They were standing on the front lawn of a Polish Flat, a typical four room dwelling common on the south side of Milwaukee. As soon as the mortgage was paid on these flats, the Pollack’s would raise them on posts and add a semi basement underneath and the owner would then rent this out. Once this second mortgage was paid, the place would be converted back to a single family home. This particular flat did not have a semi basement added. As I approached Detective Marshall and Detective Williams, I could tell that this was going to be one of those moments that Marshall would tolerate me. He looked much worse then he normally did, but Detective Williams still looked hot. Harry sported the same flat top hair cut he had when he got out of the army and had a prominent chin, along with cauliflower ears. His hair line started behind those ears. He stood just over six feet tall and his waist line was beginning to grow from the long hours he spent behind the wheel of his squad car or behind his desk eating too many Polish sausages. He was standing with his legs slightly spread and his shoulders slumped down. Over the years, during the good times, Harry and I shared many a bottle of Brandy and he confessed his love of the job despite all the crap he had to deal with from the brass. He said it was as bad as the army. He dreaded retirement and it was approaching faster than he cared to admit. He didn’t know how much longer he could last as all the crime in the city was wearing him down. He was only forty five, but looked sixty five, it was the eyes. They had seen a lot over the years. He was married once with no kids, but that was all he would say about that episode of his life.
Detective Williams, known as EJ by her closest friends, wore her light brown hair stylishly short and stood about five foot eight inches tall. Not thin, not fat, but solid. She had what could only be described as bedroom eyes, where the eyelids seductively droop half way over the eyes. She has nice sized breasts and a small waist. She was a sight to see when she was in the uniformed division with that Sam Browne belt cinched tight around her waist accentuating her breasts. She is what made covering the crime beat enjoyable. Civilian clothes didn’t take anything away from her either, now that she was in the plain clothes division, that’s for sure. Her jacket was neatly pressed with darts, which brought attention to her magnificent curves and her pants were always clean and freshly pressed. She undoubtedly never left home without her makeup applied and a hair out of place or a wrinkle to be seen.
In contrast, the khaki colored suit Harry wore was wrinkled and looked like he had slept in it, which he probably did. His yellow striped tie was sporting a stain from drippings of sauce from a previous lunch and was hanging loosely from the collar of his blue oxford shirt, which was frayed at the neck. I shouldn’t be talking about the way Harry dresses as neither Harry nor I would be asked to enter Milwaukee’s Best Dressed Men contest. His hound dog eyes were bloodshot and seemed to be held on his face by the multiple bags of skin plastered above his cheeks. Harry’s nose was bent to the side from an altercation he had at “The Cuffs”, a favorite off duty hangout for officers from the eighth precinct, when some new uniformed patrolman made a crude remark about Detective Williams’ magnificent breasts. Detective Williams’ likes to let everyone know she could have taken the punk down by herself. But she is gracious enough to let everyone who asks know, that Harry “beat the ever lovin’ shit outta the dirt bag, saving her the trouble.”
“What are you guys doing taking a call way out here?” I asked.
The baleful look Harry had, gave me the feeling that I would get some inside information regarding what just went down.
“We were riding by, headin’ back to the precinct when the call came in and I told the dispatcher we would take it.”
“A 187,” he volunteered, which is police code for a homicide, as I pulled out a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes. They changed their package back from the olive drab green, red and black design they adorned during the war years to the red, white and black that they originally had. I tapped the bottom of the pack to push one out so he could grab it. I snapped open the lid of my Zippo lighter with the United States Army Air Corp insignia on it and put the flame to the end of the cigarette. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the acrid smoke and releasing it slowly in the shape of little O’s. Detective Williams turned her face in disgust waving her hand in the air to move the smoke away. Harry didn’t know that I didn’t smoke. At least if he did know, he didn’t let on that he knew. I carried the Lucky Strikes because I knew they were his brand of preference.
“This is a bad one Max, he said, his hands shook. He was visibly shaken. A lady cut to pieces in there. There’s blood all over the place. The perp cut off her head. Man, it’s missing. Are you here as a private dick or for that daily rag up north?” He knew what I was there for; he was just pulling my chain.
“What’s missing?” I asked, ignoring his question and staring at the profile that Detective Williams was giving me.
“The fuck you thinks’ missing? The lady’s head. The Chief put out an APB on it in case anyone runs across it. Can you believe that shit? A fucking APB on a missing head? Don’t know what she looked like, but what is left of her is really something.
“Shut up, Harry”, Williams said, her voice dripping with disgust, looking like a Norwegian who just found out someone stole her lutefisk.
“Shit, pretty soon every fuckin’ reporter north of Racine monitoring police calls tonight will be in my face.” She groaned.
“Geez, I can smell the blood out here,” I said.
“Any chance of me taking a look?”
I was hoping Harry would let me see the crime scene. Since he was the senior officer, Williams didn’t have a say. If it was up to her, she wouldn’t be talking to me, let alone letting me step into her crime scene.
I had my Brownie camera in the glove box and I could snap some shots of the body. I knew they wouldn’t be professional but at least they would be something. That would be a real scoop. If Francis didn’t want them, I might be able to sell them to the True Detective Magazine. Maybe I could convince Francis to give me a little bonus for getting exclusive photos of what could turn out to be one of Wisconsin’s most gruesome murders.
“Yeah, I’ll letcha in there,” Harry said, “but don’t touch nothin’ or I’ll cut your balls off. Then get the hell outta there before the chief and coroner arrive. I’ll meet you at Rocco’s when I finish up here. You can buy me a couple of Christian Brothers with Blatz chasers. You might consider throwing in a steak and fries too.”
“You got it, Harry,” I replied.
“ How about you Emily?” I knew she didn’t like me addressing her by her first name. The scowl on her face when she turned to say “Go fuck yourself Max”, confirmed it.
I walked toward my car. “Let me get my camera and then I’ll run in and out quick before anyone gets here.”
“The hell you will,” Harry yelled.
“No pictures! You wanna get me fired? Think they won’t know who gave you access to the scene? Just get in there and get the info you need for your story and then get your ass outta there!”
I put my hand on his shoulder and said “I’ll be careful Harry.
Thanks a lot. I owe you.”
“Damn right you do!”
“Aw shit, Harry, you’re gonna’ get our asses fired one of these days you keep on doin’ these things for that loser,” Emily yelled.
“Come on, EJ, you love me”, I said on my way into the house.
Detective Williams raised her right hand and thrust her middle finger in the direction of my retreating backside. I had no idea I was about to get involved in what was to become the biggest case I ever covered and which, at the least, almost cost Harry his job and me my PI license and my job with the Daily Citizen as well as our lives. Not to say anything about the indelible mark that was put on my relationship with Detective Emily Williams.