Yet Untitled. Welby Thomas Cox, Jr.

why am I haranguing this guy? Poor bastard, goes to war, comes home, finds the kid and takes care of business. What else? The record doesn’t show that he was turning any great big bucks early on when he got back, had this immediate family, the wife isn’t working, and he has some entry level job at Citizens Fidelity Bank, making little or nothing. Get off it, she told herself, that’s the story; they got by!

      “The good news is the Department doesn’t want me on cleaning duty, and since we are on stake out here, they have authorized me to pay you for the use of this studio, plus we need the garage,” Ellioto said.

      “Hey, some say that if you are not a part of the solution, you are a part of the problem, and the only problem I can see with this arrangement is that you will have access to my bedroom just off the garage!” he said coyly.

      “Are you suggesting that I might jump…” she let the line go as she blushed at her rather brash remark.

      “I’m suggesting that the door is always open!” Thad said enjoying the banter.

      “I’ll keep it under surveillance.” she said.

      “You and your biga pistola,” he feigned the heavy Sicilian accent.

      They had each other in the cross hairs. The life of a police officer has many limitations not the least of which was the lack of access to a normal social life. The hours long, the contact with the public, especially for the detective, runs typically to fringe and lower class, prostitutes, pimps, drug dealers, addicts, fencers, thieves and murderers. Not the kind of people a decent person wants to hang out with, much less start any kind of relationship.

      Of course everyone knows the stereotype. The cop in the movie, lots of friends, gets all the girls and goes home each and every night to Mama Leonie. Not true. And especially out of character for a female, seeking intimacy and not just a quick roll in the sack. Detective Ellioto thought this one might just play. She loved his sense of humor and self-deprecating manner. He seemed to be the kind of man into himself, confident but not cocky; definitely not an ego type nor did he seem to be a womanizer. Yes, she thought this guy had some things going for him. But the cop thing may be a problem, she thought. Some men are intimidated by it, some men just don’t want the hassle of having the lady they love coming home at any and all hours, hanging out with sleaze. Come to think of it she really didn’t blame them, or like it either!

      In her heart she knew that the time was near when she would have to make a decision about her career, or her need for love, deep fulfilling intimacy and the hope for a family. This career had come as an afterthought. It was a time when all branches of government were on heightened alert to hire more females. Her goal had been to work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation but after college she had no interest in any more schooling. Sixteen years and a large student loan portfolio was enough. She had thought that the police department job might lead to an administrative job or some form of teaching which she loved to do and was qualified. But it had gone in another direction because she was very smart, aggressive, and politically on the right track to a job as a detective. The Mayor needed those numbers to come in just right, in order to continue to be the darling of those whose job it is to make life miserable for politicians who are not sensitive to the rights of all groups and gender.

      She had seriously thought of going into the security business. Working for a firm, or even going out on her own, contracting with all forms of business in need of private investigative and security police. It was a great business, fewer hours, more money and certainly less danger. But was that the reason she had only given lip service to it? The action, the danger gets into most cops blood, the thrill of the chase, catching the bad guy, proving people wrong. She didn’t think it was all those things, but there she was. But not as before.

      LOUD KNOCKING AT THE DOOR

      “Mr. Hamilton, sorry to bother you at this hour sir,” the man was half pushing his way through the door.

      Hamilton was still groggy from being awakened from a sound sleep and erotic dream of Detective Ellioto…his business jumping beneath a Terry cloth robe.

      “I’m Detective Donohue,” he showed his badge to Thad. “May I come in?”

      “Sure Detective, let me get some lights here,” Hamilton fumbled.

      Donohue followed.

      “Coffee Detective,”

      “Just water, thanks.”

      “Where is Detective Ellioto…is there some problem?”

       “Mr. Hamilton, it is my duty to advise you that anything you say,”…

      My God Thad thought, does this thing never stop? Maybe Ellioto was correct when she said that most people stay away from tainted property because it always seems to rub off. All Thad could think of at this hour was getting back to bed, but now this policeman was reading him his Miranda rights.

      “Look, Detective Donohue, I have been very cooperative during this investigation but you are really intruding on my privacy and now, at this hour? I demand the right to speak with my attorney if you’re reading me my rights!”

      “We will get to that in due course Mr. Hamilton, but right now you can answer a few questions here or I’ll be taking you downtown”

      “Now I’m under arrest? For what? Just tell me what is going on?”

      “Detective Gina Ellioto is dead and you may have been the last person to see her!”

      Detective Donohue made good on his threat. The prosecutor felt good there was probable cause to detain Hamilton and so did Donohue. He was certain that forensics would turn up the necessary evidence once they had run both apartments for prints. And most importantly, he didn’t want the cop killer to have the opportunity to run. But then why hadn’t he? The criminal mind he had thought, capable of any amount of delusion. When it is plain for all to see, the criminal sees nothing! He knew that he could hold Hamilton for forty eight hours and he would get the confession. And who knows, maybe this guy did the whacking on the Mattingly case as well. He’d get the old lady in for the line up! It’s a stretch but you just never know, maybe Hamilton is a real sicco, homo. All the neighbors had said that Mattingly was a flaming fagot. They had seen him at the late night parties there in the garden, dancing and holding ass; filthy prick got what he deserved. Dirty degenerate homo succo of the big salami. Donohue’s mind raced with all the possibilities, years of ground work. His head swelled with thoughts of the press weighing in on his every statement, the Mayor patting him on his shoulder, maybe a new car and raise. Dirty Harry reincarnated… make my day m-o-t-h-e-r-f-u-c-k-e-r!

      The cell was not a pretty sight, the area had the smell and feel of a freighter, all metal. Hamilton’s head was spinning with the thoughts of Gina…murdered! Jesus, he thought, I didn’t even get to know her first name. She was such a beauty, and just as they were getting to know each other. He knew that he was moments away from nocturnal bliss, the plunge into the magic moss and the world that creates such opportunity for romance and even love! Life’s hand, dealt precariously…one moment you are handing out spades, diamonds and hearts…then a club hits you in the ass and the bits and pieces that you shared are gone, and a bit of magic as well…perhaps never to be shared with another living person.

      Maybe he should have told Donohue he didn’t know anything but his better judgment told him to remember that cops often have their own agenda that permits the truth to be obscured by a slight variation of the evidence. With thousands of cases that go without solution, hang on to the one with probable cause. But what was probable about this case? Hamilton had neither known the victims nor did he have a problem accounting for his time. Well for sure on the Mattingly murder, but then there was the old lady - she would know that he wasn’t guilty of the murder of Mattingly.

      Who was Mrs. Toddy? Another missing first name? The cops had her in a secure spot. That’s what Gina had told him. But is that so; do they know where she is? Or has she flown to some distant relative in fear of her life? If the cops have her, and they have a cop killer, or their profile of what a cop killer looks like… they could put a lot of ideas