Hard Evidence
My name is Richard Morse.
Detective Morse.
Homicide, Pittsburgh Police.
Day One.
I got the call this morning at 6:40 AM. I get calls at any time of day or night. Such is the job. I don’t have fixed hours, I’m always working. I arrived at 7:15. My partner is off at this time, and a youngish officer, whose ‘dream’ is becoming a detective is my shadow. Jimmy O’Brien, new ‘kid’ in town, hails from a small town in Indiana. He arrives at 8:08 as I greet him by pointing to my watch, and my best ‘what the fuck?’ look.
“Where the hell you been?” I ask, as he stammers something about his dog being sick. I can see he’s taken the time to shave and shower. So much for rushing out to inspect your first murder scene.
“Your dog? Your dog threw up. Soooo … your wife is busy on this Sunday morning, too busy to clean up after your dog, while the senior homicide detective waits for his temp partner to shave, shower, and clean up after a dog, while a murder victim is put on hold for dog vomit? Seriously?” I counter, as he sulks. He apologizes, then weakly points up to the second floor of the building the victim resides.
“Shouldn’t we go up?” He asks.
“Why? I was already up there. Here’s an idea. Why don’t your go up, survey the crime scene and give me your impressions, and try not to trip on the forensic team. Only walk where they say you can walk. Go. Apparently, I’ve got all day.” I reply. As he scurries off, knowing full well he screwed the pooch. Dog vomit? I question the voracity of todays youth, he knows better, when the call comes, you drop everything and leave. Time is critical. Our duty is to respond. Your ‘clock’ doesn’t matter. It’s about the victim, the case, and solving it.
This never gets old. There’s always new and interesting ways to kill people, as a homicide detective, I’ve seen it all, and when I’m ‘surprised’ I’m actually not. We’re downtown, in an old neighborhood, the victim lives on the second floor above a recently shuttered Mexican diner. It’s a duplex upstairs, and the other unit is under construction, a rehab job, that was the source of our being called in. Workers arrived on site early this morning, and they saw what appeared to be blood coming from under the door across the hall. They called before 6 AM.
After I arrived, I found myself carefully leaning into the room to see another lifeless body. Mutilated, darn near dismembered at the left upper arm, and I wondered what this once pretty little thing could’ve possibly done to deserve this.
She’s short, maybe five foot three or four, slim, laying on her back, her left arm barely attached, the upper arm cut clear to the bone, bled out from this, or one of the other countless wounds that litter her body from the neck down to her thighs. If she put up a fight, there’s no indication from my vantage point, but I’m leaving it forensics to finish before I fully enter the place. My partner is on paternity leave, so I have a wanna be sidekick, Jimmy’s a beat cop, bright kid they say, and while I was downstairs on the street after his late arrival, he had to step out upon seeing her bloodied body. He’s been with me for two weeks, learning the ropes. Where he’s from originally, this type of thing doesn’t happen, but it does here, and far too often. He’s smart, but not street smart. He’s got a ways to go.
Single white female, SWF, age 25, height and weight match my guesses, as I take in her drivers license. Amy, Marie, Concord. Such a nice smile, but never again. The family hasn’t been notified, and I’ll recommend only her father ID the body. There are no apparent clues, the weapon used is, on first look, not here, at least, we haven’t found it … yet.
On site pictures have been taken, DNA samples are underway, I’ve only glanced inside, forensics is up to their eyes and ears, and won’t have the room ready for another 2 hours or so, as I reenter the building, and as I make the second floor, I quickly ‘taste’ the smell of vomit from my latest charge, his face is white as he approaches, as I reach into my pocket and hand Jimmy some gum, as he leans against the wall so he can heave up half a lung. The pain in his eyes is all too familiar. It stays with you, each and every one, but you have to move on, and find the ‘thing’, animal, or animals that did this.
I ask the first officer on the scene what they did when they entered, and thankfully, they only opened the door, and didn’t step a foot inside. I feel a tug on my arm …
“These are the two guys who reported the crime scene. They’re contractors, came in this morning at around 5:55 AM, and saw the blood leaching out from under the door. They want to know if they can leave.” Asked a beat cop. Tim Myers.
“You have all their contact info, got their ID’s and such?” I asked. He replied ‘yes’, and I as I was about to send them on their way, I had to ask the obvious ...
“Do you guys normally work on Sundays?” Something I could later verify with their boss. They replied they usually work Saturdays, never Sunday’s but they had a wedding to go to yesterday. So I let them go. They were taking the day off. Too spooked to work. Besides, we would’ve closed them down anyway. The less traffic the better. I went back up to lean in to the forensics team, both are longtime friends.
“So, what’s your initial impressions?” I asked Tom, one of the best forensic workers in the department.
“Well, that’s where she ended up. I get the impression, it started near the windows on the street side, and the fight came to a coup degras where she’s laying right now. Murder weapon missing. Ummm we have her phone, it was on the floor near the couch. It’s dusted and printed, did you want it?” Asked Tom, as I nodded that I did. Sure enough, it was new, no thumb print access, probably required a 4 or 6 digit code to open. I had her full name, and asked if she had family, the response was quick. Mother and father, sister, all lived in the area, they had not been notified. The captain wanted me to do it. I hate that shit. I got a job to do, coddling the victim’s parents isn’t one of them. I need the parents after they’ve been told, and have allowed this all to sink in, it makes them more manageable. I took the captain’s message as a ‘request’, and not an order.
“Anything else?” I asked, as Tom looked up …
“Yeah. She’s neat. She’s keeps a clean house. We’ve got plenty of DNA. The prep used some lemon juice from her fridge on her finger nails. She got a good dig into him, or her, so they soaked her fingers. But we’ve got the whole detached nail from her ring finger from under the couch, and whomever did this missed it. I’m guessing this was a one man job. But I’ll leave that up to you. You visiting her parents?” He replied.
“Fuck no. I’m sending a black and white. I’ve got better things to do.” I replied, as both forensic guys nodded in approval. As I called out … “Myers.”
“Yes sir.” Replied Myers as he came jogging over from down the entry hallway.
“I want you to go door to door, and get security camera footage for the last 96 hours from all the establishments up and down this block, and three blocks out in all directions. Front, back, alleys, inside, every square inch you can deliver. If any of them gives you any grief, you call me, and I’ll be down within the hour to get them straightened out, and make it clear, they don’t want me coming down there. Fucking clear?” I ordered.
“Yes sir. I’m on it.” Said Myers, rushing out to his task.
“Guys, we’re heading out. I’m doing a meet and greet across the street, and around the block. Text me when you’re finished, and we’ll circle back for a look around.” As I asked another beat cop to clean up after Jimmy, the stench of his vomit was wafting through my nostrils, worse still, it was coaxing my McDonald’s breakfast burrito to rumble. I keep them in the fridge for days just like this, when I gotta run out in a hurry, eat as I’m driving, and don’t have time for a sit down.
I look out, and figure the place to start is directly across from the victim’s apartment. Same situation, store front, with one story above for renters. We approach the building and gain access through the side entrance which wasn’t locked, and walked up the staircase. One unit faces the street, one the back alley, so this will be easy. Only one set of renters face the street. I check our database to see who lives there, and find out it’s registered to a MW, (White male) Kyle McKinnon, occupation: nurse. No priors. One unpaid parking ticket. I knock, as Jimmy wanders the hallway for a moment taking in the place.
There is no response, as Jimmy offers … “He’s probably not home.” But I knock again, and hear someone stirring inside. Soon, the door opens … “Yeah. What’s up?” Asked the resident Kyle, whom left the security chain latched, as if that would do any good to stop a potential adversary. First impressions, his hair is mess, he’s got his eye masks up on his forehead, it appears I just woke him up, he looked tired, either he just woke up, or just went to sleep, a hunch makes me think the latter …
“I’m detective Morse, this is officer O’Brien. Are you Kyle McKinnon? This is in regards to what’s happening across the street. You have seen what’s going on over there?” I asked, as he glanced back for a second. Then turned towards me.
My name is Richard Morse.
Detective Morse.
Homicide, Pittsburgh Police.
Day One.
I got the call this morning at 6:40 AM. I get calls at any time of day or night. Such is the job. I don’t have fixed hours, I’m always working. I arrived at 7:15. My partner is off at this time, and a youngish officer, whose ‘dream’ is becoming a detective is my shadow. Jimmy O’Brien, new ‘kid’ in town, hails from a small town in Indiana. He arrives at 8:08 as I greet him by pointing to my watch, and my best ‘what the fuck?’ look.
“Where the hell you been?” I ask, as he stammers something about his dog being sick. I can see he’s taken the time to shave and shower. So much for rushing out to inspect your first murder scene.
“Your dog? Your dog threw up. Soooo … your wife is busy on this Sunday morning, too busy to clean up after your dog, while the senior homicide detective waits for his temp partner to shave, shower, and clean up after a dog, while a murder victim is put on hold for dog vomit? Seriously?” I counter, as he sulks. He apologizes, then weakly points up to the second floor of the building the victim resides.
“Shouldn’t we go up?” He asks.
“Why? I was already up there. Here’s an idea. Why don’t your go up, survey the crime scene and give me your impressions, and try not to trip on the forensic team. Only walk where they say you can walk. Go. Apparently, I’ve got all day.” I reply. As he scurries off, knowing full well he screwed the pooch. Dog vomit? I question the voracity of todays youth, he knows better, when the call comes, you drop everything and leave. Time is critical. Our duty is to respond. Your ‘clock’ doesn’t matter. It’s about the victim, the case, and solving it.
This never gets old. There’s always new and interesting ways to kill people, as a homicide detective, I’ve seen it all, and when I’m ‘surprised’ I’m actually not. We’re downtown, in an old neighborhood, the victim lives on the second floor above a recently shuttered Mexican diner. It’s a duplex upstairs, and the other unit is under construction, a rehab job, that was the source of our being called in. Workers arrived on site early this morning, and they saw what appeared to be blood coming from under the door across the hall. They called before 6 AM.
After I arrived, I found myself carefully leaning into the room to see another lifeless body. Mutilated, darn near dismembered at the left upper arm, and I wondered what this once pretty little thing could’ve possibly done to deserve this.
She’s short, maybe five foot three or four, slim, laying on her back, her left arm barely attached, the upper arm cut clear to the bone, bled out from this, or one of the other countless wounds that litter her body from the neck down to her thighs. If she put up a fight, there’s no indication from my vantage point, but I’m leaving it forensics to finish before I fully enter the place. My partner is on paternity leave, so I have a wanna be sidekick, Jimmy’s a beat cop, bright kid they say, and while I was downstairs on the street after his late arrival, he had to step out upon seeing her bloodied body. He’s been with me for two weeks, learning the ropes. Where he’s from originally, this type of thing doesn’t happen, but it does here, and far too often. He’s smart, but not street smart. He’s got a ways to go.
Single white female, SWF, age 25, height and weight match my guesses, as I take in her drivers license. Amy, Marie, Concord. Such a nice smile, but never again. The family hasn’t been notified, and I’ll recommend only her father ID the body. There are no apparent clues, the weapon used is, on first look, not here, at least, we haven’t found it … yet.
On site pictures have been taken, DNA samples are underway, I’ve only glanced inside, forensics is up to their eyes and ears, and won’t have the room ready for another 2 hours or so, as I reenter the building, and as I make the second floor, I quickly ‘taste’ the smell of vomit from my latest charge, his face is white as he approaches, as I reach into my pocket and hand Jimmy some gum, as he leans against the wall so he can heave up half a lung. The pain in his eyes is all too familiar. It stays with you, each and every one, but you have to move on, and find the ‘thing’, animal, or animals that did this.
I ask the first officer on the scene what they did when they entered, and thankfully, they only opened the door, and didn’t step a foot inside. I feel a tug on my arm …
“These are the two guys who reported the crime scene. They’re contractors, came in this morning at around 5:55 AM, and saw the blood leaching out from under the door. They want to know if they can leave.” Asked a beat cop. Tim Myers.
“You have all their contact info, got their ID’s and such?” I asked. He replied ‘yes’, and I as I was about to send them on their way, I had to ask the obvious ...
“Do you guys normally work on Sundays?” Something I could later verify with their boss. They replied they usually work Saturdays, never Sunday’s but they had a wedding to go to yesterday. So I let them go. They were taking the day off. Too spooked to work. Besides, we would’ve closed them down anyway. The less traffic the better. I went back up to lean in to the forensics team, both are longtime friends.
“So, what’s your initial impressions?” I asked Tom, one of the best forensic workers in the department.
“Well, that’s where she ended up. I get the impression, it started near the windows on the street side, and the fight came to a coup degras where she’s laying right now. Murder weapon missing. Ummm we have her phone, it was on the floor near the couch. It’s dusted and printed, did you want it?” Asked Tom, as I nodded that I did. Sure enough, it was new, no thumb print access, probably required a 4 or 6 digit code to open. I had her full name, and asked if she had family, the response was quick. Mother and father, sister, all lived in the area, they had not been notified. The captain wanted me to do it. I hate that shit. I got a job to do, coddling the victim’s parents isn’t one of them. I need the parents after they’ve been told, and have allowed this all to sink in, it makes them more manageable. I took the captain’s message as a ‘request’, and not an order.
“Anything else?” I asked, as Tom looked up …
“Yeah. She’s neat. She’s keeps a clean house. We’ve got plenty of DNA. The prep used some lemon juice from her fridge on her finger nails. She got a good dig into him, or her, so they soaked her fingers. But we’ve got the whole detached nail from her ring finger from under the couch, and whomever did this missed it. I’m guessing this was a one man job. But I’ll leave that up to you. You visiting her parents?” He replied.
“Fuck no. I’m sending a black and white. I’ve got better things to do.” I replied, as both forensic guys nodded in approval. As I called out … “Myers.”
“Yes sir.” Replied Myers as he came jogging over from down the entry hallway.
“I want you to go door to door, and get security camera footage for the last 96 hours from all the establishments up and down this block, and three blocks out in all directions. Front, back, alleys, inside, every square inch you can deliver. If any of them gives you any grief, you call me, and I’ll be down within the hour to get them straightened out, and make it clear, they don’t want me coming down there. Fucking clear?” I ordered.
“Yes sir. I’m on it.” Said Myers, rushing out to his task.
“Guys, we’re heading out. I’m doing a meet and greet across the street, and around the block. Text me when you’re finished, and we’ll circle back for a look around.” As I asked another beat cop to clean up after Jimmy, the stench of his vomit was wafting through my nostrils, worse still, it was coaxing my McDonald’s breakfast burrito to rumble. I keep them in the fridge for days just like this, when I gotta run out in a hurry, eat as I’m driving, and don’t have time for a sit down.
I look out, and figure the place to start is directly across from the victim’s apartment. Same situation, store front, with one story above for renters. We approach the building and gain access through the side entrance which wasn’t locked, and walked up the staircase. One unit faces the street, one the back alley, so this will be easy. Only one set of renters face the street. I check our database to see who lives there, and find out it’s registered to a MW, (White male) Kyle McKinnon, occupation: nurse. No priors. One unpaid parking ticket. I knock, as Jimmy wanders the hallway for a moment taking in the place.
There is no response, as Jimmy offers … “He’s probably not home.” But I knock again, and hear someone stirring inside. Soon, the door opens … “Yeah. What’s up?” Asked the resident Kyle, whom left the security chain latched, as if that would do any good to stop a potential adversary. First impressions, his hair is mess, he’s got his eye masks up on his forehead, it appears I just woke him up, he looked tired, either he just woke up, or just went to sleep, a hunch makes me think the latter …
“I’m detective Morse, this is officer O’Brien. Are you Kyle McKinnon? This is in regards to what’s happening across the street. You have seen what’s going on over there?” I asked, as he glanced back for a second. Then turned towards me.