"The house was empty?" asked Lieutenant Carol Shelly.

“That’s what my report states, Lieutenant,” answered Detective Gomez.

Lieutenant Shelly looked up from the officer-involved shooting report and said, "I know what the report states, Detective.  I want to hear it from you.”

Detective Gomez reached into his jacket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. 

Lieutenant Shelly looked at the report and spoke to the tabletop, "You're going to be recorded, Detective."

Detective Gomez placed the pack of cigarettes beside the recorder and said, "As are you, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Shelly ignored Detective Gomez’s chess move and asked, “What were you doing in Jefferson County? It is not our jurisdiction.”

Detective Gomez leaned forward and said, “Detective Jackson and I were requested by the Jefferson County Sheriff’s office to assist with locating seven-year-old Amanda Kincaid.  She’d been missing for two days.”

“Goodness, did you find her?” Lieutenant Shelly asked.

“No, the Sheriff’s Office did.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s dead.  They found her in a muddy culvert strangled, raped, and shot in the head.” Detective Gomez reached for a cigarette. 

Lieutenant Shelly shook her head and said, “What kind of beast would do that?”

Detective Gomez knew precisely what kind of beast would commit such a heinous crime.  "The kind that takes the panties off the victim as a trophy."

Lieutenant Shelly said, “Terrible, terrible.  Will we ever be able to get these people the help they need?”

“I did,” Detective Gomez said.

"Please don't smoke and don't gloat, Detective.  It's unbecoming of a senior investigator.”

"Yes, I suppose you are right, Lieutenant," Detective Gomez said while considering more baby rapers should be treated with a bullet to the head.

“Is there a reason you omitted the address of the homicide?” asked Lieutenant Shelly.

“There are no addresses in Shanty Town, Lieutenant.”

"Come on, Detective, every house has an address.  And we don't call economically challenged communities shanty towns.  It could be seen as a slur."

"Listen, Lieutenant, I know what a slur is, and Shanty Town isn't one of them.  So, please take your Community Policing Guide and place it beneath your pillow and come out for a ride in housing areas you and the post office don’t even know exist.”

Lieutenant Shelly put her pen down and tapped her fingers on the report.  "We're starting to get off track here, Detective.  And I really don't want any animus between us.  I'm trying to understand what happened.”

Detective Gomez took advantage of Lieutenant Shelly's peace offer. "The community, as you call it, is quite proud of their heritage and town.  Most shanties have been modernized, but they still call it Shanty Town.  They want to stay unincorporated and have the county leave them alone."

Detective Gomez reiterated Shanty Town had no addresses.   "One dead-end road down the middle of shanties is left over from the plantation era.  Most people who live there are descendants of slaves."

“Okay, which house was it?” Lieutenant Shelly asked.

“Third house on the right after crossing the county road to the Institute for the Criminal Insane.”

“You mean Valley View Mental Care Facility?”

“Detective Jackson called it the crazy house.”

Lieutenant Shelly scowled.  "You and Detective Jackson are quite the professional pair, aren't you?"

Detective Gomez smiled.  "Detective Jackson grew up in Shanty Town, the fifth house on the left.  He knows just about everyone there."

“Third house on the right.  Got it.  Was the front door open, ajar, or did you force entry?"

Detective Gomez tried to minimize his frustration.  "The report stated the door was open, Lieutenant.  But if you're looking for information I purposely omitted, just ask."

Lieutenant Shelly leaned forward with a glimmer in her eyes.  "What did you omit, Detective?"

“That Detective Jackson grew up just down the road and knew the murdered couple.”

"Could have been a murder-suicide," Lieutenant Shelly said.

"That's what Detective Jackson initially thought.  But he was in denial and becoming increasingly distraught and beyond himself with grief.”

“Really, how so?”

“He grew up with the Washington children.  He was cheerful walking to the front porch.  As we approached the steps, he told me Mrs. Washington kept the neighborhood children happy with cornbread if they pulled weeds for her.“  Detective Gomez paused.  "We didn't have to step inside to know the Washingtons weren't going to greet us at the door and invite us in." 

"The couple lay side by side, with large caliber entrance wounds to the forehead.  Mrs. Washington's skirt was pulled up from the waist with her legs splayed apart.  Her panties were missing.”

“Maybe she didn’t wear any.” Lieutenant Shelly immediately regretted her statement.

"I doubt it," said Detective Gomez.  "There were deep claw marks from her hips and groin down to her knees.  The question is, was she alive when her panties were removed, and was she raped?"

“This must have been terribly shocking for Detective Jackson,” Lieutenant Shelly said with sincere concern.

"Yes, he tried to hold on but lost the battle.  He stepped carefully on the rug to avoid contaminating any evidence and started to reach for Mrs. Washington's skirt."

“Why’d he do that?”

"I think he wanted to cover what he never wanted to see.  I told him to stop.  He hesitated as tears began to run down his cheeks.  I ordered him to step back off the rug.  He did so and looked at me with earth-shattering sadness.  He walked around the rug toward Mr. Washington, whispering 'no'.  I knew I had to take him outside and call in the homicide.  The crime scene wasn’t going to go anywhere so I told him we needed to step outside. He ignored me and walked past Mr. Washington to the dining table, muttering, 'not Thomas, no, not Thomas'.  He stood behind a chair beside the table and stared at a dinner plate."

"Leftover food?” Lieutenant Shelly asked.

"Yes, a large black cat had been eviscerated, and portions were cut into perfect little squares.  Something or someone started to eat the family cat and then left."

Lieutenant Shelly put her pen down and quit taking notes.

Detective Gomez continued,  "I stepped toward Detective Jackson to assist him in leaving the crime scene and step outside, but he wouldn't budge.  He stood stiff as a board when I touched his elbow.  Then with a low deep growl, he said, 'You sick son of a bitch'.  I turned to the open doorway and saw a tall, bare-chested man wearing muddy hospital pants stained with blood.  He held a pistol in his left hand and a knife in the other.  It looked like he had rolled two pair of panties into wrist bracelets, one on each wrist.  I drew my weapon and ordered him to drop the gun and knife.  He started to take a step toward me and raised his gun.  I fired my weapon twice, striking him in the chest, but he didn't go down.  He stood there rocking on his feet, then smiled at Detective Jackson and said, 'Messy, isn't it?'  Then he fired a wild shot at Detective Jackson, knocking him down.  Then I shot the perp in the face."

Lieutenant Shelly took a deep breath. "As soon as Detective Jackson is well enough, I want his report, and it better not be a carbon copy of yours.  Understood?"

Detective Gomez nodded his head.

Lieutenant Shelly read the report further and asked, “What is this?  ‘I sealed the entrance and exit wounds.’"

"That's what I did.  Detective Jackson suffered a through-and-through intrusion of the right lung, causing sucking wounds.  I sealed the wounds with cellophane from my pack of cigarettes."

“Sucking Wounds?”

“Yes, a lunger.”

“What kind of medical terminology is ‘Lunger’ Detective?”

“It’s common on the battlefield, Lieutenant.”

“Well, Jefferson County is hardly a battlefield, Detective.”

“It was yesterday, Lieutenant.”

“Unbelievable, Detective.  You should have called for EMTs immediately.  You are fortunate Detective Jackson didn’t die.”

“So is his family, Lieutenant.”

“Did you render any kind of aid to the suspect?”

“It wasn’t necessary.”

"Listen, Detective, I understand you have witnessed a terrible event, but playing army at a crime scene is not how we conduct ourselves."

“Marine, Lieutenant.”

“Marine, Army, same thing.”

“Night and day, Lieutenant."

"You have given me no choice, Detective, but to recommend you for a Fitness for Duty Examination.  Understood?"

"Clear as day, Lieutenant." Detective Gomez reached across the table, gathered his cigarettes, pushed away from the table and stood.  He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled a plume of smoke toward the ceiling stained with decades of nicotine; cancerous evidence from detectives, and perps sifting through denials and lies for the truth.

Once again annoyed, Lieutenant Shelly said, "Must I remind you, Detective, this is a no-smoking facility?"

Detective Gomez dropped the cigarette to the floor and extinguished it with his foot.  He walked around the interview table. “I’d like a copy of the tape Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Shelly did not bother looking up and said, “You’ll have to make a formal request through the Peace Officer’s Union."

Detective Gomez opened the interview room door and stood in the doorway. "You're doing a good job, Lieutenant."

"That won't work, Detective.  One last chance.  Is there anything you'd like to add before you leave?"

"No, Lieutenant, I think you've got the gist of it."