If you like Law and Order: SVU or CSI, then you can’t miss the hard-hitting Victim Squad!
Written by Gregory Patrick Travers
268 Glenn Street
March 4, 2018 9am
Detective Richards converged on the scene, parting his way through the crowd of concerned neighbors gathered on the usually quiet suburban street. He avoided their peering, suspicious eyes with the humble understanding that men of color, especially those with authority, were not something the simple people of Laketon were used to seeing. Glares of distrust were something the lead detective had gotten used to in his time at the academy. It only made him work harder, to set himself above the stereotypes and prove himself a respectable man of the law.
His broad shoulders dipped beneath the long strip of yellow police tape, separating the residents of Glenn Street from the crime scene. He spotted the new kid on the squad, Detective Denslin, by the front walkway, talking to one of the uniforms, and walked across the lawn to meet his partner. “What’d ya got for me, rook?” he asked.
The young detective brushed his highlighted bangs from his brow and looked down at the note pad in his hands. He took a moment to adjust the chain around his neck that held his newfound badge to the elite crime force known as the Victim Squad. “The neighbor across the street called it in,” said Denslin. “She said she was out watering the grass around nine, and heard screaming. Then she saw the unsub take off down the street on a red BMX. A few of the other neighbors reported seeing someone riding on a BMX as well.” The new detective led his superior up the walkway and put his hand around the knob to the front door of the three-bedroom, semi-detached home. “I warn you…” he said with caution. “It’s not pretty.”
The two detectives stepped into the front hallway of the home to see a few more uniforms and the crime scene photographer huddled over the body of the victim. The corpse laid bottom up, his face wading in a pool of blood and his throat ruptured open. His pants were pulled down around his knees and something had been jammed into his rectum. Detective Richards knew right away what he was looking at…but he wished to god he hadn’t.
“The victim is Carl Maxwell,” briefed Detective Denslin. “The uniform that responded to the call found him in a pool of blood. His penis had been severed and inserted into the anus…Like I said, it isn’t pretty.”
Detective Richards shook his head. “No, rook. My ex-wife isn’t pretty. This is downright ugly.”
Victim Squad Headquarters
March 4, 2018 11am
“What’d you find?” asked Lieutenant Fox, leaning back on the corner of a desk and awaiting the response from her lead detective, Detective Richards. Her voice was nurturing, and yet firm and commanding. In her twenty years with the squad, she had learned that a female agent must be as soft as her silk blouse, but as sharp as her heels.
Detective Richards stood up from his desk, surrounded by his team. You would think by the bland, florescent lights, rows of desks, and the file cabinets lined up against the wall, that the Victim Squad’s day to day hovered on the mundane, if not boring…but you would be greatly mistaken.
“We have an eye witness statement that puts our unsub fleeing the scene on a red BMX,” announced the detective. “No signs of forced entry, meaning the victim most likely knew the suspect.”
“We talked to the victim’s parents,” added the young Detective Denslin, brushing his highlighted bangs from his brow. “They insist that we follow up with a man by the name of Ted McNally. Apparently, Chad and Todd got into a heated argument at the gym they frequent. The victim told his parents about it, which they found odd. Chad liked to keep to himself. He read a lot of books.”
Detective Cheryl Mable, the new transfer from the south, let out a heavy, longing sigh. “I love me a book worm…”
Lieutenant Fox turned her gaze on the blushing detective. “Well, this book-worm just became worm-food. We need to find this killer before anyone else’s dicks end up in their asses…Detective Mable, rook; I want you to go back to the gym and find out what you can about this Ted, the victim was having problems with…”
58 Ninth Road
March 4,2018 1pm
After a short visit to the local Fit Bodies, Detective Mable and Detective Denslin ascertained the address of Ted McNally and converged on the scene. After knocking on the front door and waiting without a response, they decided to check around the property. When they got to the side of the house, Detective Mable gave her partner a nudge and pointed to a red BMX leaning against the side of the brick house. “I reckon this Ted fella is going to have some explaining to do,” she noted.
The rookie stopped and scratched the shag at the back of his head. “Seems kind of odd, doesn’t it?” he said. “If this was your getaway ride in a vicious murder, would you just leave it for everyone to see?”
Mable’s eyes darted to the front of the house and she gave her partner another nudge. “Why don’t we ask him?”
Detective Denslin followed her attention to the front of the house, to see a man that fit the tall, dark and handsome description of Ted McNally, dressed in a red windbreaker suit, walking up the driveway towards the home. He looked up from his sneakers and noticed the two detectives in the alleyway. Then, he looked down the street. In just a spit second, he took off, running down the street as fast as his gazelle-like legs could carry him.
The two detectives looked at each other.
Detective Mable sighed. “I really didn’t want to run today.”
Detective Denslin flashed a devilish grin. “Come on. I’ll race ya.”
“I never could turn down a challenge,” she said.
And with that, the two officers took off on foot after the suspect. He was fast, almost too fast, even. But thankfully for Detective Mable and Detective Denslin, the suspect turned into an alleyway between the suburban residents in an attempt to jump a fence into the backyard and was faced with an obstacle to which he could not overcome. As fit as he was, he was not expecting a wild and snarling pit bull to be patrolling the grounds of that particular property, and when the vicious beast came barrelling towards the fence upon the suspects arrival, even as the peak physical specimen he was, he had no choice but to abandon his getaway plan. By the time he hopped down from the fence on which he was perched, the Victim Squad had already converged on the scene.
The detectives drew their issued firearms, while Detective Denslin flashed the badge hanging from a chain around his neck, and announced them. “Victim Squad!” he yelled. “Freeze!”
The suspect, breathing heavy, put his hands up in forfeit. “Don’t shoot me, please!” he huffed.
Detective Mable unlatched her handcuffs from her belt and apprehended the suspect. She gave them an especially hard tightening. “Yeah, well, for making us run after you, I shoulda…”
As she escorted the suspect towards the unmarked car up the street, while trying to keep the blonde strands of hair from her face, she turned to the rookie and said, “By the way, lil’ buck. We don’t say freeze anymore…”
Victim Squad Headquarters
Interrogation Room #4
March 4, 2018 3:30 pm
“Whatever you guys think I did, you got the wrong guy!” pleaded Tom McNally, sitting in a chair across the table from Detective Denslin and Detective Mable.
Detective Denslin leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. “So, why did you run then? And don’t tell me it was cardio day.”
“I didn’t know you guys were cops,” answered the suspect. “All I saw were two people creeping around my house and I bolted.”
Detective Mable took a sip of coffee from her Styrofoam cup. “You must have a lot of enemies, if seeing two people by your house made you that paranoid…What about Chad Maxwell? Was he an enemy of yours?”
Ted McNally’s eyes opened wide. “That’s why I was nervous!” he explained. “We got into an argument at the gym the other day and he threatened me. That guy is a real weird-o, you know that? He sits at the leg machine and reads horror novels! Who knows what’s going on in that creeps mind…” Then he paused, calculating. “Wait…Is that what this is about? Creepy Carl?”
Detective Denslin opened up the file folder sitting on the table in front of him and took out one of the crime scene photos, sliding it across the table to McNally. “It seemed Carl’s life turned into its own horror movie.”
Ted McNally peered at the photo and cringed, covering his mouth as if he were about to be sick. “Ugh…god…What’s…what’s that thing coming out his butt?”
“His penis,” answered Detective Mable. “So maybe you should tell us what it is you two were arguing about.”
Ted McNally slid the picture back over to the detectives, unable to look at it any longer. “Over some girl he was crushing on at our gym. He thought I was trying to make a move on her…which I wasn’t. She was way old. But every time she came to talk to me, Carl would lose it. So I told him to get lost. But I didn’t kill the guy!”
“What’s this woman’s name?” asked Detective Denslin.
Ted McNally let out a soft, assured chuckle. “I don’t know the name of every girl who flirts with me. Now am I under arrest, or can I go home?”
“Cool your jets, sparky,” said Detective Mable. “So then, where were you last night?”
“I was sleeping,” he replied, coldly.
“That’s a pretty weak alibi,” returned the detective from the south. “You’re telling me that a young guy like you, handsome and fit, probably a hit with the ladies, probably a nice throbbing trouser-snake in those track pants, was in bed sleeping by nine pm on a Sunday? You think a jury will believe that?”
“It’s no secret that Sunday is Funday,” added Detective Denslin. “Everybody knows that.”
“Yes. I’m sure,” the suspect answered. By now, the young man was void of any and all courtesy. “I go for a four in the morning run every Monday. The whole street knows that. Go ahead and ask them.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, playboy,” said Detective Mable. “We will.”
“Tell us about the red BMX bike we found at the side of your house,” said Detective Denslin, throwing the lack of courtesy back in the suspect’s face. “Multiple witnesses said they saw the killer flee the scene on a bike just like it.”
Ted McNally didn’t flinch. “So what? The bike’s been sitting at the side of my house for years. I don’t lock it. The neighborhood kids use it sometimes. You think a ride a bike at my age? What am I? A loser?”
Meanwhile, in the next room over, Detective Richards and the Lieutenant stood watching the interview through the one way mirror.
“What’d you think?” Lieutenant Fox asked her lead detective.
“As a black man, I’ve seen a lot of things,” said Detective Richards. “From growing up in the projects, trying not to get caught up in drugs and gangs, to fighting to gain respect from my unit, despite my color…I’ve learned to trust my gut. And my gut tells me that this isn’t the guy we’re looking for. I think we should visit this girl the two men were fighting over. It might open things up.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” said the Lieutenant. “Get the rook back to re-interview the eye witness that saw the perp take off on the bike. See if she can narrow down the description. If the neighborhood kids have been using that red BMX, our list of suspects has just increased immensely. Let’s trim it down…before the killer trims another penis.”
266 Glenn Street
March 4, 2018 8:45 pm
Detective Denslin knocked on the door to the house and stepped back onto the paved walkway. The solar lanterns following the pathway up to the front door had started to flicker light and turn, now that the sun was all but beneath the horizon. Dusk was a peaceful time on suburban streets like Glenn Street. The lights were now on inside the homes, the SUV’s were now parked in the front drives for the night, and families were gathered around dinner tables and television sets, enjoying the warm comforts of their residents. Must be nice, thought Detective Denslin, as he buried his face into the collar of his leather jacket in an attempt to block the chilly breeze sweeping through the neighborhood.
The front light switched on and a moment later, the door opened, answered by a slender man, still dressed in slacks and a pressed button-up. His hairline had started to thin, retreating to higher ground. His eyes were heavy and dreary. “May I help you?” he asked, looking the detective over with some confusion as to why the young man was standing at his door.
Detective Denslin unzipped his leather jacket and flashed the badge hanging around his neck. “Detective Pat Denslin of the Victim Squad,” he announced. “Sorry to be bothering you so late, but I took a statement from your wife earlier today about the murder that took place across the street. I was hoping to get a few more words with her, if I could.”
The slender man nodded in an attempt to convey empathy and motioned for the detective to come inside to the front hallway. “My wife told me what happened,” he said, closing the door behind them. “How horrible…I’ve been at my office late all week. Tax season is killing me. But this whole ordeal has me concerned for the safety of my wife when I’m at the office late. It’s a shame about that young man…He was quiet and kept to himself…but always very polite to me.” He walked to the foot of a winding staircase and called up to his wife, Judy.
In a moment, Judy peeked over the railing and saw the detective she had spoken to earlier, looking back up at her. She smiled and started down the stairs, petting the jet black bob on her head with care. Her bangs came down low on her brow, just above her eyes. She brushed them from her face to greet the detective with a warm smile and a handshake. “Hello, again, detective…Denslin, was it? I was just about to hop in the shower. Is everything alright?”
“Sorry to bother you at such a late hour, Mrs. Davis,” said Denslin. “There’s been some new advances in the case and I was hoping that maybe you could help us a bit more with the description of the unsub that rode off on the BMX.”
She nodded, understandingly. “I’m not too sure what else I can tell you,” she said. “He was wearing track pants and a hoodie and rode a red BMX bike.”
“What about his face?” asked Denslin. “Is there any features you remember? Could it be possible that this was a kid? A minor?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, definitely not. He was a man, in his thirties, I would say. He was a real pretty boy, if you know the type.”
Detective Denslin reached into the breast pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out one of his cards. He handed it to Mrs. Davis. “Okay, thank you. If you remember anything else, please don’t hesitate to give me a call…”
Mr. Davis put a gentle hand on Detective Denslin’s shoulder and motioned him to the door. “I’ll walk you out,” he said kindly.
As the two men walked down the paved walkway of the front yard, Detective Denslin’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and check the screen. It was Detective Richards. He turned to Mr. Davis and smiled politely. “I have to take this,” he said, stepping off the pathway, onto the lawn. He answered the call and put the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”
“Just got some new info, rook,” said Detective Richards. “We just came from the gym and found out that the girl these two guys were fighting over was Judy Davis. The same Judy Davis that lives across the street from the victim. The same one you interviewed this morning.”
Suddenly there was a loud, crisp PSST! from behind the detective, and in just a moment he was struck in the back of the neck with a quick, high pressure stream of water. Before he knew it, he was struck with another stream, then another. The spray seemed to be coming from all around him. “I’ll call you back!” he yelled into the phone before shoving it back into his jacket pocket and raising his arm to block his face from the systematic shots of water.
He turned around and noticed thin black cylinders, which had not been there a moment before, poking up from blades of grass on the plush front lawn and ejaculating a high pressured mist over the span of the front yard. Quickly, he ran back to Mr. Davis, who stood bone dry on the walkway and looked very amused at the soaking wet detective.
“Those come on every night?” asked Denslin, wiping his face dry with his palm.
Mr. Davis grinned. “Like clockwork.”
Reacting, Detective Denslin withdrew his firearm and started back up the pathway towards the house. Mr. Davis hurried after him. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Mr. Davis, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take your wife in for questioning!” the detective yelled back.
“For what?” asked Mr. Davis.
“For murder,” answered the detective.
Victim Squad Headquarters
Interview Room #4
March 5, 2018 9am
“Why didn’t you tell us that you knew the victim?” asked Detective Richards, leaning on the desk over Judy Davis, who, at the moment, was looking much less presentable than she had the night before. The concrete slab she had slept on in the Victim Squad holding cell was anything but comfortable. Her neatly trimmed bob cut was now tangled in a mess, with renegade strands of black hair sticking out every which way, and her maroon sweater was now creased and wrinkled from being used as a makeshift pillow all night. Bags of exhaustion hung low under her eyes as she turned to her public defender for council. The thin bald man, dressed in a mustard suit, gave her a nod, encouraging her to answer.
She turned back to the detectives saying, “Yes. I know him. He’s my neighbor. Of course we know each other.” Her tone was slow and impatient.
“But he was more than that, wasn’t he?” Detective Denslin purposed. He leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. “You guys were gym buddies. The clerk at the counter said he would see you two leaving together on several occasions.”
“How about it?” said Detective Richards, looking her deep in her eyes. “Were you two having an affair?”
She cringed. “Ew! No! Never!”
“What about Ted McNally?” asked Denslin. “The camera footage shows you two getting pretty close by the water fountain.”
She scowled. “Ted is a jerk. Just like the rest of those pretty boys. Those two were always fighting over me. If you should be questioning anyone, you should question Ted. Him and Chad didn’t get along at all.”
“We tried that theory,” said Detective Richards. “But we came up with another one. In your statement you said you came outside at around nine to water the front lawn, when you heard screaming.”
Detective Denslin leaned in closer to Mrs. Davis. “But you have automatic sprinklers.”
“So here’s what we think happened,” continued Detective Richards. “You and the victim were having an affair. When you started to flirt with Ted McNally, the victim became jealous and threatened to tell your husband about your extra-marital activities. You couldn’t bear to be outed by such a horror-novel-reading geek and so on the evening of March 3rd, while your husband was working late at the office, you dressed up in track pants and a hoodie and paid Chad Maxwell a visit.”
Her hair fell over her face as she looked down to her lap and whispered, “No…”
Detective Denslin continued. “He let you in. That is why there was no sign of forced entry. You entered the house and slit his throat right there in the front hallway. Then, you pulled down his pants and severed his penis, inserting it into the victim’s rectum. Then, you took off on the red BMX you had stolen from the side of Ted McNally’s house, so you could pin the crime on him.
Mrs. Davis continued to look down at her lap. The public defender spoke for her. “This is ridiculous!” he exclaimed. “These are just wild accusations with no concrete evidence!”
Detective Denslin looked to Mrs. Davis and said, “We took the bike to the crime lab and they found a jet black hair on the handle bars. If you’re innocent, then provide us with a DNA swab to prove the hair didn’t belong to you.”
Suddenly, Mrs. Davis started to sob uncontrollably. Seconds passed and then, she lifted up her head and looked up to the rookie detective. “I couldn’t let that dweeb ruin my marriage…” she uttered.
The public defender sunk in his seat.
Mrs. Davis went on, “We had sex once and he became obsessed with me. I tried to flirt with Ted to show Chad I wasn’t into him, but that just made him angry. He threatened to tell my husband. I couldn’t let twenty years of marriage come to an end because of a stupid, childish mistake…I had to do something.”
She buried her face in her hands and cried, until the cold steel of handcuffs clamped tightly around her wrists. “Judy Davis,” started Detective Richards. “You are under arrest for the murder of Carl Maxwell. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be used against you in the court of law…”
March 5, 2018 8pm
The Victim Squad converged to their regular back booth in the dim lit pub, unwinding from the conclusion of another case. Lieutenant Fox raised her wine glass of Merlot to toast her team, “To another case in the books, and a job well done.”
The team raised their glasses and took a drink.
“It’s tough, you know,” said Detective Mable, running her thumb back and forth slowly on the neck of her bottle of Budweiser while she thought out loud. “Women have made so many strides on becoming strong as a unit. We’ve worked so hard to set ourselves a part from the cruel nature of men. Then, a girl like this comes along and starts chopping off penises and shoving them in behinds. It kind of makes me think that maybe men and women aren’t so different after all.”
Detective Richards took a sip from his pint of stout and rested his glass on the coaster in front of him. “There’s going to be some bad apples in every demographic. The important thing is to not let those bad apples spoil your view on the whole bunch.”
“Yeah,” agreed the Lieutenant. “The fact is, there are bad people everywhere. It’s our job to sort out the bad ones from the good.”
“Yeah,” added Detective Denslin. “And we didn’t even find a hair on that bike. I just lied about it.”
The team all shared a hearty laugh.
“Lying about evidence to force a confession,” chuckled Lieutenant Fox. “Classic…”
“Sounds like my ex-wife…” said Detective Richards.
“I reckon you’re going to fit right in, rook,” said Detective Mable.