is already too full of crap. I tell my fellow veterans in law enforcement, and others who have been exposed to the worst of humanity, that we can’t unsee what we’ve seen. Nor can we understand it or come to grips with it.

  Humans are capable of extreme depravity and violence. We know that because we’ve witnessed the results. We are tormented by what we have seen, and we should be. Otherwise, we might as well be robots.

  Some people think there is a stigma against talking about their demons. They think it’s not manly. Or it’s a sign of weakness.

  Honestly? If you aren’t upset by acts of extreme violence, there must be something wrong with you. You are either insane or lying to yourself, and I don’
t think either of those things is true.

  Many just don’t know what to do or whom to turn to. As adults, we are responsible for finding helpful ways to deal with our emotional suffering. There is no shame in that. You deserve better. Your family deserves better from you.

  Maybe you can find a therapist or mental health professional who will help you find relief from your nightmares. What worked for me, more than I ever thought possible, was talking about my experiences and my demons to my wife and children and others who cared about me.

  Sure, if you can get your own television show, you can do that, too. I’m just trying to be realistic here. Getting millions of people in 183 countries to listen to you for nine seasons might be harder.

  Believe me, I have no idea why they listened to me, other than maybe because I spoke the unadorned truth, and that appealed to them. So I’m telling it straight now to all who carry a burden like mine. If you know someone in that situation, please pass on my words of encouragement.

  We have a choice how we respond to this. You can collapse under the terrifying weight of your memories, or you can move forward. I recommend moving forward. There are resources out there, so go find them. You should be good at that.

  When I speak to law enforcement groups and deliver that message, they usually applaud. They sometimes give me standing ovations. My words make sense to them, and I hope they make sense to others looking for relief.

  cop cruisers

  I am always gratified when fans and other veterans of law enforcement tell me they thought Homicide Hunter provided a true depiction of what we do, or did. Kathy and I particularly enjoy the annual cruise ship event in which fans of the show can hang out with members of the cast, including me.

  We were docked in Cancún with one of those cruises, and we had gathered in a huge outdoor bar, spilling out into the streets. We were having a festive time when a large group of travelers from another cruise ship came streaming by.

  There were more than a hundred of them, nearly all wearing NYPD caps, which got our attention. They were all active-duty New York City police officers from various precincts, taking a break from the city’s murder and mayhem.

  As they walked by, a guy with our group yelled out to them, “Hey, Joe Kenda is here at this bar!”

  “Who?” said one of the NYPD boat people.

  “joe fucking kenda!” said our guy. “The Homicide Hunter!”

  The NYPD cruisers stampeded toward our bar.

  One of the security guys saw them and freaked out, saying, “They can’t come in here. They aren’t part of our cruise!”

  To which I replied, “Are you gonna stop the entire New York City Police Department? I wish you luck with that!”

  Needless to say, a good time was had by all.

  And I hope you’ve had a good time reading this book. Stay safe, my friend. Take care of yourself and those you love.

  Det. Lt. Joe Kenda

  Retired

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to acknowledge the dedicated law enforcement professionals and first responders I’ve been fortunate to know and respect over the years. Many of them made me look good, or at least, not as bad as I might have during my career. I also want to thank my ink-stained wretch of a wordsmith Wes Smith for helping me tell my stories in print, mostly because he insists that I do so and I just want to silence the begging and pleading. Just kidding, we laugh a lot, really. Between his incessant begging and pleading, that is.

  Discussion Questions

  1.At the beginning of the book, Joe Kenda describes his role leading the homicide division as being similar to that of a symphony conductor with his team of detectives being the symphony musicians. What are some of the techniques and leadership traits that make Joe so successful in this role? How does he approach and solve a homicide case?

  2.After reading Killer Triggers, discuss what you think is the hardest part of Joe Kenda’s job. What were your impressions hearing his candid perspective on what it is really like to be a law enforcement officer?

  3.Which case in the book stuck with you the most? What were your biggest takeaways from learning more about the people involved, and how the case was eventually solved?

  4.How has learning from Joe Kenda about different killer triggers changed the way you perceive criminals? Is there a particular trigger you found to be the most disturbing? If so, discuss what makes this one stand out from the rest for you.

  5.Did the book change your perspective on what it is like to investigate homicide cases? What surprised you the most?

  6.What do you think draws us to the true-crime genre in television, film, and books? What do you think we as humans are trying to discover or understand from delving into these cases?

  7.Joe Kenda gives his honest perspective about the heaviness of the burden of “accumulated horrors that had haunted my dreams during and after my career as a homicide detective.” What was the biggest breakthrough for Joe to help him get relief? What do you think we can do as a society or as individuals to support those who are struggling with this burden?