"Great Bodily Harm"

By David Heinzmann

Remember that video of the big, fat drunk cop pummeling the cute little blond bartender because she wouldn’t serve him another drink?

It was hard to miss back in the spring of 2007 when it was played over and over and over again on cable and Internet news sites. The grainy image from a neighborhood bar security camera of the huge man in the flannel shirt, his long hair spilling out under a ball cap, tossing the woman to the floor like child hurling a toy in a tantrum, and then swinging and kicking at her curled body while the jukebox blared Johnny Cash’s "Sunday Morning Coming Down," and none of the drunks sitting at the bar lifting a finger to stop him.

If you’re in Chicago you may have heard yesterday that the cop, Tony Abbate, won’t be serving any time behind bars in the case even though he was convicted of felony aggravated battery. The judge, John Fleming, gave him probation, causing an uproar from the public about how the fix was in, and cops get away with anything in this town. http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-abbate-24-jun24,0,5965992.story

Well, actually, this case might not be a great measure of those claims. While I was reporting and writing the Tribune’s story on the Abbate verdict, most of the lawyers I talked to said they thought it was a mistake that the judge didn’t give Abbate at least a little time behind bars—say 30 days in Cook County Jail—just to make a point. But the fact was that Abbate was never going to get serious penitentiary time for this crime.

Anytime probation is an option for the judge, and the convict doesn’t have any criminal background, it’s likely he won’t be shipped off to the joint. Some made the argument yesterday that because Abbate was a cop he should be held to a higher standard, and the judge should have sent that message in a harsh sentence. The judge chose not to do that.

One of the reasons Fleming gave was that the bartender, Karolina Obrycka, did not suffer serious physical injuries despite the savagery apparent in the video. (The argument has been made that Abbate was so drunk he failed to squarely land a punch or kick.)

I thought about that reasoning as I was typing up my phone interview with Obrycka. She described the nightmares, anxiety attacks and general feelings of paranoia she’s suffered since the beating. Every time she goes out she worries she’ll be pulled over for something and the cops will recognize her, and they’ll be friends of Abbate’s, etc.

She also said she can’t fathom the idea of working anywhere alone, as she was that night in the bar, having nobody there to back her up and protect her.

She was describing psychological injuries that can be as debilitating as physical injuries. But psychological injuries aren’t covered by the aggravated battery statute used to convict Abbate. The crime describes only “great bodily harm.” Even though she didn't sustain serious physical injuries, there’s a quirk in the law that allows the felony aggravated battery charge to be used for lesser injuries if the crime takes place in a public place, like a bar. If the beating had happened at a backyard barbecue, Abbate probably would have been charged with a lesser crime.

As it is, Abbate is an unemployed cop with an infamous name and serious drinking and anger-management issues. He’s been suspended without pay for two years, and the department is going through the process of firing him. His lawyer says that’s punishment aplenty. What do you think?

Switching gears, I wrote a few weeks ago about my anticipation and anxiety over the cover for my book, A WORD TO THE WISE. Not long after that post, I got an early version from my publisher’s designers. I had some ideas, and ran them past a graphic designer friend at the Tribune, who came up with some tweaks. Five Star’s designers were wonderful to work with and in the end, I was pretty happy with the result. Many thanks to Deirdre and Chris Wait, and my colleague Shanna Novak. Here's the cover:

Tripping down Halsted St to study DNA

by Michael Dymmoch

On June 10th, the Illinois Academy of Criminology (IAC) held its Spring Institute at UIC. The program was on DNA, a subject dear to the hearts of many crime writers. Since the round-trip bus fare was less than half the parking fee, I let the CTA be my chauffeur.

I don’t do nothing well, so when I couldn’t see the # 65 bus coming down Grand Avenue, I started walking toward the Halsted Street bus stop. You always know when you do that, the bus will fly past you mid-block. Which is just what happened. But the walk gave me the chance to note a few interesting things along the way.

The view from the bridge over the Chicago River:
This could save your hero’s life if he/she fell/was pushed into the river. Or it could snag a corpse.





A pair of like-new shoes abandoned against the bridge railing:








← (shoes)

There’s a story there. Or at least a clue.

And who knows what might occur at the Funky Buddha Lounge?

As I expected, the #65 bus passed me midway between home and Halsted, but the #8 Halsted bus was waiting when I arrived at the stop.

Halsted is an interesting street. Farther North, it winds through Cabrini Green, Yuppie Lincoln Park and Guppie Lake View. From Grand south, it transects Greek Town, crosses I-290 and the Blue Line, and passes through the UIC campus on its way toward the South Side. You could do a series set just on Halsted, or at least Winesburg Ohio collection of shorts.

Spring Institute speakers Garry Bombard, Ph.D., Detective James Hennigan, retired CPD Superintendent Matt Rodriguez, ASA Mark Ertler, and Cecelia Doyle, ILSPCL.

The DNA seminar was hosted by former CPD Superintendent Matt Rodriguez, who told the audience that the FBI lab started in an old lounge in 1932 with a sink, a microscope and a machine for examining the threading in gun barrels. Today, the lab at Quantico VA employs more than 600 people and hosts the National DNA Index System (CODEX), the world’s largest repository of DNA samples. (Visitors are usually underwhelmed by the small room in which CODEX resides, with it’s banks of interconnected computers.) In 2002, the FBI processed 5,000 DNA samples per year. By 2010, they expect to process 90,000 per month.

Mark Ertler, the Assistant States Attorney who supervises Cook County’s DNA review, explained that DNA is involved in three areas of law enforcement. In investigations, it is especially useful in solving cold cases. In addition to exonerating persons wrongfully convicted of crimes, evidence collected before DNA analysis came into widespread use is now being tested and found to implicate offenders arrested for subsequent crimes.

DNA isn’t always the answer. During trials, DNA is useful if available, but “If you don’t have DNA in an assault case, you’d better be able to explain why.” The “CSI effect” is also a problem for prosecutors—jurors expect to hear DNA testimony. There is also a developing area of law connected with DNA databases. In Illinois, all convicted felons are required to submit DNA samples to CODIS, but if an individual’s DNA is in CODIS, will it prejudice the jury? Some prosecutors tell jurors the defendant’s DNA was found in a database without mentioning which database, allowing jurors to assume the reference is to CODIS. Defense attorneys are increasingly asking that DNA evidence be tested by their own labs or with a defense expert present. The former demand raises chain of custody issues, the latter shuts down the state lab for the time the independent expert observes. (For privacy reasons, no other testing can be done while outsiders are present.) Defendants’ rights are also a consideration when DNA testing comes up. A bill stalled in the Illinois legislature would require DNA testing of everyone arrested for a felony; some states have already enacted such laws. But since citizens are considered innocent until proven guilty, this raises constitutional and privacy concerns. In Illinois, the crime lab works for law enforcement agencies, but the question could be raised to whom does the evidence belong?

The latest hot uses of DNA in forensics are mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA), and Y-STR DNA, which is only contributed by the male chromosome and, consequently, is especially useful for solving rapes. In all DNA cases, the Frye test applies—a court must determine of the test is generally accepted in scientific communities. Y-STR testing has passed in Illinois.

Other issues that come up in DNA testimony are the use of abandoned DNA—DNA left somewhere by a suspect and not given to law enforcers voluntarily or by court order; Red herrings—DNA left at a scene earlier by someone not involved with the case; and opinion testimony by non-experts—testimony by managers of companies to which DNA testing was outsourced. These individuals may have supervised the testing but didn’t perform the tests themselves. Their testimony would seem to be unconstitutional, since defendants are guaranteed the right to cross-examine witnesses. Whoever testifies, outsourcing tests to a private lab is problematic because it may cost up to $2,000 per occurrence for the witness to testify.

Cecelia Doyle, Chief of the biochemistry Section or the Illinois State Police Crime Lab (ILSPCL), explained the difference between real life and TV with respect to DNA testing. In reality, DNA cannot “prove” a defendant guilty. DNA evidence can link a victim to a suspect or crime scene; a suspect to a victim; or two separate crime scenes to each other. It’s up to the prosecution to “prove” the defendant’s guilt.

Evidence comes to the lab as a “biology case” and is first examined to determine if it is likely to yield DNA. About 60% of items become DNA cases. Turnaround time for processing is affected by a number of factors: the number of samples; mixtures vs. straight profiles; the amount of sample provided. Rush/high priority cases (heater cases in CPD cop speak) can take two to three weeks for a small case (two samples + two standards). If the sample size is limited, the case may take two to three weeks. If numerous samples and standards are involved, the whole process will take longer. Every case is peer reviewed. Higher priority cases are supervisor reviewed. Very high priority cases are reviewed by special experts. All tests are done using clean techniques. Unlike on CSI, ILSPCL researchers wear gloves whenever they are in the lab. When processing evidence, they wear gloves, masks, and clean lab coats with sleeve covers. VISITORS ARE NOT ALLOWED IN THE LAB. ILSPCL has a ”scrape-down room” for examining clothes and bedding for body fluids.

Ms. Doyle reported that CODIS has state, local and National levels (ENDIS), which receive DNA data from 170 labs in 25 countries. The ILSPCL has its own case work data base. Other data bases to which law enforcement may refer are the convicted offender database (everyone convicted of a violent felony in IL); the missing persons database; the unidentified human remains database; the biological relatives of missing persons database; and (in some states) arrestees databases. CODIS hits are not part of the chain of evidence, so if someone in CODIS is implicated in a crime, a new sample must be collected from the individual with a chain of custody maintained. DNA casework is now automated; biological examinations cannot be. ILSPCL is working toward a 30 day turnaround for both.

The Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension (MN BCA) does mtDNA testing (also used for paternity tests) where necessary, because they have the set-up for it. MtDNA testing is very labor intensive.

Crime lab quality assurance standards are set by the National Academy of Sciences. ILSPCL is audited annually for quality of data, integrity of testing results and interpretation, and qualifications of personnel. Before they are allowed to work on their own, employees must have a 4-year physical science degree; a clean life style (and pass drug and background tests); must pass a lie detector test; have one to three years of formal training; and a period of supervised casework analysis.

[Other IAC Spring Institute speakers were CPD cold case detective, James Hennigan, and Garry Bombard, Ph.D., Chief of forensics Studies at Loyola University about which more in a later blog.]

On the job...

Today's guest blogger is the author of On the Job: Behind the Stars of the Chicago Police Department.

by Daniel P. Smith

My earliest memory revolves around crime.

It’s 1984 and I’m three-years-old. I walk into our South Side Chicago home to find the television gone, clothes tossed about, cabinets empty, and a white handkerchief on the living room floor. My brother looks at me. My mother cries. The basketball trophy I held in my hand, my first trophy, falls to the ground and shatters from its base.

The cops couldn’t prove it, but the handkerchief told us all we needed to know. My father robbed his own house. Three kids and ex-wife be damned.

*****

In June 2004, I began penning my first book. Inspired by my roots in a Chicago Police family, I wanted to explore the work-life juxtaposition Chicago’s officers face.

The Chicago Police world is one I knew well: four of my six uncles were cops, my estranged father was, and my only brother is—and for much of my life I couldn’t reconcile the public perception of officers—one that frequently labeled Chicago’s cops as lazy, corrupt, and prejudiced (titles some officers have certainly earned throughout the years)—with what I knew from my home life. With the exception of my father, the other men in my family who wore the Chicago Police star put their best effort forward each day for their families, communities, and city. They had their faults, but their passion for Chicago Police work and the city could not be mistaken.

Last year, On the Job: Behind the Stars of the Chicago Police Department arrived, a non-fiction account of the lives, culture, and history of one of the world’s most famous (and infamous) law enforcement units. Gratefully for this young writer, On the Job has earned favorable reviews for its candor and sincerity, challenging the Hollywood stereotypes as well as what we think we know of cops. The book is far less blood and guts and far more heart and soul. And the truth is that real police work requires more heart and soul than just about any profession in America.

It’s easy to be pulled into the silver screen lore or CSI’s drama, but real cops often snicker at Hollywood portrayals of their work. Dirty Harry shoots the bad guy and walks into the sunset, right? Well, it doesn’t happen that way, particularly for the cops who reflect on their work in the realm of human relations. Police work consumes the soul as much as the hours on duty. It’s work that alters one’s view of the world as well as one’s perception of life’s fellow travelers. As soon as officers take that oath, they sacrifice a piece of themselves—perhaps their trust or faith or relationships suffering from the job’s constant tension. That’s a helluva price to pay for a civil service job. Any cop who says he or she’s the same as the day they entered the job is either: a.) lying; b.) not reflective; or c.) has never really been the PO-LICE. The job changes minds and souls and futures. It does not allow for stagnation.

*****

Ironically, the most chilling, forceful criminal event to infiltrate my life happened three years before I was born when a six-year-old boy named Tony Canzoneri went missing on the city’s West Side.

My mother always told me that my father’s downward spiral began when he found the Canzoneri boy, murdered and slashed under a set of basement stairs. Though my father was on a self-destructive path, which included alcoholism and the eventual abandonment of his family, the Canzoneri case accelerated his decline. He hit the bottle harder. He woke daily from nightmares. And he started plotting his own future.

Perhaps driven by his own mortality as well as the nightmares, my father left us. Though I’ve seen him in the 25 years since, I can’t say I’ve ever known my father or, to be truthful, wanted to know him. He remains unapologetic, defiant, and 1,000 miles away.

As I wrote On the Job, I wondered how my life would have been different if the Canzoneri boy had never gone missing and my father hadn’t discovered the boy’s tortured body? Would my parents have remained married? Might I have grown up with a father?

Over 30 years later, the case of Tony Canzoneri still impacts my life. It was the crime that defines my life.

*****

I suppose readers enjoy crime—both real and imagined, There’s certainly an abundance of literature out there on the topic. Truthfully though, I think there’s something else readers—even devout crime readers—enjoy even more. Call it sincerity or humanity or reflection, but it’s not the story of the crime that captivates us (though such descriptions can surely compel or intrigue us), but it’s the back story—the personalities, the motivations, the aftermath that truly capture our consciousness. I set about writing On the Job for the same reason so many of you pick up a book, open the cover, and offer your time to the voice speaking from those pages—curiosity.

I suppose I could’ve written solely about crime in On the Job: Jim’s shooting of the armed robber; Brian’s rookie year shootout with gang bangers in West Humboldt Park; or John’s discovery of murdered young girl named Miracle Moon. I suppose those tales alone might have been compelling enough to justify the $17.95 cover price. But for me, those tales alone failed. I wanted to know how the subsequent decades treated Jim; how—and why—Brian returned to work the next day and the next; how John changed as a father after Miracle Moon’s death.

*****

In the years since that 1984 robbery, I tried to understand my father. I wanted to love. I wanted to forgive. I invited him to Little League games and basketball games and sent him my report card in the mail.

Today, it’s been nearly 14 years since our last meaningful conversation. It’s complicated—like so many father-son relationships can be—but a piece of the silence rests in that night I returned home as a three-year-old to the scene of the crime. But if I just told you about that night, would it be enough? Wouldn’t you want to know what happened to him? What happened to me, that little red-headed boy with a broken basketball trophy?

*****

As for Tony Canzoneri, his mother, who was sexually assaulted by Tony’s murderer that December night, went on to remarry—and marry a Chicago cop no less. Together they had a child, naming him Daniel Patrick McIntyre. Like me, Danny played Little League baseball, went to school, and grew up to find his own calling. He is now a cop.


Upcoming Author Appearances for Daniel P. Smith
Weds, Feb. 25: Chicago Public Library’s Roden Branch at 7pm
Mon, March 30: LaGrange Park Public Library at 7pm
Thurs, April 23: Orland Park Public Library at 7pm

A Chicago Cop's Story

by Libby Hellmann

This post isn’t meant to be an apology for or a defense of the Chicago Police Department. It’s not meant to excuse. Or explain. I’m just passing on information from a friend who’s a Chicago cop. Part of the rank and file.

I bring it up because I think it’s representative of many organizations that undergo significant and rapid change. And because, while I was on the other side of the barricades forty years ago, writing crime fiction has given me – if not an appreciation – a respect for the men and women who put their lives on the line with every traffic stop.



Given that, something is wrong in the CPD. Something beyond politics.

For those of you who don’t live in Chicago, the Chicago Police Department has a new superintendent. Former FBI Special Agent Jody Weis was brought in from Philadelphia by Mayor Daley last February. Weis’s mission was to shake up the Department after a wave of scandals threatened the city’s political and economic climate as well as Chicago’s Olympic hosting hopes.


Weis did what he was told. Within a couple of months, he’d dismissed 21 of 25 Commanders and made other wholesale changes to CPD’s leadership and structure. The objective was to weed out the worst of the rogue cops and the corruption. The problem is that Weis might have gone too far too fast. In trying to clean up, he has weakened the average cop's ability to do his or her job.

Now any officer who doesn’t dot every “I” or cross every “T” risks sanctions from the upper echelon. Although they may be guilty only of minor or procedural mistakes, they’re being lumped together with cops accused of criminal activity. Long time cops are being taken off the street and put into desk jobs -- mostly because no one knows what else to do with them. The administration doesn’t yet know how far Weis wants to go, or even exactly what he wants, so a lot of good officers are being sidelined and sentenced to a purgatory of bureaucratic limbo. In a way, my friend says, criminals have more rights than do police officers accused of misconduct. He knows of officers who've been stripped of their powers for over nine months and still haven't been told what the allegations are.

More problematic, the cops on the streets no longer know what’s expected of them. And because they don’t know, and can’t count on support from the administration, they’re not going the extra mile. “Why even try if they’re gonna be hung out to dry?” My friend asks. For a police force that, my friend admits, has always been pretty aggressive, this is a huge change. And not for the better.

Even worse, some of the organizations designed to help cops who’ve gone afoul of the rules aren’t. The Police Sergeant’s organization, for example, can’t represent its own members because one of the attorneys is already representing Keith Herrera, one of several SOS cops accused of robbery and kidnapping.

The result? There’s been a spike in crime. Chicago’s murder rate is up 13 per cent; so are shootings and other street violence. While a down economy is a contributing factor, the media is feeding on it, regularly bringing out stories critical of cops, some of which may or may not be significant. My friend didn’t mention it, but a case in point might be the tow truck bribe scandal, which is just now being reported, even though a federal investigation has been ongoing since 2003. An investigation, btw, that was initially brought to the Feds by the CPD.

Consequently, morale in the department never been lower. Some of it is because people still trying to figure out what “the new guy” wants, but much of it is the lack of support for the officer on the street. “It’s just not happening now,” my friend says. And he’s worried.

OK. To be fair, there’s another side to this. Some people feel that cops like my friend are just whining because they’ve finally been taken to task. That, for the first time, they don’t have carte blanche to operate in their erstwhile aggressive and freewheeling ways. Some are applauding the fact that a high profile case of police brutality was actually referred to the Feds by CPD. Some are encouraged that Weis is trying to clean house. And they’re happy that he's an outsider and the city finally has a Superintendent that's not beholden to the "Chicago Way."

Still, I feel uneasy when the people we count on to keep chaos at bay don’t feel they can do the job they’ve been trained to do. There are too many examples where it’s triggered the breakdown of something more fundamental.

What do you think?


Finally, depending on which side of the fence you’re on, you’ll either love – or hate – this.

A Bunch Of Stuff . . .

- Sean Chercover

First. . . an OUTFIT EVENT: This weekend (Feb 1-3) at the Love Is Murder conference (held at the Wyndham O'Hare hotel) you will find five-out-of-seven Outfitters (Sara and Kevin can't make it this year). We'll be talking on panels, signing books and mostly hanging out in the bar . . . so please come by and say hello and have a drink. There will even be a panel/party for the Chicago Blues anthology.

Oh, and the conference features a bunch of great crime writers like Lee Child, Tess Gerritsen, Barry Eisler, JA Konrath, William Kent Kruger, Tasha Alexander, Sam Reaves, Theresa Schwegal, and more. So that's a whole lot of reasons to come out to Love Is Murder this weekend.

---

Next up. . . I want to take this opportunity to thank the City of Chicago for towing my car from a perfectly legal parking spot, to make room for some resident to move (even though moving permit signs were not posted) and dumping my car in a lot about 10 blocks away . . . and for insisting when I called that my car had not been towed and must've been stolen . . . and for connecting me to the cops who checked their computers and also insisted that my car must've been stolen . . . and for having a computer system that sometimes doesn't register the license plate number of a towed car for at least 24 hours. I really had nothing else to do for the last two days and I appreciate the diversion. Gotta love Chicago city bureaucracy.

Oh, and a sincere thank-you to my road dog Marcus, for driving me around the neighborhood in endless circles, looking for the aforementioned car and insisting that it couldn't be stolen, because no self-respecting car thief would steal such a shitbox.

I'm so glad you were right, Marcus.

---

And finally. . . I just want to add my voice to what Marcus and Sara said. Patry Francis is a great person who has written a great book, and you should buy it. Check out a few of the many stellar reviews:

"Engrossing from the first paragraph . . . deeply textured . . . beautifully written." - Mystery Scene Magazine

"Readers will be heartily rewarded." - Ladies Home Journal

"The Liar's Diary is outright chilling." - New York Daily News

Okay? Okay. Scroll down to Marcus' post and you'll find all the appropriate links to learn more about Patry and The Liar's Diary, and to get your hands on a copy.

You'll be glad you did.

Jean Dixon Wannabes -- This is for You

by Sara Paretsky

Calling all Jean Dixon wannabes. Forecast the future. Tell us, what lies ahead for Chicago under new Police Superintendent (designate) Jody Weis? When he was Special Agent in Charge of the Philadelphia FBI, he indicted an electrical contractor for allegedly pilfering $869,000 from union funds, he broke up the pizza terrorist ring, and he was able to restore the original manuscript of Pearl Buck's The Good Earth to the Buck family trust after it had been stolen by Buck's former secretary. Obviously, the mayor had access to way more information than I do on how Weis handled these tricky operations.

The CPD is going through one of its sine-curve peaks of bad deeds and bad vibes. The Burge torture cases leave a lingering cloud over the force. Six members of the elite Special Operations Section are under investigation, for "issues" including planning the murder of an SOS officer who was cooperating with an investigation into the unite. The video-taping of officers assaulting women in bars has also caused some eyebrows to be raised, at least after people stopped their endless prurient viewing of the tapes on YouTube. Steve Mills recently wrote in the Tribune about the number of times Chicago Police shoot suspects in the back--hundreds--and the times they're investigated or reprimanded--close to zero.

Jody Weis helped fire Chicago FBI agent Robert Wright for publicly criticizing the FBI's anti-terrorist acts. Does this mean he'll stifle dissent here in Chicago? Or does it simply mean he'll run an orderly ship? Will he help the African-American community combat decades of harassment and false arrest? Will he be able to bring officers like Burge to justice?

Look into your crystal balls, you seekers of truth, justice, or prurient excitement. How will Chicago fare under the Mayor's handpicked choice?

The Bare Facts of the Case

by Michael Dymmoch

“I think my kid’s in there.”

Sergeant Norma McLaughlin looked as perturbed as anyone had ever seen her. A twenty-three year veteran of the CPD, she was as tough as any man in the 19th District. She was five-five and couldn’t have weighed more than 140 pounds in full gear. Her usually serene face was dark with anger.

Her lieutenant, Andy Nowicki, said, “Yeah. We’re gonna get him out.” He kept his voice low but didn’t’ have to whisper. Thrash metal music leaked into the hall from behind the apartment door.

Then Nowicki seemed to realize who Mclaughlin was. “Jesus! How’d you hear about this?”

“It’s all over the air. You think I don’t recognize my son’s address?”

Nowicki nodded. “SWAT and the hostage negotiator’ll be here shortly.”

“How’s that gonna help? You don’t know what’s going on in there. You don’t even know how many are in there.”

“We’re workin’ on that.” Nowicki turned to one of the beat cops. “The doorman call the other tenants?”

“Yeah,” the copper said. “Told ‘em to stay in their units no matter what.”

“Not good enough,” McLaughlin told Nowicki. “I’m not gonna stand here with my thumb up my ass. I’m going in.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not a negotiator, Sergeant. And we’re not gonna spook those guys and have them start shooting. Or give them any more hostages.”

“I won’t spook ‘em. I’ll go in and find out how many there are and let you know.”

“No!” He looked around, spotted a female officer waiting down the hall for orders. He crooked his finger at her.

The officer came forward and waited.

“Take Sergeant McLaughlin back to her unit and wait with her.”

The uniform nodded uncomfortably, and waved down the hall in the direction of the elevator. “Sarge.”

McLaughlin looked ready to do murder but didn’t argue as the beat cop moved between her and hers son’s apartment. They walked to the elevator. The beat cop pressed the down button. As they waited for the car, McLaughlin glanced around wildly—up and down the hall, into the garbage can next to the door.

The elevator opened. McLaughlin ignored it, sprang forward to snatch an empty beer bottle out of the can. She turned back toward Nowicki and the two beat cops waiting out of sight of the apartment door’s peephole.

“I got an idea.”

She shoved the bottle at the police woman, “Hold this,” and raced back toward the others.

As the beat cops jumped to head her off, she unbuckled her service belt and dropped it, stripped off her safety vest and kicked off her boots. She started unbuttoning her shirt.

“What the hell are you doing?” Nowicki whispered.

She planted a heel on the toe of her opposite sock and lifted the foot to pull the sock off. When the lieutenant reached for her arm, she tossed her shirt in his face. Pulling her bra off overhead, she charged the police woman who’d followed her, still holding the empty bottle.

The police woman grabbed at her and had the bra shoved into her hand. The other cops froze in disbelief. Or horror at seeing a veteran officer lose it suddenly.

McLaughlin dropped her trousers and stepped out of them. She grabbed the bottle from the horrified policewoman and reversed course, dodging between the stupefied coppers like Thomas Jones running the ball on a good day.

“Stay outta sight,” she demanded.

McLaughlin wasn’t fat, but she was in her forties. Her skin hung loose in places, stretch marked and patchy. Ample breasts sagged over a thickened midriff; hips and thighs were dimpled with cellulite.

When she reached her son’s apartment, she shifted her grip on the bottle and pounded on the door. “Turn down the damn noise!” She sounded drunk. She looked smashed or deranged as she swayed unsteadily in front of the peephole in only her briefs.

Nowicki sucked a breath in through his mouth and forgot to let it out. The male coppers stood flat-footed and slack-jawed.

“Come on, turn that shit down! “McLaughlin could probably be heard in the lobby downstairs. “Knock it off! Or at least play something decent!” She started pounding on the door again.

The coppers closest to her flattened themselves against the wall, hiding from peep hole.

Suddenly the door flew open. Before whoever was behind it could react, McLaughlin staggered forward, forcing him to back up to avoid a collision.

“You bastards gotta turn down the stereo.” She waved the bottle overhead, swinging it to her left as she stumbled across the threshold.

The cops in the doorway used the distraction to charge in behind her, Nowicki brought up the rear.

* * *

“Tell me what happened in your own words, son,” Nowicki said.

A wagon crew had transported the offenders to Western and Belmont; the beat coppers were stationed in the hall. The tiny studio apartment was crowded with Nowicki and McLaughlin on the couch—McLaughlin wrapped in a blanket, and the two freed hostages—a twenty something couple—sharing a chair opposite. An evidence technician was processing the bathroom. McLaughlin’s clothes and duty belt lay in a neat pile just inside the apartment door.

The kid—who, mercifully, was not McLaughlin’s son—swallowed and said, “This guy knocked on the door and said he had our pizza.” He looked at Nowicki. “When I opened the door to tell him we didn’t order any, he forced his way in. He put a gun in my face and told me to get his drugs.”

He glanced at McLaughlin—not his mother, but…. He blushed and glanced away. “I swear to God, I don’t know what he was talking about. The only drugs we do are Old Style and MGD.”

McLaughlin smiled encouragingly. Nowicki nodded. “Go on.”

“Then she—“ He nodded toward his girlfriend who was cradling a steaming coffee mug in both hands as she shivered in her seat. “…Came out of the bathroom and saw the gun and ran back in. She must’ve called 911. On her cell.”

The girlfriend nodded her confirmation.

The young man stared at the girl until the detective said, “Then what happened?”

“He ran over and kicked in the door. Dragged her out.”

“I hid the cell,” the girl said.

“I told them we don’t even live here, that we’re just visiting.”

“They started screaming at us,” the girl added, “calling us liars.”

The kid went on. “I knew we had to stall ‘til the police got here, so I told them Mike’d be back in an hour.”

“Will he?” Mike’s mother asked.

The kid twitched. “He’s at work.”

“Why’d these guys think you had their drugs?” Nowicki demanded.

The kid shrugged—too casual to be lying. “Probably got the wrong apartment. The guys next door party all the time.” He started chewing on a fingernail.

“Go on.”

The kid shrugged again, dropped his hands to his knees. “They said, ‘We’ll wait.’”

“Then we heard pounding on the door and yelling. They thought it was the cops at first. But one of ‘em said, ‘No, the cops’d just break down the door.’ The other one said, ‘Go see who it is.’ And the first one did.” The kid stared at his knees.

“And then?” Nowicki prodded.

The kid blushed. “The guy said, ‘It’s some drunk naked broad.’ The other one said, ‘Tell her to shut the fuck up and get lost.’” The kid looked at Nowicki. “When the guy opened the door, she…” He pointed at McLaughlin without looking at her. “…Sort of fell through the doorway. And— You know the rest.”

McLaughlin leaned toward him. “Tell us about these guys next door.”

The kid shrugged again. “They have loud parties. Sometimes people knock on Mike’s door by mistake.”

Janet added, “He’s complained to the doorman, but nobody does anything about them.”

McLaughlin smiled at her. “Maybe someone will now.”

The evidence tech came out and said, “All yours.” He started packing up his gear.

Nowicki looked at McLaughlin and hooked his thumb toward the bathroom. “You can get dressed now.”

She gave him a look and headed toward the pile of her clothes.

“Oh, and Sergeant—”

She stopped and waited.

“I’m gonna let you write this one up.”

* * *

© 2007 MADymmoch