Chapter One
It was a cloudy, overcast morning when Police Officer Greg Warren headed to the scene of a grizzly possible double homicide in the south east side of Baltimore. He had just come on shift in his patrol beat when the call for assist went out, which mainly meant he would likely be making coffee runs for some junior Detective who didn’t want to be bothered with it himself. On that note he decided to stop for his own coffee since he figured he would have a long day ahead of him. He pulled into a Dunkin Donuts, one he frequents for his morning brew, sensing he would be making several more trips of the same nature in the hours to come.
Arriving on scene Warren parked his squad car across the street from two others already positioned in front of a run down two story house that had several windows boarded up and appeared abandoned. Probably some kind of drug involvement, he thought to himself. He got out of his car taking a sip of his coffee and headed to a familiar face.
“Mornin’ Greg.” Said Officer Joseph McAllen, an academy-mate of Warren’s.
“Joe,” Warren said as he tipped his coffee cup to his friend, “what’ve we got?”
“Looks like a double homicide, but I don’t know much more than that, the shields are waiting on the lead Detective to show up.”
“Who’s that?” Warren asked.
“Detective Smith is on the roster, haven’t met him yet, have you?” Asked McAllen.
“No……but I’ve heard stories.” And not very many positive ones he didn’t say.
While the two former classmates caught up on family and recent patrol activities, a dark figure appeared in the nearby alley around the corner. A dark, stumbling figure, clutching what seemed to be a whiskey bottle. It stumbled down the alleyway towards the flashing lights and crime scene tape, seemingly oblivious to all the excitement and activity emanating from the decrepit two story home. Dropping his whiskey bottle and watching it roll and stop at the foot of an overflowing trash can, he stumbled over, and even more clumsy than before, the figure made a vain attempt to retrieve the bottle while leaning on the trash can. With a yelp his legs came out from under him, landing right on his face and bringing the trash can and all it’s overflowing contents with him. Moaning, he lay there under a pile of used refuse.
“What was that?” Said Warren.
“Let’s check it out,” McAllen instructed, “never know, could be a witness.”
The two men proceeded to the alley where they heard the noise, both keeping a hand on their service weapons, eyes scanning the area for anything unusual. A low moaning sound continued to be audible from the right side of the alley. Officer Warren pulled out his flashlight and pointed it at the trash pile. He motioned to his counterpart to take up a position to the left of the subject whose clothing he could now make out through the filth and rubbish, and he moved to the right, near what he assumed to be the subject’s head.
“Let’s see your hands.” Warren stated firmly to the figure. The figure mumbled something unintelligible. “Your hands please, show me your hands.”
“He’s a drunkard Greg.” McAllen said, now noticing the smell of vomit.
“Ok, if you cannot show me your hands I am going to sit you up now.”
The figure slowly raised one hand, which now contained a whiskey bottle and an extended middle finger. And under his own power propped himself up and looked at the officer who was speaking to him and said, “I’m here for the murder.”
“What?!” Both officers said almost simultaneously while drawing their service weapons, taking two steps back and aiming center mass on the man’s chest. Officer Warren now noticed that the man had a large gash on the bridge of his nose that was still bleeding and appeared broken. He did not know the situation inside the house but he had no doubt that this man could have something to do with the double murder not three hundred feet away. This made him very dangerous and gave the officers probable cause to arrest and search him.
“Joe?” Warren said.
“Yeah I see it,” he said as he keyed the mic for his radio, “Dispatch, this is Unit 5122 at the sight of the double homicide, I have a suspicious individual in the alleyway nearby, we’ll be bringing him in for questioning.”
“Roger 22, suspicious individual in connection with double homicide, report to Detective Smith on site for further instruction.” Barked the radio operator.
“That’s…” The vagrant started to say as he stood up.
“Stay where you are!” Officer McAllen yelled, but the man continued to stand up and began to approach the officers.
“You don’t tell me what to do!” The figure managed to blurt out.
“Sir, get down on the ground now!”
“Woah, woah, woah…..hold on,” said the man, who now began to reach into the left side of his trench coat.
“STOP!” Both officers shouted.
When he did not stop Officer Warren immediately leapt at the man, tackling him and pinning both of his arms behind his back. Officer McAllen then began searching the man. Finding a semi-automatic pistol in a concealed holster in the small of his back, he noticed it to be a Sig Sauer P226, a standard issue law enforcement side arm. When he found the man’s identification in his left breast pocket and opened it, he stepped back in near disbelief.
In the man’s billfold was a BPD shield, one that denoted the owner a Detective of Homicide. Daniel B. Smith, Detective, Baltimore Police Department, Homicide Division, complete with a picture that, minus the currently broken nose, matched that of the drunk man now laying under Officer Warren.
“Let him up Greg.” McAllen said.
“What?”
“It’s him, Detective Smith.”
“What the fuck?” Exclaimed Warren.
“You’re goddamned right, in the flesh, now get the fuck off me.” The now seemingly sober Detective Smith said. He stood up, again picking up his whiskey bottle on the way and looked at the two officers and said, “Either of you boys seen a murder around here?”
Warren and McAllen looked to each other for a few seconds and finally Warren said, “Yeah, and you’re….late.”
“Well well well, how’s about one of you’s be kind enough to escort me there, I seem to of misplaced my unmarked keys.”
“Misplaced??” McAllen asked suspiciously.
“How?” Warren also asked.
“I don’t recall….something comes to memory about a-” pausing to burp “-poker game aaaaaaaanndd, the Russian Mafia? I’m sure it’ll turn up eventually, all my ex-wives sure did!”
Still in disbelief both officers again stared at each other before McAllen said, “We should probably get you to a hospital, your nose looks pretty bad man.”
“What this? Nah I’ve seen worse.” Smith said, reaching up and placing the whiskey bottle on one side of his mangled nose and wrapping his other hand around the other side of his nose while holding onto the whiskey bottle and yanked downwards and to the left, letting out a very loud ‘ow’. “See, good as new and back in place, though it probably needs sterilizing, and maybe some stitches. You guys got any vodka? No? Zippo? Sewing needle? Haven’t got that either huh? Well what good are ya? And what are we waiting out here for, let’s go solve a murder or two ya assholes.”
Jake Hillman 