Ridley Pearson - Chain of Evidence

Room by room, the team moved through the house. The kitchen was tiny. Gritch and Yates spent most of their three minutes there dusting objects and pulling tape in hopes of lifting latent prints. Dart checked the refrigerator and made mental notes: male food. Bacon, eggs, hot dogs, beer, Diet Coke, turkey sausage, English muffins, ice cream, orange juice, and a dozen frozen dinners. Yates swiped the toilet rim and bagged the tissue from the downstairs half bath. Gritch seemed to inventory the cleaning products, paying special attention to those that retained price labels.

All the while, a steady stream of communication flowed in to Dart and Schultz from the operations van. Mostly, this came in the form of a running time count: “one minute,” “two minutes thirty seconds …” These were punctuated by announcements of “traffic approaching” and “traffic clear.” This barrage instilled in Dart a sense of protection, of security; knowing that three plain-clothes street officers were working the immediate neighborhood and were in constant touch with the operations van.

They had been inside the building just over five minutes before Dart began to understand Schultz’s actions more clearly. Saddled with a team of six-concerned for the unit’s safety-the team leader was deftly deploying his manpower to avoid having more than three people occupy any one of the small rooms. Dart, Gritch, and Yates were orchestrated as a team, while Schultz and his three armed ERT men swept the next area and kept on constant alert.

Dart and the evidence team next found themselves headed down a narrow wooden staircase into an unfinished basement area that housed a washer/dryer, a clothesline, several cardboard boxes of storage, and, just to the side of the staircase, a workbench cluttered with fly-tying materials and hardware. Gritch signaled Dart, pointing to the side of the clothes washer, and to the shelves above. She shook her head no. Dart returned the gesture. Her message was unclear to him. She touched her communication pack and whispered, “No detergent, no bleach.” Dart saw then what wasn’t there, realizing, as Zeller might have once schooled him, that what was missing was as important as what was present, and that Gritch and Yates had been carefully schooled in such matters. Dart nodded, making a mental note.

Dart pointed out the fly-tying work area, and the team descended on it, furiously photographing, sampling, and collecting. Again, Dart found himself impressed, all their combined movements measured, coordinated, and productive. They left the basement within two minutes.

Schultz directed Dart and the evidence team to the second floor, where a narrow hall accessed two bedrooms and two baths. The main bedroom was larger than the guest room and had its bath adjoining. There was enough ambient light here that Dart could remove the annoying goggles, but Gritch and Yates kept wearing theirs.

“Seven minutes,” came the steady voice in Dart’s earpiece.

The evidence pair went about photographing and sampling areas of the room while the detective stood back, studying the layout. The bed’s headboard was centered between two windows that faced the alley. Across from the bed, a chest of drawers awkwardly spanned the corner, just clear of the door to the bath, to the right of which was a door to a closet. Something about the room troubled Dart, though he couldn’t put his finger on it-the neatness? the cleanliness? the lack of personality? He wasn’t sure.

It clearly had been lived in. He could make out a small pile of coins on top of the dresser, a Bic pen, and what might be a roll of antacids. Yates was already busy working these for latent prints. Dart edged over to the closet and carefully opened it, his hand sweating inside the latex glove. There were a dozen shirts on hangers, and a white wire rack that held folded jeans, socks, underwear, T-shirts, a sweatsuit and other clothing.

Gritch tapped Dart on the shoulder, moved him, and began shooting photographs of the closeted clothing, Yates training the special low-level flashlight on the contents.

“We have an unidentified male approaching on foot on Zion,” the voice in Dart’s ear announced.

“Heads up, people,” Schultz’s voice said into Dart’s earpiece. “Let’s rendezvous at the base of stairs immediately.” He paused. “Right now, people.”

Yates returned to the clothes dresser and wiped down the pen and several of the coins. Gritch prepared and then bagged the digital camera and said to Dart, “This was closed , correct?”

“Yes.”

She shut the closet door. “Fully closed?”

“Fully closed,” Dart acknowledged.

“Suspect is turning down Hamilton,” came the spotter in Dart’s right ear.

“Team leader,” inquired the male voice from the van, “do you copy that please?”

“Copy,” replied Schultz.

“Prepare to evacuate all personnel,” the operations van announced calmly.

“Roger.”

Over the communications device Schultz ordered, “Down here now , people. Get the lead out!”

As Dart headed out of the bedroom, he glanced over his shoulder to see both Gritch and Yates dash into the bathroom and then back out through the bedroom, their heads and the ungainly goggles sweeping left to right. During the briefing, Schultz had informed Dart that he wanted these two particular technicians because of their incredible photographic memories. He had told a story about Gritch returning from a raid and reciting forty-five tides of books contained on the study’s shelves-he estimated that Gritch had been inside there less than a minute. A later SID report had confirmed all forty-five titles.

“Report?” the operations van requested.

“Subject is entering Hamilton Court,” the male voice replied. “You’ll need to abort via the back route. Copy?”

How could the dispatcher sound so calm? Dart wondered. His chest felt on the verge of exploding.

“Copy,” said the van.

“Back route. Copy,” replied Schultz.

Schultz and his two men were waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“We have an abort situation,” Schultz announced over the unit intercom. “Unidentified subject approaching.” He tripped a button on his belt pack and said to the operations van, “Status?”

“The back is still clear,” Dart heard in his earpiece.

Schultz repeated this.

Schultz now addressed Dart directly, the night-vision goggles making him look like some kind of bug. “Your call, Detective. Do we apprehend or not?” This was first time Dart heard emotion override the man’s military manner-Schultz wanted to stay and apprehend the suspect.

Dart asked Gritch, “How did we do in here?”

“Well below what we might have hoped for.” Yates nodded his agreement. She was saying that they had nothing. No evidence of consequence.

In a flurry of activity, Dart then heard the operations van direct the field surveillance operatives.

OPERATIONS VAN: This is Control. Shepherd, can we get a video of the subject with a drive-by?

DETECTIVE SHEPHERD: Negative. He’s already in the alley. If you get a pickup you’ll be lucky. I’d advise the team to enter Pope Park. We’ll pick up at York Street.

OPERATIONS VAN: Negative on Pope Park. We’re rolling. Team leader, acknowledge abort.

Schultz, off mike, said, “Well?”

Dart did not want to apprehend, given the lack of evidence. He wanted this suspect, but not yet. “Negative.” Then he immediately voiced a consideration to Brandon. “Can we get a look at him?”

Brandon, aware of the order of rank, looked to Schultz for the answer.

“We can get anything, Detective.” Schultz said. “It’s your call.”

PERSONNEL VAN: What’s the call?