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THE DETECTIVE HAD BARELY entered the building before they were greeted by Officer Fitzpatrick. He held a secure cell phone in Detective McGee’s—the lead detective’s—face.
There had been a murder in DuPont Circle.
“Detective McGee? It’s Sergeant Joel Pisano from Two D. We’ve stumbled across a murder that seems right up your alley. Very nasty artwork. His face is quite the canvas. No Testicles.”
“Who’s the vic?” she asked entering the elevator, headed back to her desk.
“Senator Jacob T. Elberg, ma’am. I’m calling you because he fits right into the mold of your case. Dead security on his lawn. Wife bashed in the face and in critical condition.”
Democrat, Senator Elberg, had been the ranking member on the Senate Judiciary Committee. He was well-known for stalling votes in committee that reversed the harsh drug laws drafted in the nineties. Fame came his way when his hacked E-mails revealed that he vowed to continue to clandestinely oppress black men for their migrating from urban ghettos to white suburbs, peddling crack and hard dick to innocent young white women. According to Elberg, America needed less mulatto babies, stalling the growth of the pure black population.
Another gruesome incident and another bad D.C. insider ripped right out of the headlines—Washington, we have a pattern.
Detective McGee sat at her desk, pulled out a pen and asked, “Where are you?”
“1797 New Hampshire Avenue, NW. Dupont Circ. You’re familiar with this area, right?”
“Of course,” she told the sergeant. Handing the address to Bald Eagle, she said, “Pull that up on Google Earth for me, please.” Returning her attention to Sergeant Pisano, she said, “Has the paramedics gotten there, yet?”
“Yes ma’am. The senator was ruled dead minutes before I called you.”
“So no one else is in the house?”
“Not yet. I’ve called D.C. Mobile Crime to get the scene processed for you.”
“Any shells around to know what kinda gun was used?”
“I’m no expert, but my best guess is a semi-auto. There’s a lot of casings, and from a big weapon.” He chuckled. “I frequent the range and do a lot of testimony. People are killing cops nowadays.”
“OK.” She was looking at the corner home on Detective Bald Eagles’ screen. “Set up a command post on the street—not the yard, Sergeant. Put an officer at the front, back, and sides of the home. No one enters. No one in the driveway, either. If the neighbors are out of their homes, they’re not allowed on the block. Block access as done for the home of a president. We need to check the neighbor’s property for footprints and other forensics. No one in the home until I get there. I’m sure Capitol Police, FBI, ATF, hell, maybe the chief too, will be there. Tell them to call me if they don’t like my rules. This is an MPD case, and I am the lead homicide detective, period.”
“Anything else, ma’am?”
“Just one other and this is important, so imperative, violators will be forced into early retirement, trust. No, and, I seriously mean this, no officers are to talk to reporters. None! When they arrive they’re to be ignored by everyone, but you. Tell them to wait for an official briefing. No mention that the senator is dead. Has the wife been taken to the hospital?”
“Yes. George Washington University Hospital.”
“Very good. No mention of her, either. You got it?”
“I do.”