Chapter 7
SEVEN
Homicide Branch, Metropolitan Police Department
Detective Eric Birch was buried preparing for a trial appearance.
As the arresting officer in the case, defense counsel had called on him to testify.
More like to interrogate on the stand… Eric had been in this place before, and, so far, his track record was impeccable.
That’s because he did his best to color within the lines of the law, even ones that some officers saw as wavy.
And there was no way he planned to be discredited this time around either.
Not when a bastard who killed his girlfriend by stabbing her seven times could walk.
There was too much at stake. It’s why he’d make doubly sure every i was dotted and t crossed.
Pratchett especially had a reputation for trying to tear apart any cop who graced the stand.
But what instilled more confidence in Eric was this was the lawyer’s fallback MO when he lacked a solid defense.
It was easier for him to chip away at the foundation of a case than defend a client who was blatantly guilty.
“Birch, I need you to do something.” Sergeant Medina came into Eric’s space. It wasn’t much, a desk in the middle of the bull pen he shared with other detectives.
Eric could argue he was already doing something, but that line wouldn’t work on Medina. “Whatever you like, boss.”
“Don’t be cute. Got a call from Lieutenant Coleman.”
Eric listened while Medina laid it all out. Another assist on a hostage situation. The second one in as many months. “On the scale of Founders?”
“No, but I guess Coleman figures you’re the best man for the job. I didn’t get into why he thought that.”
Eric would never expect his boss to butter him up. If he ever did, then he’d worry. “I’ll get on it right now.”
“Good man, and keep me in the loop as you go along. We don’t want any of this blowing up in our faces.”
“I understand.” Though Eric treated every case that crossed his desk without bias. The Hanson name or not, Eric was less concerned about public perception and more interested in justice.
Medina walked away leaving Eric only vaguely clear on why he was being called on to dig into a three-decade-old car accident.
Even more unclear was why Lieutenant Coleman had requested him specifically.
His instinct served up one reason. Was Sandra involved?
She was limiting her work for the FBI’s Crisis Negotiation Unit to incidents within the DMV area.
That being DC, Maryland, and Virginia. Though she had this week booked off so maybe he had it all wrong.
He closed the folder he’d been working on and remembered he’d heard his phone ping with a text a while ago. He checked the message now, and found it was from Sandra.
I had Coleman request you. I’m working the Hanson incident. Please look at that Crawford accident closely. There must be more to this than is in the system.
Eric tapped back a reply.
You know I’ll be thorough.
He stretched his neck side to side, cracked his knuckles, and brought up the crash report.
It took place Tuesday, January tenth, 3:20 PM.
The road conditions were snowy and slushy.
Type of crash was single-vehicle, fatal.
Involved parties were Susan Crawford, thirty-two, and Ryan Crawford, her son, five years old.
Vehicle was a red Chevrolet Cavalier sedan.
Damage was limited to the front end, which was crushed, airbags deployed. Seatbelt worn.
Injuries were fatal for Susan, declared at scene by a DC medical examiner. Ryan was alive but in critical condition.
The sketch at the bottom of the report looked straightforward, and there was a list of three eyewitnesses with their phone numbers and statement summary. All reported seeing the vehicle lose control and slide into the pole.
Under evidence collected, there was a note that the vehicle was towed to the MPD impound lot, airbag modules tagged and stored, debris from the scene photographed and logged.
Blood samples were also collected and taken to the MPD Forensic Science Laboratory.
Photos were to be attached to the report, but there were none.
What surprised Eric was there was no supplemental digital report from the Major Crash Investigation Unit.
When accidents involved fatalities, they were called in to take over.
Also a reconstruction specialist from there should have photographed the entire scene, as well as documented where the vehicle came to rest, and points of impact.
There was a brief summary from the medical examiner confirming Susan Crawford was DOA. Dead on arrival.
But it still didn’t settle that so much documentation was missing from the electronic file.
Todd Levine was the responding officer who had filled out the report. The sergeant who reviewed and signed off was Dean Finley.
Eric knew Levine. He was his training officer and mentor coming up in the force.
A solid cop. Above reproach. A current, respected, and decorated sergeant in the Patrol Services Bureau.
Eric attributed a lot of his strong qualities as a detective to learning under the man. He’d never mentioned Finley.
Eric searched the system. Finley was currently seventy-three, making him forty at the time of the accident.
He took retirement twenty-five years ago after the same number of years in service, so he was gone for one year before Eric joined the department.
The file told him that Finley still lived in DC.
If Finley was anything like Levine, he was a respectable cop, and looking into this accident would just be a waste of time.
It was possible the hostage taker had brought it up as some warped delay tactic until he made his real demand.
But was Eric’s respect for the brotherhood holding him back from accepting what his gut was screaming at him?
That something was going on here. But was he overreacting, the circumstances that had him looking at this skewing his view to see the worst?
The documents and photographs could have been missed from being scanned, or they could have gotten attached to another file.
There was one way to smooth this all out.
Eric called MPD headquarters where original investigation files and crash reports were kept.
Since this one involved an unresolved fatality, it should still be there.
But Eric was hanging up a few minutes later with more bad feelings.
Crawford’s hard file was gone. The other physical evidence might be at the lab, but a look at the airbag modules wouldn’t get him anywhere.
Next, he called the MPD impound lot and asked them to search their records for Crawford’s Chevrolet Cavalier sedan. The vehicle would be long gone, but they should have a record of it being there. They didn’t.
What the hell…
The report said it had been taken to the MPD lot, so where had it gone? Not to mention there was no record of a forensic examination.
In today’s world, investigators would meticulously comb every inch. Though things could have been done differently back then. After all, the field of forensics was just getting started, but still…
Icy conditions… careened into a pole… On the surface there wasn’t anything suspicious about the crash. It was everything else that had the skin tightening on the back of his neck.