The act of looking into the mirror is one of faith and discovery. Everyone carries the inner image of them self. When the reflection glances back upon you, your twin either confirms or ignores the imag held moments before. It tells no white lies to spare your feelings. We either listen to the truth it speaks or not.
That bit of knowledge alone would have been reason enough for Jeff H. Conner to avoid mirrors. Like so many, answers his was easier than that, the fact was he didn’t care. On days he had to shave his face he did so in the shower by feel and memory. Hot water, shaving cream and skill allowing him to de-shower predominantly clean-shaven and nick less. He kept a stash of disposable razors in the car for the inevitable times his partner would comment on a missed section of cheek or chin. The light to moderate pain of dry shaving that one square inch was enough slow him down and become temporarily zen regards to shaving in the shower.
Some long-term couples begin to resemble each other. Some pet owners look like their pets. Jeff Conner a homicide detective looked like his job. In fact he looked like he came straight from central casting. Greying, balding and heavy. Heavy in the way a dump truck was heavy rather than Jabba the Hut heavy.
The intelligent ones most always end up in homicide. You need to be ready to learn so much more in homicide. If you have a case involving a Jeweler you learn a little about that business. One of the perks for Jeff of being in this line of work was the chance to learn outside this sphere of knowing. Bookbinders, sports managers, insurance salesmen, even house wives had their tidbits to offer. In one case where a housewife shot her cheating abusive husband 4 times in the chest, the subject spent a lot of interview time teaching him to cook and how to make his jacket not look as if had not been slept in, by hanging it in the bathroom on a good wooden hanger not wire, when he took this hot morning shower. She had emphasized it being a quality wooden hanger. No, wire hangers. He had done just that many times since it always made him smile.
The body had the shocked look of the arrogant not the terrified look of the innocent on it’s frozen face. Landing flat on his back on the oak parquet living room floor. Jeff stepped around. As photos were taken and prints rolled. The wife had run upstairs and locked herself into the bathroom. She had dropped the Smith & Wesson .38 revolver where she stood when she fired it. The on scene personal all force veterans saw the situation for what it was. They had seen it before. The location was ‘secure’ so the decision was made to wait her out. So much more paperwork involved when you go in with smoke and grenades.
Every police officer and wider all first responders had parent issues. Good, bad or, otherwise they all had them. Some as simple as ‘I was gonna be a 4th generation cop before I was born.’ Like Jeff's younger partner Richard ‘Big Dick’ Haggerty had told Jeff more than twice over after shift refreshments. For some a darker action witnessed had lead them here. To this, place. A place where, they could to try and make a small difference make any difference. To find some bit of justice for the victims. It astonished Jeff how he had to dig deep sometimes to unearth the real victims among the self-purported variety. This had become something of a national sport of late even more so in Hollywood, and you did not have to be famous to play. Casey Anthony was neither the first nor the last killer to walk free under the victim umbrella. In deed there were many that thought the whole of the democratic system political and judicial was in the midst of falling apart. Jeff preferred it was listening and changing to fit into an ever, shifting world. Jeff was a good listener made him a good cop. Over his career there were many times he didn’t have to do much more than listen and ask the right questions. In more than a few cases he simply listened as they talked them self right into ‘C’ block.
Jeff was climbing the stairs of the modest house passing officers he knew well and some less well. He hummed the theme from ‘COPS’ quietly as he ascended and looked at the family photos that lined the stairwell. Just one, step from the second floor he saw a picture of the wife dark hair young happy full of life. Next to her was one of the corpse downstairs. “What you gonna do when she shoots at you.” He sang finishing the song and tapping a finger on the picture frame of the husband. “BOOM.” He whispered to the dead photo.
Both the officer that stood beside the locked bathroom door and Detective Richard Haggarty looked up and smiled at this. Cop humor. Is part of the job. It is not uncaring as each crime is felt to some extent. Still if you wanted to make it home for, dinner fully intact you needed a way to disconnect from all the darkness and try to live mostly in the light. (So to speak.)
Jeff glanced at the name on the incident sheet. Richard commenting on Jeff’s acapella song said “You know Jeff had you survived you would be a very sick man right now.” Jeff grinned and pointed at the closed door noticing the gap at the bottom was cut at least one inch too short light from the bathroom spilled onto the tan carpeted hallway. Jeff sat on the floor with his back to the wall on the right side of the door not directly in front. On the off chance she had another weapon with her. He was pretty sure, she could hear him as he sat down with a small grunt.
‘Elaine, my name is Jeff Connor I’m a detective with the Los Angeles police department." He waited. He could hear her in there. Crying?
"Elaine, I would like to talk to you about this situation we have here."
In most negations he liked to use the subject’s first name he found it highly effective.
Another, pause to reveal his listening.
"’Elaine if it would make you feel more comfortable you could unlock the door and let me in we could talk in there."
“I shot him.” Elaine quivered.
“I shot him.” This time her voice so soft it only conveyed the information it herself
‘Well, Elaine we can talk about all of that why not unlock the door?"
When Richard heard her words I shot him, he whispered over to the other officer “ Aw It’s ok daring you know I’m not even sure that is illegal anymore.”
The officer smiled stifled a larger laugh. The grin felt like a reward for Richard. All his life he had enjoyed making people laugh. He had always thought what a fine thing to be able to create from nothing a laugh or even a smile.
Jeff felt his butt start no complained about the hard floor. He struggled to his feet noisily her benefit.
"‘You have such a nice home here Elaine surly there must be a more comfortable place to talk." Jeff continued.
Just keeping her engaged. There was the sound of the bathroom door lock being turned with a ‘click.’ Jeff knocked on the door.
"May I come in Elaine?" He waited.
"OK"
10 seconds later Jeff called though the door to have the ‘doc’ send up an icepack. Jeff handed it to Elaine who touched it to the swollen black eye growing on her face.
"This will be the last time you will have to nurse a black eye." Jeff said half smiling.
Sixty-eight minutes later they both emerged. Elaine in her blood stained dress holding the mostly melted ice pack to her eye. At the foot of the stairs Jeff urged her left away from where the body still lay. Walking her through the kitchen out the side door and around the back of the house to a waiting cruiser. She didn’t fight as they put the cuffs on her. Jeff stopped the office from putting her hands behind her and turned her cuffing her hands in front so she could hold a fresh ice pack to her face. Another officer sitting next to her in the back seat incase she had second thoughts on the ride in. She didn’t seem like the type but all the cops know you never fucking know.
As Jeff got into his brown crown Vic. another officer Alex Tavelman passed him."‘Nice touch in there Conner." he said not slowing down and thumping the roof of the car with one hand as he walked away.
Elaine Carol Taylor served 4 months of on a one-year sentence.
She lives now with her husband and one year old son in Bend Oregon. Upon her release and after parole she sold the family house and left Los Angeles.
She has never been back.
Copyright © 2011 J. V. Wilder. All right reserved
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