The Chief:
Detective Dewey Wilkins looks out the window of his police cruiser towards a ramshackle bungalow. He and his partner, Will Scott had received a call about a strange odor coming from the back of the building.
“Shit it’s cold.”
Dewey shivers despite his thick jacket because of the flood of cold air coming in as he opens the car door. I guess that’s what you get on a job like this. The sun has not risen yet and the sky is still a dark pre-dawn blue that is gently getting lighter as it nears the eastern horizon.
“So what’s the deal with this shithole?”
Will pushes his door open and brushes his brown overcoat smooth.
“The neighbors have been complaining about a horrible smell so we get to be the clean-up crew.”
“Shit.”
Dewey slams the door shut with disgust. I hate having to deal with all this bullshit. The smell is probably some backed up toilet or something. Some squatters probably didn’t flush or something. The icy air of winter doesn’t help Dewey’s horrible mood.
“Let’s get this shit over with.”
They slowly walk up the path, frost and gravel crunching under their shoes. The house is a dark shape in front of them. Dewey can barely make out the address of 5666. The front door is falling off its hinges and the door knob is missing. It seems that there is not an unbroken pane of glass anywhere on the whole building. Dewey reaches the first wooden step and is greeted by a painful creak and then a crack as the step collapses.
“Fuck… Goddamn piece of shit carpentry.”
Dewey pulls himself over the broken step and Will follows close behind. They look in through the window and see no signs of life within.
“POLICE!! OPEN THIS DOOR!!”
Nobody opens the door so Dewey kicks it in. The rusting hinges give way with a torturous grind. Will takes out his flashlight and shines it around the room directly behind the door. The light illuminates the dust covered shapes of couches and chairs.
“What’s that smell?”
“Don’t know, but I think it is coming from the kitchen.”
Dewey carefully walks over towards the door that leads to the kitchen. Will is right, the smell got noticeably worse.
“It smells like a not so recently deceased dog.”
“Right on the money.”
Dewey forces the door’s creaking hinges open and is hit by a tidal wave of noxious odors. His eyes water and his nose begins to run. Will shines the torch into the room and is met by the reflection of the glazed eyes of a corpse.
“Shit.”
“Right on the money.”
“Go get the camera, we have a crime scene.”
Will runs off to the car and Dewey decides to take a look around. The body is propped up in a life-like position. You would never think the person was dead except for the rotting skin peeling off his face. The cause of death is not initially apparent until Dewey notices that the corpse is missing most of its lower half. There are flies buzzing around the room and occasionally settling in the pool of festering blood where the man’s feet would normally be. I am going to hurl. Just as Dewey feels his Cheerio breakfast beginning to rise, Will returns to the scene.
“I need some fresh air.”
“I called in a CSI unit. We are out as soon as they arrive.”
“Great, I need some sleep.”
Dewey walks back out onto the porch just as the sun begins to peak over the eastern horizon. The street is cast in a dappled pink. This would be beautiful if it wasn’t so goddamn early. Dewey looks away from the sunrise to see a large white van with the letters CSI painted on the side come to a halt in front of the house. A man gets out of the passenger door and approaches Dewey.
“Good morning, Detective Wilkins. Great day for a murder scene, eh?”
“Whatever you want to call it.”
“So what’s up?”
“We got a body in the kitchen. No casings or knives to fingerprint. Detective Scott is currently in there taking pictures.”
“Thanks for the information. We will take it from here.”
“Right.”
Dewey walks down towards the cruiser. He is still nauseated from the horrible smell of the scene. Will jogs down the path to catch up. The door closes and the gently accelerate down the road.
***
Dewey awakens suddenly. His cell phone is ringing its heart out by the bed. He picks up.
"Hello, this is the coroner’s office. We have identified the body. It belonged to the local drug lord, Phat Francis."
"That was fast. Any other details that may be important?"
"We found the guy who did this. He is being booked right now."
"Really, is that all? That was faster than I thought it would be."
"Penny for every time I've heard that one."
"Okay, I guess that I am going to need to interrogate this guy. Thanks for the information."
"No problem, just doing my job."
Dewey hangs up the phone and rolls out of bed. He looks over at the clock by his lamp. It is 8:30. Shit I only got two hours of sleep. Dewey walks over to his kitchen and opens the fridge to get out an energy drink. He pops the cap and takes a big long drag.
***
When Dewey arrives at the police station everything is as chaotic as it usually is. There were officers walking hurriedly all over the place. Dewey sees his chief walking by and approaches him.
"Hey there Detective, how was your nap."
"Pretty good, I got woken up by some guy from the coroner’s office."
"So you heard the news, we got the guy."
"Yep, that's why I am here; I was hoping to ask him a few questions."
"Sorry, we already have a couple guys on him. Here are the case files."
Dewey opens the manila envelope. The man that they booked appeared to be just some crack head named Tyrone Biggums. That's strange, I’ve never heard of a drug lord being killed by some vagrant. Dewey flips the page and finds a summary of the case.
5:30 AM: Police get call from neighbors of 5666 Elm Street.
5:45 AM: Police find body of Phat Francis.
6:05 AM: CSI shows up on scene.
6:25 AM: CSI leaves scene.
7:05 AM: Police pick up Tyrone.
8:25 AM: Coroner identifies body.
Dewey looks up from the file and closes his eyes. This is the fastest investigation that I have ever heard of. Either DNA and fingerprints were all over the place or CSI botched this investigation and picked up some homeless guy.
Dewey gets up from his oak desk and grabs his notebook and the case folder. He opens the door and peaks into the hall. The Chief’s office is at the end of it and the shades are drawn tight to not allow light to escape. Dewey ambles down the hall towards the office door not wanting to disturb the Chief while he was doing something. Dewey knocks on the door three times and waits for a response.
“Who’s there?”
“Just me, Detective Wilkins. I was just wondering about the files.”
“Come in.”
Dewey opens the heavy, solid-wood door with a grunt. The Chief was seated behind a huge, worn Victorian desk.
“So what’s up Dewey?”
“I just have a few questions about this recent case.”
“Shoot.”
“Okay, so first off. Where are the fingerprints and other evidence that incriminate Tyrone Biggums?”
“CSI is still processing that data. We should have it in a couple of hours.”
“Than why are we keeping him?”
“We know it’s him. I have a feeling that he is guilty. We can hold him 48 hours before we have to charge him.”
“But without fingerprints how can you know that it was him?”
“Have you seen this man? He has the perfect profile to murder a drug lord.”
“I guess. I just don’t think that it is right to bring somebody in without having any evidence.”
“Are those all of your questions?”
“Yes.”
“I hope I helped you understand what’s going on.”
“Thank you Chief.”
“Your welcome.”
Dewey closes the door behind him. That didn’t help at all. I have been on the force for twenty years and never heard of anyone being held for just a hunch. Something must be going on that I am not supposed to know about. Dewey plops down in his chair and begins going over the files again.
***
Police Chief Morgan Bitterman purses his fingers with a pensive look on his face. This kid is getting in too deep. He doesn’t understand how big a discovery he is going to make. Morgan sits up in his chair and calls his secretary on the intercom.
“Sheryl, call Detective Scott and tell him to meet me in my office ASAP.”
“Yes sir.”
Morgan spins around in his seat and faces the door. He stares at the door until the expected knock arrives.
“Good morning Chief. You called?”
“Ya, your partner is digging too deep. I think he knows there’s something fishy going on.”
“How do you want to silence him?”
“I don’t care. As long as I get my drug money without any problems.”
“Chief, I still think that killing Phat Francis was a bad idea.”
“What the fuck. You know as well as I do that we now control the market in this city. How was that a ‘bad idea’? Drop some balls. Which is more important to you? That straight edge cop or your six digit payroll.”
“I need the money. I have a kid on the way.”
“That’s the spirit kid. Now go do what needs to be done.”
“Alright, I’ll get it done.”
Detective Scott leaves the office and shuts the door with a slight click. Morgan looks down at his hands; they are old and wrinkled. I get to retire early now.
***
Dewey is startled by the sudden opening of his office door. He looks around bewildered and sees a drool stain on his desk. I must have dosed off.
“Dewey, we have a lead. There may be more evidence at another house.”
“Sorry Will, I dosed off. Let me get my things together and we can head out.”
“I’ll be at the car.”
“See you there.”
Dewey quickly pulls on his holster and jacket and follows Will down to the lot. It is snowing outside.
“Fuck it’s cold.”
“Yep.”
***
The cruiser slides to a stop in the freshly fallen snow in front of a different house. Same street, only a few blocks up from the first house. Dewey opens the door and climbs out of the car. He turns around at the sound of a cocking gun.
“What the fuck Will. Don’t horse around with your gun out.”
“I am sorry. I have to do this.”
“WHAT THE…”
BAM!
The bullet enters Dewey’s body just below his sternum. He can feel the white-hot sizzling of the bullet as it severs his aorta. He collapses to his knees holding his chest and can’t speak no matter how hard he tries. Will is standing over him. Their eyes meet. There is a tear in Will’s right eye. Dewey falls to the ground and watches his blood turn the crisp white snow crimson. He hears a door slam, shouting and than the death-note of gunshot.
El Fin