This story is part of an ongoing series.
The chronological order of my stories is listed in WifeWatchman's biography, which is currently not updating. Stories after Music Box Dancer are:
Return To Apple Grove, Media Matters, Swamp Frogs, Man of God, Fathers and Sons.
Feedback and
constructive
criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas.
This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.
Part 23 - The Hardest Duty Ever
The investigation was rapid. Videotape that existed had been taken into evidence. All sorts of evidence samples had been taken and bagged, and the Hospital ran a few quick tests. Charlie had gone to sleep when the barbiturates went into his system, and then the potassium chloride had stopped his courageous heart.
The 'orderly' was a recent parolee of Jacksonville State Prison, last known to have been in the City. Small time piece of shit that committed suicide when he was about to get caught, which reminded me of Pastor Westboro's army of amped-up thugs.
At 4:30am, I left the Hospital and headed for home. I told Laura what happened, and she got up, knowing that this day just got busy for her, also. I quickly showered, shaved and put on my most-recently-dry-cleaned Duty Dress uniform. I had called the Reverend Dr. Edward Ayers, the Presbyterian minister, and told him I'd pick him up inside an hour. I also called the Duty Desk, and ordered Reservoir Road and connections to it closed to through traffic... and especially to Press vans.
At 5:30am, I picked up Dr. Ayers and we drove to the other side of the mountain finger and up the road. We pulled into the driveway of 2461 Reservoir Road and parked, misery in my soul.
This was going to be without doubt the hardest duty I would ever have to perform as a TCPD Officer. Even the act of raising my hand and knocking on the door required of me a seemingly superhuman effort. But I got it done.
A moment later, Chief Griswold opened the door, looking tousled, as if he'd just been awakened. He was a good Detective, and realized that his Police Commander and his church's minister on his doorstep at this hour was not a good thing. The look on my face might've suggested some things, as well.
"Chief, can we come in?" I asked. He silently nodded and I let the minister in first, then followed, leading the Chief back into the main room.
"Oh, hello Commander, Dr. Ayers." said Mrs. Griswold, who was padding towards the kitchen. "I'll just make some coffee for you all-------"
"Ma'am," I said quietly as I physically intervened to stop her. "Why don't you come in and sit down." She seemed bewildered as I guided her to the sofa, between Chief Griswold and Dr. Ayers, then sat down in the chair facing them. I still don't know where I found the voice to speak.
"I... I've just come from the Hospital." I said. "Your son Charlie... passed away in the night."
"He... he... Charlie?" wailed Mrs. Griswold, not wanting to believe it.
"I'm sorry." I said. "He's gone." Mrs. Griswold put her hands over her eyes and began sobbing, breaking down. Chief Griswold held her in a hug and then looked up at me.
"How... did he die?" he asked, agony in his voice.
"He went to sleep, and never woke up." I said. "I don't think he suffered." I made sure to bore my eyes into the Chief's. I think he understood.
I sat there, staying with them for long minutes as Mrs. Griswold cried. I heard a knock on the door, and went to answer it. It was Laura, her medical bag in her hand. We went back inside, where Laura hugged the Chief as she offered condolences, then sat down with Mrs. Griswold and began using her medical and psychological skills to help the distraught mother.
"I'll walk you to the door, Crowbar." the Chief said quietly. We stepped outside, seeing the light of dawn beginning to brighten, a dawn that gave no joy on this day.
"What happened, Crowbar?"
I told him of the orderly that the Police chased. Then I said "The crime scene and autopsy are still pending, but the Hospital ran a couple of tests for me, off the record. It was barbiturates and potassium chloride." After a pause I said "It's first degree murder, Chief."
"Thank you for coming personally, Crowbar." the Chief said. "I know this had to be hard for you to do."
"Not nearly as hard as it must be for you." I said. I hugged him as I said "I'm going to get the bastards, Chief. I swear to God..."
"I know you will." said the Chief. "Okay, get out there and kick ass. We'll be okay here..."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
6:55am, Friday, August 10th. The banter in MCD was just heating up. Jonathan Davis was there, having made the coffee for everyone himself. It was strong, but people were liking it.
Then Commander Cindy Ross came into the room, followed by Chief Moynahan. The look on the Green Crowbar's face was not one of banter.
"Everyone listen up!" she called out loudly. When she got silence, she said "Before the news comes on, there is something I need to tell you. Charlie Griswold died last night."
"Whaaa?" came a chorus, followed by a stillness throughout the room. Jonathan Davis gasped in shock, then he groaned.
"I don't know the details." Cindy said loudly. "I got the call from Commander Troy a few minutes ago. He asked me to tell you before the God-damned Press did. Okay, turn on the TV." Someone did so, and everyone watched silently and intently:
"This is Bettina Wurtzburg, KXTC Fox Two News!" said the redheaded reporterette solemnly from in front of University Hospital. "Fox Two News has learned that Charlie Griswold, son of Sheriff candidate Antonio Griswold, has died in the night at University Hospital."