They're Among Us

by M. L. WILSON

  “This is a big step, Alan,” he says to his reflection. His reflection smiles back.

  He bought a new suit when he got the news that he was selected as detective third grade. Black, three-button blazer, pleated pants, just like the other detectives on the force. The standard conservative look that the top brass expects to see. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Justice puts on the blazer and makes a final adjustment to his necktie.

  He looks himself over one last time in a full-length mirror to make sure everything’s a go. Nice suit, Windsor knot, shoes shined. Then he tucks his credentials case into his coat pocket with his gold detective badge proudly showing.

  Everything’s a go.

  The easy part is a go, that is. The hard part is meeting his new partner. Justice had heard stories of Kenneth Bishop. Rumor has it, he’s a good cop. One of the best detectives on the force. At least he was. Things changed for him. He’s considered damaged goods these days.

  Put the rookie with the outcast, the loner.

  An unwritten department policy he doesn’t care for, but you have to take the good with the bad. Justice doesn’t consider Bishop to be either of these things, though. Who could blame him for changing after what he’s been through? It would change any man.

  Justice takes one last sip of his coffee. The butterflies in his stomach are working overtime. First day on the job all over again.

  It’s still early. He doesn’t have to report for duty until eight, but Justice wants to make a good impression. Arriving an hour early will show his new captain that he is ready to work. He puts his 9 mm in his holster, puts on his overcoat, and he’s out the door.

  “They’ll accept you,” Justice says to himself. “You’re gonna do just fine.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Morning already. Damn alarm clock.

  DETECTIVE KENNETH BISHOP says this to himself as he slams his hand down on the alarm clock to turn it off. He feels like he just layed down. He reluctantly rolls over, wipes the sleep from his eyes and lays there for a moment, thinking of how easy it would be to simply call in sick, throw in the towel for just one day and let the criminals have one more day of freedom.

  Then, reality sets in. He’s a cop and he has a duty to perform. Besides, Bishop knows he would have to fight the demons in his head if he didn’t have other things to occupy his thoughts.

  Still dressed in the clothes he wore the night before, he sits himself up and thinks about how he’s going to get through the day. His necktie hangs loosely around his neck. His once nice dark-blue dress shirt is wrinkled from tossing and turning all night. He hasn’t shaved in days. His entire wardrobe is strewn about his apartment. No time to clean up. No desire to either. Bishop isn’t the man he used to be.

  He picks up a picture from the nightstand. A picture of a happy family; husband, wife and child. This is a daily ritual for him. He misses them so much

  “Good morning, my angels.”

  Bishop sets the picture back on the nightstand, peels himself off the bed, and lumbers into the kitchen for that much-needed cup of coffee. It was silent in the house—no television, no music from the radio, and worst of all, no pitter-patter of little feet. No wife to give him a good morning kiss and ask him what he wanted for breakfast before setting out to save the world.

  He feels empty since the loss of his wife, Caroline, and five-year-old daughter, Briana, to an auto accident almost two years ago. Every day is a struggle to move on. Thoughts of suicide are an everyday battle. Every day, he considers “eating” his service weapon. It would be so easy. Quick and painless. Family, friends, even the department shrink seem to think things will get better with time.

  What the hell do they know?

  Bishop remembers getting the call as if it occurred only yesterday. The priest offering consoling words after the doctor gives him the news. Something the priest said, though, that stuck with him: God never gives you more than you can handle.

  Bishop thought about that every day since he lost his family, and he’s not so sure that it’s true. This is unbearable.

  Again, the thoughts of suicide; that release from the pain that death would bring to him is all too tempting. But Bishop knows he must carry on. Caroline and Brianna would want it that way.

  He pours his first of many cups of coffee for the day, black, no sugar. He takes his first sip as he goes out the front door to retrieve the morning paper, even though he never gets to read it. Such is the life of a homicide detective in one of the most violent cities in America.

  Just as he begins to read the front page, his cell phone rings. Bishop reads the caller ID and sees it’s the office calling, which can only mean there is another homicide. It certainly isn’t a call to see how he’s doing.

  “Yeah,” Bishop answers in a scruffy, morning voice. “I’m fine, Captain.” Bishop scrambles for paper and pen to take down the address of the crime scene.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I—” The captain interrupts Bishop with an unusual order.

  “Come to the office before going to the scene?” says Bishop. “That’s a little unusual, Captain. Can I ask—”

  No explanation is given to Bishop. Just an abrupt order to report to the office and then silence. Bishop places his phone in his pocket. “Yes, sir,” he says sarcastically. Bishop slips on his shoes, takes one last sip of his coffee, and he’s on his way.

  CHAPTER 16

  SAUNDERS FINALLY MAKES it home to her two-bedroom apartment at the upscale Cypress Creek apartment complex. She chose this side of town for its strategic location: multiple eateries within walking distance, a shopping mall, complete with a movie theater, only two blocks away. Everything a single woman needs. Now all she needs is a date. Problem is, who wants to date a woman who’s nocturnal? Who wants to date a woman who has more conversations with the dead than the living?

  All she can think about right now is a hot bath, a glass of merlot, and a few hours with Sherlock Holmes and The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual. After that, at least eight hours of sleep, if possible.

  Before she can put the key in the door, her nosy neighbor, Miss Beltran, steps out her front door to greet her. Still in her nightgown and rollers in her hair, Miss Beltran holds the gown closed so she won’t be exposed. Horned-rimmed glasses and a head scarf, Miss Beltran looks both ways down the hall to make sure no one else can see her dressed this way, just in case some middle-aged man happens along. First impressions are lasting. Saunders is convinced that Miss Beltran has a sixth sense. For a sixty-eight-year-old widow, she’s as active as any forty-year-old. A little too active for Saunders’ taste.

  Miss Beltran steps into the hallway and puts her hands on her hips. Saunders knows that look all too well. Interrogation time. Miss Beltran is the mother she never wanted.

  “Well, good morning, Doctor,” Miss Beltran says with an inquisitive smile with one hand on her hip.

  “Hello, Miss Beltran,” Saunders replies with obvious annoyance in her voice. An annoyance that appears to be completely lost on her nosy neighbor.

  “Another long night I see. And no one to come home to. When are you going to get married?”

  None of your damn business, Saunders thinks.

  “It’s not good for someone your age to be alone, dear. Your biological clock is ticking, ya know,” Miss Beltran says as she shakes her finger at Saunders as if she were her mother.

  Saunders was taught to respect her elders, but Miss Beltran is long past due for a shut the hell up old woman.

  “Thank you for your concern, Miss Beltran, but I’m fine.”

  “Okay, but I want you to meet my grandson, Cornelius. He’s a little overweight, but—”

  “No!” Saunders immediately interrupts. She shudders at the thought of what her grandson would look like. With a name like Cornelius, he has to be homely.

  “No, thank you, Miss Beltran. I’m fine. I really should get inside now. Nice seeing you.”

  “Okay. Well, if you need anything, I’ll be right here.”


  “I know you will, Miss Beltran,” Saunders says to herself as she enters her apartment and closes the door behind her.

  Her apartment is beautifully decorated. Tile floors, granite countertops, designer furniture. Saunders sometimes wonders if she is what people call “high maintenance.”

  She opens the blinds to let the sunlight in. It’s a nice sunny morning with a high of seventy degrees. A perfect day for a walk in the park with that special someone.

  The weatherman says that will change by tomorrow, though. A cold front coming in. No matter. Saunders doesn’t have a special someone anyway. Her plan is to sleep most of the day.

  Saunders just stares out the window for a moment. She had forgotten how nice a view of the city she had. It’s not easy finding an apartment in New York with such a nice view. Especially at the price she’s paying. Saunders closes the blinds and lets go of the wishful thinking. Time to get started on a relaxing evening and a good “night’s” sleep.

  CHAPTER 17

  CONSIDERING THE FACT that smoking in the building is not allowed, there is no logical reason why the homicide office should be filled with smoke.

  That’s the first thought that crosses Justice’s mind, as he walks into the office. He tries to wave the smoke away with his hand as he walks in, hoping for a friendly welcome to the department reception from a fellow detective. It’s even a struggle to get anyone to even acknowledge his presence.

  “Excuse me. Can you—” Justice says to a detective that speeds by him as if he wasn’t there.

  “Hey,” yells a feminine voice from across the room. Justice looks over and sees Detective Jacqueline Gilmore gesturing for him to come over to her desk. Gilmore is one of two women in the homicide department. She stands five feet six, but she’s as tough as they come.

  “You that new kid that’s partnering up with Bishop?”

  “Ah...yes. Detective Justice.” Justice shakes hands with Gilmore and is surprised by her firm grip.

  “Nice to meet you. Captain want’s you to wait for him in his office.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Justice says. “By the way, which desk is mine?”

  Detective Gilmore slightly giggles and says, “Who says you’re gonna have a desk? Just do as you’re told and go wait in the Captain’s office.”

  Justice doesn’t argue. He expected this kind of treatment. He opens the captain’s office door and looks around the office. It isn’t as glamorous as he expected it to be, but it’s still an office.

  I’ll have an office like this one day, he thinks. Justice takes a seat in front of Danvers’ desk. He looks at all of the folders and papers strewn about the desk and wonders how Danvers could possibly make sense of it.

  With his curiosity getting the better of him, Justice decides to pick up one of the case files from the desk. Even though he’s the only one in the room, his conscious still makes him look around the room to see if anyone is watching.

  Justice opens the file, and the first thing he sees is a crime scene photo of a young man with multiple gunshot wounds. He notices that the victim is wearing gang colors.

  “Drive-by shooting victim,” Justice says as he reads the notes in the folder. Justice looks into the lifeless eyes of the victim and it appears to him that the victim is staring back at him.

  Justice quickly closes the folder and tosses it back on the heap on Danvers desk. After seeing the picture, he’s starting to wonder if he made the wrong decision.

  Seeing a dead body is one thing. Dealing with nothing but dead bodies for years to come is something entirely different.

  That’s what you get for being nosy, he says to himself as he decides to do as he told.

  Wait.

  CHAPTER 18

  BEING IN CHARGE of the homicide department in the largest city in the country has its rewards. Unfortunately, like everything else, it has its downsides as well. Captain William Danvers is sitting in on what he considers to be the biggest downside to the position: listening to his higher-up political chain of command complain that his department is not solving cases in a timely manner.

  Danvers isn’t looking for special favors. Even if he were, he wouldn’t get any. All he wants is for his leadership to understand the impact the recent budget cuts are having on his department. His department lost three officers to retirement in the past year but could only backfill one of them.

  Yet, he’s still expected to quickly solve cases to take the pressure off the mayor. It’s difficult to solve cases when you’re shorthanded, there’s a new homicide almost every day, and over eight million potential suspects for each case.

  Danvers knows how it works, though. He’s been dealing with it for a long time: the media pressures the mayor for answers, the mayor pressures the police commissioner, and the police commissioner pressures him. This is the political gravitational pull that forces the crap to roll downhill.

  If he had it to do all over again, he wouldn’t change a thing. Even though he has to get spanked by his leadership every once in a while, Danvers still loves his job. Being a part of justice served feels him with pride.

  As he sits in his dress uniform in front of a panel of the department’s top brass, he listens to them reading numbers and giving statistics that don’t tell the whole story. But listen, he must. Listen and explain.

  “Captain Danvers, your department has twenty-six cold cases and eight unsolved homicides in the last year,” says Deputy Chief Arthur Carswell, a twenty-five-year veteran of the force and chair of the panel. “Would you care to explain to this panel why you’ve allowed this to happen, Captain Danvers?”

  Why I’ve allowed? Danvers thinks.

  “Sir, with respect, you’ve cut my budget. I’m short two detectives and—”

  “Those are just excuses, Captain Danvers,” Carswell interrupts. “The good people of this city expect us to do our jobs, not make excuses. Give me a plan to get it fixed. I want to see these current cases closed in the next six months.”

  “Six months, sir?” Danvers says in disbelief.

  “You heard me, Captain. I also want ten percent of the cold cases solved by this time next year. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Danvers says with great reluctance. “Very clear.”

  “Now, another matter I want to discuss is these complaints about Detective Ken Bishop. What have you done about these issues?”

  “Sir, Detective Bishop is one of my best detectives.”

  “With a history of insubordination, Captain Danvers! While this panel is not unsympathetic to his situation, his performance still needs to improve. I’m getting tired of these complaints from his coworkers. Fix it! Or I’ll get someone to fix it for you. Understand?”

  “Yes, Deputy Chief.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Danvers picks up his hat and leather portfolio from the table and walks out. He knew he was in for his usual spanking. He didn’t expect the issue of Bishop to come up. Now, he has to do something about it.

  But what?

  CHAPTER 19

  EVERYONE IN THE department knows when their captain receives bad news. All eyes are on Danvers as he walks to his office. He doesn’t say anything to anyone. No one’s expecting him to, either. They all know that dazed look Danvers has on his face. They’ve seen it dozens of times before.

  Some of them sympathize with him, while others feel it’s just a part of his job, and if he can’t handle it, he needs to step down.

  They really have no idea. The budget cuts, staff shortage, and the unrealistic timelines he’s been given are not what’s weighing heavy on his mind. It’s Bishop.

  How does he deal with a detective who’s given so much of himself to this city? How do you deal with someone who’s struggling through a loss that would paralyze any other man? Danvers made a mistake when he told the Deputy Chief that Bishop was one of his best. Bishop is his best, and his record shows it.

  They don’t have the best relationship, but Danvers stands behind him. His conscious won’t let him do an
ything else.

  As he opens the door to his office, he notices someone sitting in front of his desk. Detective Justice jumps up and introduces himself.

  “Good morning, sir,” Justice says as he excitedly jumps out of his chair and extends his hand to Danvers.

  “What the hell are you doing in my office?”

  “I’m...sorry, sir,” Justice says as he struggles to gain his composure. “I was told to wait for you in here.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m your new detective, sir. Alan Justice.”

  “Hmm,” Danvers says as he looks Justice up and down, trying to determine if he has what it takes to be a detective.

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Take a seat.” Danvers takes a seat behind his desk.

  “Why did you put in for this department, Justice? The hours suck. It’s a thankless job. You’re surrounded by killers and dead bodies. Of all the departments you could have applied for, why here?”

  “I want to make a difference, Captain.”

  Danvers leans forward in his chair and rests his arms on his desk.

  “Ah hell! Don’t give me that ‘make a difference’ crap kid. You really think we make a difference? You solve one case, another one pops up.” Danvers gets up, lights a cigar, and sits on the front edge of his desk in front of Justice.

  Justice is anxious to debate the issue, but wisdom takes over. It’s not a good idea to debate with your new boss on your first day on the job.

  “What do you know about Detective Bishop?” Danvers asks.

  “I hear he’s difficult to work with.”

  “Let me tell you somethin’. Bishop’s the best detective I got. Keep your mouth shut and your ears open. You can learn a lot from him. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, tell me about yourself.”

  CHAPTER 20