The interior was recently remodeled, but even the new carpet, fresh paint, and fancy cubicles can’t remove the human depravity this place has managed over the years. You can lose the stains, but the odor still remains. It’ll always be preserved in this structure, and now, my sinus membranes. The only thing this renovation has accomplished is to add a sickening sheen to an already foul place.
The two officers who took the report have left. I’m not only a witness, but a victim. I’ve never been a reported victim of anything before. I’ve been shot at before, but never reported it. I’ve been shot at on the job, too, even stabbed once, straight through my love handle on my left side. “Victim” is a term given to someone who never had to take an oath. A soldier can’t be a victim, and neither can a cop. Regrettably, I’m no longer a cop, so I’m now a reported victim of assault with intent to kill.
A couple of homicide detectives questioned me afterward. I know one of them. Tim Millhoff. He’s a good dude. Almost twenty-five years on the job. He told me they were on it because the officer, Tommy, is at MedStar in critical condition.
I told them exactly how it went down but left out a couple of things. I’m honoring the officer’s request and didn’t give up how I saw him entering the brothel and not exit for a while, and then how Miriam called him out by first name. I told them about the “university,” but made it sound like it was something I learned earlier, from a source on the street.
If Tommy didn’t get himself shot, I’m sure he could’ve argued that he had a complaint on the row house from an anonymous neighbor, and so he had to check it out. No, I didn’t go there. I simply said he must’ve been nearby because he got there quickly. Probably because it was close to checkoff and he was just sitting in his parked vehicle. I said he was doing his job, but it went down so fast he couldn’t react quickly enough. He paid the price for his dirty deeds. Why make him pay more?
As far as Miriam calling him out by first name, if I were him I’d simply say that it’s my beat and I know all the people on my beat. I know better, though, and maybe he asked me not to tell ’cause he knew I did.
I also advised Millhoff that Little Monster was the shooter, even though I wasn’t completely certain. But from what little bit I can remember, I’m confident now that he was.
Millhoff asked me to stand by. He said Davidson and the agents he works with are on their way.
A couple of young plainclothes officers enter to talk to Millhoff and his partner. They’re standing a couple of cubicles behind me, near a door that leads to a hallway and the Vice office. The skinny one with red hair says something about the Ritz. Millhoff looks my way and then walks over.
“They’re from Vice. The whole unit canvassed the shit out of the Ritz. Knocked on every door and even got a couple of other good witnesses who saw it go down from their apartment windows. Uniformed officers did the same along Seventeenth and Euclid. All in all we got some witnesses who can verify most of your story. There is this thing about you dragging the girl to try to get her in your car and then pulling your weapon out at a crowd that gathered at Seventeenth and Euclid.”
“Every retired cop in DC carries a weapon, and as far as that crowd, I told you what they were about to do before the officer showed up.”
“I don’t have a problem with all that. Those witnesses could only see the action, not what was being said. We talked to the girl’s dad, so it’s all good that you were hired by him. Sorry to say, though, there’s nothing on the girl. One witness saw her run up Mozart, but then out of sight.”
“I’ll give the father a call after we finish up here. The good news is she was last seen alive.”
“Maybe you want to word it differently.”
“I got a little tact left,” I say without humor. “She used a key to get in the Ritz. I’m confident that’s where she was keeping herself.”
“I’m sure she’s not using her real name, and no judge is going to give us a search warrant for every unit in that complex, so the only thing to do is keep knocking on doors and canvassing the area. I keep wondering, though: Why the hell did she run? You think maybe she was being abused at home?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s a good family. Bad drugs just got the best of her, that’s all. And we both know how this is probably going to turn out for her,” I say. “What about that info I gave you about her possible connection to a university?”
“They’re working that.”
“Maybe one of the universities has one of those outreach programs for prostitutes.”
“That’s a good one. I’ll be sure to let them know.”
“Maybe even some sort of GED class for high school dropouts.”
“I’ll talk to Davidson about all that. He probably knows. Listen, you’ve just been through the shit, and you need to take it easy. We’re on this.”
I’ve never felt so powerless. This is fucked up.
“Oh, and that row house was cleaned out,” Millhoff begins. “The only one there was an old man who said he didn’t know shit. It was obvious something illicit was going on there. Illegal rooming house, prostitution, gambling. I don’t know. Probably all that and more.”