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DETECTIVE
I’m overwhelmed with emotion right now. All of my friends and co-workers are here for my retirement party. It seems like my service in law enforcement has just flown by, especially the last 11 years as a detective. As luck would have it, I’m also receiving tonight, the highest commendation from the department, a letter of appreciation from the President of the Unites States, and most enjoyably, an apology from two senior guys. What a way to point an exclamation mark on a 30 year career.
Actually I had planned on retiring a few weeks ago when I got my 30 in, and would have, if weren’t for the Fairbanks case. I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was so horrified at the crime scene that I promised myself right then and there that I wouldn’t quit until we brought the perpetrator to justice.
It was around 10:30pm on a Wednesday evening and my shift was just about over. I was looking forward to a stiff drink and a few days off, when I got the call. I could tell by the frantic tone from the first responders that this wasn’t going to be a typical case.
I hit the lights on my unmarked car and made it halfway across town in about 5 minutes. As I rounded the corner I was greeted by the familiar sight of flashing lights and the street was already full of patrol cars and firefighters.
I parked half a block away because the boys in blue had already taped off the area as a crime scene, and they were ushering onlookers away from the house. As I approached the house I was greeted by my old friend Greg Bailey. Greg and I go way back, in fact we were even partners for a while in my patrol days. Greg is a seasoned veteran and has seen it all, that’s why I knew this was something big, by just looking at his face as he approached.
By this time the whole place was crawling with uniforms and reporters. I asked him what the hell was going on here and he held a finger up to his lips and motioned for me to meet him over by his patrol car. I can remember the hair standing up on the back of my neck as we walked towards the car. We are part of a small department and it was very unusual for an officer to feel the need to discuss a crime scene in private.
Greg told me to get to work quickly because he had already received a call from the FBI and they instructed him to preserve the crime scene as they had two agents on the way. He was further instructed to turn over his jurisdiction and command of the crime scene to the suits as soon as they arrived. This must not be your garden variety homicide case.
Our conversation was interrupted by a cell phone call and Greg briefly put one hand over the phone and mouthed the word “Captain” and then he waived me off, while he was evidently getting chewed out on the phone. Judging by the urgency in Greg’s voice, I immediately turned my attention to surveying the area. I briefly talked to a few of the neighbors and eye witnesses and jotted down a few notes. I’ve found that sometimes the most seemingly insignificant facts or statements can latter turn out to be items of key evidence.
Our forensics guy had not yet arrived so I decided to start the investigation on my own. Out of habit I carry my own little digital camera and began taking pictures of the entire area. I’ve learned that it’s a smart practice to capture things in pictures before a bunch of firemen and paramedics start trammeling thru the evidence. As I was putting on a pair of latex gloves I noticed a cell phone, partially covered in blood in the driveway. It might be evidence so I grabbed it. As I made my way to the garage I also picked up a half charred piece of paper with some directions on it.
I hadn’t taken a dozen photos and my cell phone rang. A quick look at the screen showed it to be a call from Captain Miller. I’d never admit to this but I was sure he was calling to tell me to stay outside the perimeter until the FBI guys established control. Well, I would never knowingly disobey an order or hesitate in taking an urgent call from a superior but after all, it was a very noisy crime scene and it would be easy to miss the sound of a cell call.
I put the phone back in my jacket pocket and went about the task of gathering evidence. I counted as least 6 dead bodies that had most likely met their end by a horrendous blast that easily took out the garage and east half of the house. There was debris and body parts strewn everywhere, I figured it would take days to sift thru all the evidence.
I noticed two black Suburban’s making their way past the make shift barricades and toward the house. Well it didn’t take much law enforcement skill to guess who had arrived at the scene. I could see the two agents in their neat suits talking with Greg in the distance and gesturing over toward the house and in my direction. A few seconds latter I heard Greg’s voice over the bull horn instructing all personnel from our agency to meet him over by his patrol car.
At first I pretended that I didn’t hear the announcement but there was no mistaking the exaggerated hand signals that were directed my way, and I figured I had better comply. As I was walking back towards the road, I felt a metallic object under my shoe. I bend down as if tying my shoe laces and quickly scooped up the object into a small plastic evidence bag I had in my jacket pocket.
As we gathered around the command center, the FBI guys introduced themselves and made it clear that they were now in charge and would have their own people here shortly to take over the forensic investigation. They advised us to leave this matter to the “professionals”. I can’t speak for Greg or anyone else but I was aggravated that these Fed’s could waltz into our community and our jurisdiction and just take over our jobs.
We were all asked if we had disturbed or gathered any evidence and I simply shook my head and walked slowly away. As I was leaving the agent in charge made it clear that they would most likely stop by the station the next day to interview our people to see if we could be of any assistance.
I was already beat from a 12 hour shift and headed right back to my house when I left Fairbanks Street. As I drove back across town, I had a hard time getting the mental picture of all that carnage out of my mind. Sure I had been a cop for a long time, but I never really got used to seeing all that type of useless violence.
I had a hard time getting to sleep that night. The images from earlier in the evening kept running thru my mind. My instincts told me that there was something, something that just didn’t add up. How did the Feds get involved and how could they be on site so quickly. Why were the field agents so insistent on getting our people out of the area so quickly? Where those 6 guys laying scattered on the lawn victims or was it a pure accident? Maybe the whole thing was just my tired cop mind, trying to rationalize the evening’s events. In any case I finally nodded of to sleep.
The next day I was off but I got called into work, because we were to be debriefed by the Field Agents. Each of us that were present the night before were called into the office one at a time. We were told that they had determined the deaths to be accidental from a gas leak explosion. It seemed rather odd to me that they were more interested in what we did or didn’t know then actually trying to gather data to sort out the incident. After telling them that I did a casual walk thru and had no clues or evidence to offer them, they quickly sent me on my way.
Over the course of the next few days I was increasingly sure that the boys from Washington had tried to put one over on our “less sophisticated” small town law enforcement officers. My gut told me this whole deal was being swept under the rug and there was a full scale cover up in progress.
Over the next few days I worked on the case behind the scenes, in my spare time, using my police credentials and resources to interview people and gather evidence. It turns out that our recently departed friends were part of a terrorist cell that also worked part time as apprentice bomb makers. The item I picked up on the lawn that night was a military style detonator and judging by the damage done from the blast, they had a great deal of explosives on hand.
When I tracked the numbers stored in the cell phone I picked up, it lead me to the apartment of a middle eastern women that lived downtown. The FBI had been tracking one of our late friends and a 7th member of the team, a women, who had led them to the house on Fairbanks. As luck would have it she was out doing whatever terrorist type women do on a Wednesday night and missed out on the fireworks. The FBI team picked her up before she got back to the house and brought her back to D.C. for questioning. They figured that was the extent of her involvement in the case. She didn’t tell them anything and they neglected to inform her as to the fate of her x-friends. When they released her a few hours latter, she evidentially figured her clan was still on schedule to show off the efforts of their bomb making house party.
From there it was a no brainer to put a surveillance team on her and after a day to make sure she wasn’t being followed she headed right to the international airport to meet the other half of the cell. I noticed her standing out side the door nervously checking her watch and looking anxiously for her team members. Fortunately for us, the two teams had never met and as a security precaution, our girlfriend was the only liaison between the two groups. She also had no idea as of yet, that the only way she was going to meet up with the Fairbanks six was in the morgue or on her day of reckoning.
From there it wasn’t too hard to spot the rest of her party when they pulled up in a white van. All four of them each only had one piece of luggage, a “golf club case”. They tried to act discreet but I noticed one of them winking at her.
I guess it pays to think ahead because, being a team player, I had an FBI swat team all dressed as baggage handlers that met them at the curb. I can still remember the look on their faces as our boys offered to take their luggage. The look on their faces clearly showed this wasn’t part of their plan. They now had to scramble to open the cases outside on the sidewalk instead of at their leisure inside. The boys in blue were on them in a heart beat. One of the guys had planned ahead and brought a pistol in his belt. From my vantage point I could see him draw the pistol and spin to face the Feds. I guess action is faster than reaction because I already had drawn my Kimber 1911 from its belt holster and cranked off a shot. There is a reason I carry the old style 1911 in .45 caliber, its one hell of a man stopper. That single shot spun him around and he hit the concrete with a thud. One dead Tango. In less then a minute it was all over as the team zipped up the other three perps and I slapped the cuffs on the lady in black.
It turns out that each golf case contained an automatic weapon, and they had planned to wreak havoc in the terminal followed by a rather big bang from their now deceased bomb making brothers.(may they rest in peace)The second team was going to scatter their hardware around in the confusion and cause a secondary incident when the shooting subsided.
Well, I guess everything turned out ok in the end, but if it weren’t for a few bomb makers that failed explosives 101, things could have turned out quite different.
Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com
P.I.B.
I’m overwhelmed with emotion right now. All of my friends and co-workers are here for my retirement party. It seems like my service in law enforcement has just flown by, especially the last 11 years as a detective. As luck would have it, I’m also receiving tonight, the highest commendation from the department, a letter of appreciation from the President of the Unites States, and most enjoyably, an apology from two senior guys. What a way to point an exclamation mark on a 30 year career.
Actually I had planned on retiring a few weeks ago when I got my 30 in, and would have, if weren’t for the Fairbanks case. I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was so horrified at the crime scene that I promised myself right then and there that I wouldn’t quit until we brought the perpetrator to justice.
It was around 10:30pm on a Wednesday evening and my shift was just about over. I was looking forward to a stiff drink and a few days off, when I got the call. I could tell by the frantic tone from the first responders that this wasn’t going to be a typical case.
I hit the lights on my unmarked car and made it halfway across town in about 5 minutes. As I rounded the corner I was greeted by the familiar sight of flashing lights and the street was already full of patrol cars and firefighters.
I parked half a block away because the boys in blue had already taped off the area as a crime scene, and they were ushering onlookers away from the house. As I approached the house I was greeted by my old friend Greg Bailey. Greg and I go way back, in fact we were even partners for a while in my patrol days. Greg is a seasoned veteran and has seen it all, that’s why I knew this was something big, by just looking at his face as he approached.
By this time the whole place was crawling with uniforms and reporters. I asked him what the hell was going on here and he held a finger up to his lips and motioned for me to meet him over by his patrol car. I can remember the hair standing up on the back of my neck as we walked towards the car. We are part of a small department and it was very unusual for an officer to feel the need to discuss a crime scene in private.
Greg told me to get to work quickly because he had already received a call from the FBI and they instructed him to preserve the crime scene as they had two agents on the way. He was further instructed to turn over his jurisdiction and command of the crime scene to the suits as soon as they arrived. This must not be your garden variety homicide case.
Our conversation was interrupted by a cell phone call and Greg briefly put one hand over the phone and mouthed the word “Captain” and then he waived me off, while he was evidently getting chewed out on the phone. Judging by the urgency in Greg’s voice, I immediately turned my attention to surveying the area. I briefly talked to a few of the neighbors and eye witnesses and jotted down a few notes. I’ve found that sometimes the most seemingly insignificant facts or statements can latter turn out to be items of key evidence.
Our forensics guy had not yet arrived so I decided to start the investigation on my own. Out of habit I carry my own little digital camera and began taking pictures of the entire area. I’ve learned that it’s a smart practice to capture things in pictures before a bunch of firemen and paramedics start trammeling thru the evidence. As I was putting on a pair of latex gloves I noticed a cell phone, partially covered in blood in the driveway. It might be evidence so I grabbed it. As I made my way to the garage I also picked up a half charred piece of paper with some directions on it.
I hadn’t taken a dozen photos and my cell phone rang. A quick look at the screen showed it to be a call from Captain Miller. I’d never admit to this but I was sure he was calling to tell me to stay outside the perimeter until the FBI guys established control. Well, I would never knowingly disobey an order or hesitate in taking an urgent call from a superior but after all, it was a very noisy crime scene and it would be easy to miss the sound of a cell call.
I put the phone back in my jacket pocket and went about the task of gathering evidence. I counted as least 6 dead bodies that had most likely met their end by a horrendous blast that easily took out the garage and east half of the house. There was debris and body parts strewn everywhere, I figured it would take days to sift thru all the evidence.
I noticed two black Suburban’s making their way past the make shift barricades and toward the house. Well it didn’t take much law enforcement skill to guess who had arrived at the scene. I could see the two agents in their neat suits talking with Greg in the distance and gesturing over toward the house and in my direction. A few seconds latter I heard Greg’s voice over the bull horn instructing all personnel from our agency to meet him over by his patrol car.
At first I pretended that I didn’t hear the announcement but there was no mistaking the exaggerated hand signals that were directed my way, and I figured I had better comply. As I was walking back towards the road, I felt a metallic object under my shoe. I bend down as if tying my shoe laces and quickly scooped up the object into a small plastic evidence bag I had in my jacket pocket.
As we gathered around the command center, the FBI guys introduced themselves and made it clear that they were now in charge and would have their own people here shortly to take over the forensic investigation. They advised us to leave this matter to the “professionals”. I can’t speak for Greg or anyone else but I was aggravated that these Fed’s could waltz into our community and our jurisdiction and just take over our jobs.
We were all asked if we had disturbed or gathered any evidence and I simply shook my head and walked slowly away. As I was leaving the agent in charge made it clear that they would most likely stop by the station the next day to interview our people to see if we could be of any assistance.
I was already beat from a 12 hour shift and headed right back to my house when I left Fairbanks Street. As I drove back across town, I had a hard time getting the mental picture of all that carnage out of my mind. Sure I had been a cop for a long time, but I never really got used to seeing all that type of useless violence.
I had a hard time getting to sleep that night. The images from earlier in the evening kept running thru my mind. My instincts told me that there was something, something that just didn’t add up. How did the Feds get involved and how could they be on site so quickly. Why were the field agents so insistent on getting our people out of the area so quickly? Where those 6 guys laying scattered on the lawn victims or was it a pure accident? Maybe the whole thing was just my tired cop mind, trying to rationalize the evening’s events. In any case I finally nodded of to sleep.
The next day I was off but I got called into work, because we were to be debriefed by the Field Agents. Each of us that were present the night before were called into the office one at a time. We were told that they had determined the deaths to be accidental from a gas leak explosion. It seemed rather odd to me that they were more interested in what we did or didn’t know then actually trying to gather data to sort out the incident. After telling them that I did a casual walk thru and had no clues or evidence to offer them, they quickly sent me on my way.
Over the course of the next few days I was increasingly sure that the boys from Washington had tried to put one over on our “less sophisticated” small town law enforcement officers. My gut told me this whole deal was being swept under the rug and there was a full scale cover up in progress.
Over the next few days I worked on the case behind the scenes, in my spare time, using my police credentials and resources to interview people and gather evidence. It turns out that our recently departed friends were part of a terrorist cell that also worked part time as apprentice bomb makers. The item I picked up on the lawn that night was a military style detonator and judging by the damage done from the blast, they had a great deal of explosives on hand.
When I tracked the numbers stored in the cell phone I picked up, it lead me to the apartment of a middle eastern women that lived downtown. The FBI had been tracking one of our late friends and a 7th member of the team, a women, who had led them to the house on Fairbanks. As luck would have it she was out doing whatever terrorist type women do on a Wednesday night and missed out on the fireworks. The FBI team picked her up before she got back to the house and brought her back to D.C. for questioning. They figured that was the extent of her involvement in the case. She didn’t tell them anything and they neglected to inform her as to the fate of her x-friends. When they released her a few hours latter, she evidentially figured her clan was still on schedule to show off the efforts of their bomb making house party.
From there it was a no brainer to put a surveillance team on her and after a day to make sure she wasn’t being followed she headed right to the international airport to meet the other half of the cell. I noticed her standing out side the door nervously checking her watch and looking anxiously for her team members. Fortunately for us, the two teams had never met and as a security precaution, our girlfriend was the only liaison between the two groups. She also had no idea as of yet, that the only way she was going to meet up with the Fairbanks six was in the morgue or on her day of reckoning.
From there it wasn’t too hard to spot the rest of her party when they pulled up in a white van. All four of them each only had one piece of luggage, a “golf club case”. They tried to act discreet but I noticed one of them winking at her.
I guess it pays to think ahead because, being a team player, I had an FBI swat team all dressed as baggage handlers that met them at the curb. I can still remember the look on their faces as our boys offered to take their luggage. The look on their faces clearly showed this wasn’t part of their plan. They now had to scramble to open the cases outside on the sidewalk instead of at their leisure inside. The boys in blue were on them in a heart beat. One of the guys had planned ahead and brought a pistol in his belt. From my vantage point I could see him draw the pistol and spin to face the Feds. I guess action is faster than reaction because I already had drawn my Kimber 1911 from its belt holster and cranked off a shot. There is a reason I carry the old style 1911 in .45 caliber, its one hell of a man stopper. That single shot spun him around and he hit the concrete with a thud. One dead Tango. In less then a minute it was all over as the team zipped up the other three perps and I slapped the cuffs on the lady in black.
It turns out that each golf case contained an automatic weapon, and they had planned to wreak havoc in the terminal followed by a rather big bang from their now deceased bomb making brothers.(may they rest in peace)The second team was going to scatter their hardware around in the confusion and cause a secondary incident when the shooting subsided.
Well, I guess everything turned out ok in the end, but if it weren’t for a few bomb makers that failed explosives 101, things could have turned out quite different.
Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com
P.I.B.
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