DECEPTION CHAPTER 9

DETECTIVE ROSCOE*

The sound of the station was minimized to a low murmur. Most of the other detectives had long gone after dumping the file on his laps. Detective Roscoe had drawn the shortest straw and was dumped with the case of the mysteriously run over John Doe.

Already the case looked like it would be a pain in the butt, a lot of the facts didn't add up. 

The man probably in his 50’s, was run down by a car as evident by tire tracks on his chest and face and apparently backed over again.

Yeah someone had wanted this man dead and the multiple identities found on him were not in the system; criminal or any other data base the police used to identify random individuals, anyone with a criminal record or public record for that matter.

The identities belonged to ghosts, this man was anything but.

Roscoe sighed and used his palms to rub his eyes. If only the unsub turned out to be some famous person. Maybe his work would finally be appreciated and better yet recognized.

He twirled the pencil in his hand and imagined it. The cheers of his colleagues, the well done s and pats in the back. He imagined the chief shaking his hand and immediately the dream died a swift death. 

After several request for promotion had been turned down and younger or less experienced people were picked over him. Roscoe wondered if the chief had a particular issue with him but he couldn't muster the courage to ask.

 Detective Roscoe looked at the calender on his black work desk.

Next month would make it his twenty-fifth year on the force. If they, meaning Chief Marks couldn’t acknowledge his efforts, he was better off somewhere else.

His chair creaked loudly as He leaned back and kept on waiting for the fingerprints result to come in, feeling morose and with the storm brewing outside he could just imagine better ways he could have spent his Friday night.

 The ping of the computer brought him out of his thought and he looked at the name and picture on his screen with alarm. This was going to be worse than a pain in the butt, this was going to be a nightmare. He quickly printed out the search result and added it to the file on the John Doe.

 He had to catch his boss before he left the building.

THE CHIEF OF POLICE*

Chief Marks Isle was heading out of the exit when he heard his name, 

“sir!”

He turned around and watched Roscoe jog towards him. With each step, his plumb over weight body wiggled like jello. Chief Marks was disgusted, he hated to see people especially officers who refused to keep in shape.

“Chief Marks! He shouted again.

“Yes, yes that’s my name don’t wear it out”. He replied crossly

“I’m sorry sir” he said breathlessly, “but you’ve got to see this”. Roscoe waved the file in his hand.

“Quit waving it around and give it to me” he plucked the brow file from Roscoe's fingers.

"Good grief!” he exclaimed after a brief glance. “Are you sure?”

“Yes sir”, Roscoe replied “100 per cent affirmative sir, the victim is_was the current Prime Minister of Bulivia”.

“What a nightmare” chief marks sighed deeply. He turned around and walked back towards his office. It was quite obvious that he won’t be able to meet his wife for their date night and he was already in the doghouse.

“Betsy send a dozen white roses to my wife at the four seasons with my apologies again then get me the commissioner and the DA’s office” he called out to his secretary as he passed her desk.

He opened his office and walked in, his mind on possible theories why the very well-guarded prime minister of Bulivia would be found dead in one of the most notorious neighborhoods of Chicago.

Just this morning he had been interviewed on air about his much celebrated visit to Chicago, politics in Bulivia and his close relationship with the Narusian family on E! How the heck did he get from the red carpet to the red light district?!

Chief Marks dropped into his chair with a huff. He could just imagine the PR nightmare. The whole world would be watching his every move. This situation could make or break his career and future aspirations to be the next commissioner. Darn it!

He looked up and noticed that detective Roscoe had followed him but was hovering around his door.

“Yes, detective can I help you?”

“Ahh...no...Yes... I was wondering if I could do anything for you sir” he mumbled.

Chief Marks looked at him slack jawed. The prime minister of a foreign country had just died in their district, under their watch, run down like a homeless old man and this excuse of a detective stood in front of him and asked if there was anything he could do?

“Yes Roscoe, you can do something for me” he said sarcastically, “You can get the hell out of my office and go tell the lab to hurry up with the results of the evidence bagged at the scene. We need to go over the entire evidence again, we have a murder to solve”

Roscoe stepped back from the door, his boss’s disapproval was quite obvious and it made him shrink into himself. “Right away sir” he said timidly and waddled away.

Chief Marks groaned, he hadn’t meant to sound so harsh to the other man but Roscoe obviously needed a firm hand. If he could help indeed.

Betsy knocked on the open door "the commissioner on line one sir"

"Good, thank you. Now please get those sloths back to the station. There is an emergency meeting in 30mins".

He turned away from her in dismissal and picked up the landlines on his chocolate colored mahogany desk.