11:23 p.m.
Well, I'm packing again. I don't know why I bother UNpacking, really...I travel so much. I am heading out to California tomorrow on yet another visit to see LHM. I am especially looking forward to this visit because his parents will be there.
Apparently, LHM's mother has been reading my blog for some time now. And despite the frequent cussing, general irreverence, and the occasional photograph of myself dressed like a dominatrix or a high priced whore (Vegas), she still wants to meet me! How about that?!
I told my father and the first thing he said was, "Uh-oh. Well, maybe they'll like you anyway." Hehe. When I told my mother her immediate reaction was, "Oh, Polly. You've got to stop swearing so much on that blog! I thought you made a New Year's resolution?"
"Yeah, Mom," I answer. "I made a New Year's resolution that everytime I swore I would give a quarter to the Salvation Army...to be collected next Christmas."
"So... How are you doing?"
"Well," I say, "so far I owe them a full car payment and part of a month's worth of groceries. I feel good about it, though, Mom. This way I get to swear and some kid gets shoes and a warm meal. I mean, if I stop swearing now, it's like I'm taking the food right out of that kid's mouth! Really...what kind of cold-hearted jerk would I be? See! Right there! I could have called myself an 'ass' instead of a 'jerk' and that kid might be able to afford those braces he's always wanted. I feel so guilty..."
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Saturday, January 21, 2006
1/21/06
11:41 a.m.
Dearest Bloglit,
From this point forward, I am going to start moderating comments on my blog. This means that your comments may not show up immediately after you post them because I will have to review and approve their content before allowing them for public viewing.
Please don't let that discourage you from posting, my friends. I love to hear from all of you and would be very sad not to get your feedback.
I only take this course of action because there have been a few harassing, threatening comments of late that have served no purpose other than to piss me off. So for those choosing to make such comments, I have a brief message that I think makes my point quite well...
YOU SUCK! And you will NOT have a voice on my blog. Why? Because my blog is not a democracy.
Have a nice day!
Polly PI...princess of the blog.
Dearest Bloglit,
From this point forward, I am going to start moderating comments on my blog. This means that your comments may not show up immediately after you post them because I will have to review and approve their content before allowing them for public viewing.
Please don't let that discourage you from posting, my friends. I love to hear from all of you and would be very sad not to get your feedback.
I only take this course of action because there have been a few harassing, threatening comments of late that have served no purpose other than to piss me off. So for those choosing to make such comments, I have a brief message that I think makes my point quite well...
YOU SUCK! And you will NOT have a voice on my blog. Why? Because my blog is not a democracy.
Have a nice day!
Polly PI...princess of the blog.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
1/19/06a
10:01 a.m.
SUPPLEMENT UPDATE
I have added a few more pills to my daily supplement regimen. (Not that 13 wasn't enough already)
In addition to the:
Alpha lipoic Acid
CLA
Fish Oil
Potassium
5-HTP
Multi-vitamin/mineral
CoQ10
Lycopene
Green tea extract
Grape seed extract
Ester C
And Calcium
I have now added:
Chromium
B-12
Vitamin D
and Acetyl L-Carnitine
I need all of these supplements because I can no longer afford to buy food.
SUPPLEMENT UPDATE
I have added a few more pills to my daily supplement regimen. (Not that 13 wasn't enough already)
In addition to the:
Alpha lipoic Acid
CLA
Fish Oil
Potassium
5-HTP
Multi-vitamin/mineral
CoQ10
Lycopene
Green tea extract
Grape seed extract
Ester C
And Calcium
I have now added:
Chromium
B-12
Vitamin D
and Acetyl L-Carnitine
I need all of these supplements because I can no longer afford to buy food.
1/19/06
8:17 a.m.
I wake up when my alarm goes off at 6am this morning. I kick my feet over the edge of the bed and step down on something strange that is definitely not the floor. I look down. My dumbbells. What are they doing out here? Was I exercising in my sleep? "Hmph." I kick them back under the bed where they belong. Along with an old banana peel and an empty cake box.
I throw on my robe and slippers and shuffle out toward the kitchen, passing by Baby Jesus and his pals in the nativity scene that I still haven't put away since Christmas. I wave.
I glance over at the Christmas tree...needles scattered in a pretty round carpet around the base. I consider (briefly) getting my act together and throwing it away before I start a fire from the friction of my shuffling slippers one morning. Instead, I yawn and turn away. I do not see the Christmas decorations. Reality is what I make of it. Mind over matter.
I wake up when my alarm goes off at 6am this morning. I kick my feet over the edge of the bed and step down on something strange that is definitely not the floor. I look down. My dumbbells. What are they doing out here? Was I exercising in my sleep? "Hmph." I kick them back under the bed where they belong. Along with an old banana peel and an empty cake box.
I throw on my robe and slippers and shuffle out toward the kitchen, passing by Baby Jesus and his pals in the nativity scene that I still haven't put away since Christmas. I wave.
I glance over at the Christmas tree...needles scattered in a pretty round carpet around the base. I consider (briefly) getting my act together and throwing it away before I start a fire from the friction of my shuffling slippers one morning. Instead, I yawn and turn away. I do not see the Christmas decorations. Reality is what I make of it. Mind over matter.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
HATE MAIL #2
This one is from Ms. Muffett. She started as a supervisor when I did and met me at the training in Boston. Ms. Muffett was demoted back to a regular investigator a few months later. Recently, she ran a case for me (for one of my supervisors, JD) down in Florida. As you'll note in the following transcript from her report, she was picked up by the Subject and for some mysterious reason, continued on her surveillance. Again, stuff in brackets is what I'm thinking.
Enjoy.
______________________
AT 1:00 p.m.; Investigator notes that Krenshaw County Police came out. Someone in the complex had called and reported a suspicious vehicle in the complex. The officer then went to Subject’s apartment and spoke with Subject. [YOU JUST GOT PICKED UP!!]
AT 1:40 p.m.; Investigator observed Subject getting into his vehicle and leaving the complex. Investigator initiated mobile surveillance. [WHAT THE HELL? DIDN'T YOU USED TO BE A SUPERVISOR? WHY ARE YOU STILL THERE?!]
______________________
JD,
It appears that Ms. Muffett was picked up by the Subject...that the Subject was the one that called the cops on her. If that is the case then she should have bagged out immediately and called the office. Please call me.
__________________________
To make a long story short, I made Ms. Muffett close out the case effective immediately. She was not happy about this. JD was asked by Ms. Muffett to forward the below message to me. JD felt very uncomfortable because he thought it would hurt my feelings.
RE: 687654B, Concha, GG................I do not feel that I was picked up by the Subject on this case yesterday. I feel that your Regional Supervisor made an incorrect decision on this case by not having me go back today. I was a Supervisor for a long time, and have enough sense to make a decision as to whether my cover was blown or not. [THERE IS A REASON YOU WERE DEMOTED, HONEY.] In my opinion, your Regional Supervisor made a very bad decision. Had I thought otherwise, I would have called the office immediately!!!!! I resent your Regional Supervisor implying that I did not know how to make the correct decision. Please pass this along to her as "I WANT HER TO READ THIS". She became a Supervisor about the same time that I did, and I don't feel that she has anymore experience in this field than do I.
_________________________
Hi, JD.
How does it feel to be the messenger boy? Could you please pass the below paragraph on to your investigator? And don't worry...it takes a lot more than that to ruffle my feathers. I understand that she's upset and I don't mind being the target. That's what I get paid the big bucks for. ;-)
In this line of work we are constantly making judgement calls. It's part of the job. But as an investigator, Ms. Muffett is not authorized to make the decision whether to stay on cases when there is even a small possibility of compromise. That burden goes to the Regional Supervisor and the Office Case Manager. In this case, a police officer approached her vehicle. He told her that somebody had called him about a stranger in the area. Then he immediately went to Subject's residence to speak with him. I don't think it's too far of a stretch to say that the Subject probably made the phone call and so was aware of the investigator's presence. At that point, Ms. Muffett should have departed the area and called the office, per company policy.
__________________________
Nicely said!!!
Now go kick the garbage can....and have a good night....I'll talk to ya in the morning sometime....I promise not to call early unless the sky falls in......all's quiet here. I think everybody's gone to bed.
JD
Enjoy.
______________________
AT 1:00 p.m.; Investigator notes that Krenshaw County Police came out. Someone in the complex had called and reported a suspicious vehicle in the complex. The officer then went to Subject’s apartment and spoke with Subject. [YOU JUST GOT PICKED UP!!]
AT 1:40 p.m.; Investigator observed Subject getting into his vehicle and leaving the complex. Investigator initiated mobile surveillance. [WHAT THE HELL? DIDN'T YOU USED TO BE A SUPERVISOR? WHY ARE YOU STILL THERE?!]
______________________
JD,
It appears that Ms. Muffett was picked up by the Subject...that the Subject was the one that called the cops on her. If that is the case then she should have bagged out immediately and called the office. Please call me.
__________________________
To make a long story short, I made Ms. Muffett close out the case effective immediately. She was not happy about this. JD was asked by Ms. Muffett to forward the below message to me. JD felt very uncomfortable because he thought it would hurt my feelings.
RE: 687654B, Concha, GG................I do not feel that I was picked up by the Subject on this case yesterday. I feel that your Regional Supervisor made an incorrect decision on this case by not having me go back today. I was a Supervisor for a long time, and have enough sense to make a decision as to whether my cover was blown or not. [THERE IS A REASON YOU WERE DEMOTED, HONEY.] In my opinion, your Regional Supervisor made a very bad decision. Had I thought otherwise, I would have called the office immediately!!!!! I resent your Regional Supervisor implying that I did not know how to make the correct decision. Please pass this along to her as "I WANT HER TO READ THIS". She became a Supervisor about the same time that I did, and I don't feel that she has anymore experience in this field than do I.
_________________________
Hi, JD.
How does it feel to be the messenger boy? Could you please pass the below paragraph on to your investigator? And don't worry...it takes a lot more than that to ruffle my feathers. I understand that she's upset and I don't mind being the target. That's what I get paid the big bucks for. ;-)
In this line of work we are constantly making judgement calls. It's part of the job. But as an investigator, Ms. Muffett is not authorized to make the decision whether to stay on cases when there is even a small possibility of compromise. That burden goes to the Regional Supervisor and the Office Case Manager. In this case, a police officer approached her vehicle. He told her that somebody had called him about a stranger in the area. Then he immediately went to Subject's residence to speak with him. I don't think it's too far of a stretch to say that the Subject probably made the phone call and so was aware of the investigator's presence. At that point, Ms. Muffett should have departed the area and called the office, per company policy.
__________________________
Nicely said!!!
Now go kick the garbage can....and have a good night....I'll talk to ya in the morning sometime....I promise not to call early unless the sky falls in......all's quiet here. I think everybody's gone to bed.
JD
HATE MAIL #1
Good morning, bloglit!
I thought it would be fun to go over a couple of pieces of hate mail I've gotten from investigators recently. This first one is from Butch. He's been with the company for about a month. Butch ran a three day case and I had to send each of his reports back to him 4 or 5 times. This was beginning to get on my nerves a bit, so I sent him the below email. Little did I know he was such a sensitive man. (Please note that the comments in brackets reflect what I was thinking, not what I wrote.)
Enjoy.
__________________________
Butch,
I need you to fix the neighborhood canvass. Again, I need a separate entry for each person that you approached. I need a description of the person, the residence, and what you asked them as well as their response. Please get this back to me before noon. [YOU WON'T] I should not have to ask you so many times. All you need to do is read the emails I send you and follow the instruction I give. [A MONKEY COULD DO THAT.]
Also, I think that you should reword the following report entry. It may be construed wrong.
"At 8:14 a.m., Investigator returns to residence and notes that Subject has a community driveway and the green Dodge Truck was most likely from the neighbors behind."
[THAT'S GOTTA HURT.]
___________________________
Butch,
And again, I need you to include both the report AND the expense sheet in the email. [YOU WON'T.]
___________________________
Polly,
I am learning, I can't read a manual and magically know how to write a perfect report. I think that it's pretty ridicoulous to expect a person to know how to do everything prefect.
Had I known that addresses and descriptions were necessary when no answers were forthcoming, I would have gotten them. [YES, IF ONLY I'D TOLD YOU 3 or 4 TIMES... OH, WAIT! I DID!]
I would understand you criticism if I had been doing this for a while and was consistently not getting things right. [IT'S BEEN A MONTH.] But frankly if this is the way I'm going to be treated I don't think I need to continue. [TIME TO REQUEST A NEW INVESTIGATOR IN COLORADO.]
I am very frustrated with being maligned. [BABY.] You may get new investigators that know everything when they first start but I'm not one of them. Your criticizing me for not knowing something I have never learned is a bit much.
What's frustrating is that I just started to feel like I was getting some of these things down, starting to get the feel of how to do things the best way, and then I get the email from you saying I basically suck.
[I MAY HAVE THOUGHT IT BUT I NEVER SAID IT.]
I thought it would be fun to go over a couple of pieces of hate mail I've gotten from investigators recently. This first one is from Butch. He's been with the company for about a month. Butch ran a three day case and I had to send each of his reports back to him 4 or 5 times. This was beginning to get on my nerves a bit, so I sent him the below email. Little did I know he was such a sensitive man. (Please note that the comments in brackets reflect what I was thinking, not what I wrote.)
Enjoy.
__________________________
Butch,
I need you to fix the neighborhood canvass. Again, I need a separate entry for each person that you approached. I need a description of the person, the residence, and what you asked them as well as their response. Please get this back to me before noon. [YOU WON'T] I should not have to ask you so many times. All you need to do is read the emails I send you and follow the instruction I give. [A MONKEY COULD DO THAT.]
Also, I think that you should reword the following report entry. It may be construed wrong.
"At 8:14 a.m., Investigator returns to residence and notes that Subject has a community driveway and the green Dodge Truck was most likely from the neighbors behind."
[THAT'S GOTTA HURT.]
___________________________
Butch,
And again, I need you to include both the report AND the expense sheet in the email. [YOU WON'T.]
___________________________
Polly,
I am learning, I can't read a manual and magically know how to write a perfect report. I think that it's pretty ridicoulous to expect a person to know how to do everything prefect.
Had I known that addresses and descriptions were necessary when no answers were forthcoming, I would have gotten them. [YES, IF ONLY I'D TOLD YOU 3 or 4 TIMES... OH, WAIT! I DID!]
I would understand you criticism if I had been doing this for a while and was consistently not getting things right. [IT'S BEEN A MONTH.] But frankly if this is the way I'm going to be treated I don't think I need to continue. [TIME TO REQUEST A NEW INVESTIGATOR IN COLORADO.]
I am very frustrated with being maligned. [BABY.] You may get new investigators that know everything when they first start but I'm not one of them. Your criticizing me for not knowing something I have never learned is a bit much.
What's frustrating is that I just started to feel like I was getting some of these things down, starting to get the feel of how to do things the best way, and then I get the email from you saying I basically suck.
[I MAY HAVE THOUGHT IT BUT I NEVER SAID IT.]
Friday, January 13, 2006
1/13/06
7:17 a.m.
"You should see this!" I say into the reciever. "There's a t-shirt for sale here that says, 'Tell Your Boobs To Stop Staring At My Eyes'." I giggle.
"Why would anybody buy a shirt like that?" LHM asks in disgust. "How tacky."
"Yeah!" I say, "What kind of a person, indeed!" I place the t-shirt on the checkout counter and wink at the cashier. (Sorry, Dad. If you're reading this then Father's Day won't be much of a surprise this year.)
I gather my purchases and head back to my room to go over reports for the night. I am especially anxious to read Fish's. He called me on the radio early this afternoon all in a tissy. "Polly! This Subject I'm following... His car is on fire! He's speeding down the road toward his house! I'll call you back!"
Well, there's something you don't see everyday.
A half hour later Fish radios me again. "Man, I've been doing this for 11 years and I've never seen anything like that before. It's almost as good as when the old homeless guy threw poo at my car." I consider asking him about the homeless poo experience, but think better of it.
"Anyway, the guy rushed home, ran at top speed into the house, and came back with a bucket of water. His limp miraculously disappeared, too, by the way."
Now, what are the chances of that? Of all the days that the guy would be under surveillance, it would be the day that he was required to test his supposed disability under extreme circumstances. Karma? I'd like to think so.
Anyway, I'm set up on a rural road here in Almost Canada. It's nearly 8am and still dark. The area is flat and barren with a few pine trees dotting the landscape. This is crazy. Why would anybody live out here voluntarily?
And I have no place to hide. There are no trees tall enough and thick enough to provide significant cover on the tundra.
I suppose I could dress up like a moose. Blend in. Go casually graze on the bushes under the Subject's bedroom window...
"You should see this!" I say into the reciever. "There's a t-shirt for sale here that says, 'Tell Your Boobs To Stop Staring At My Eyes'." I giggle.
"Why would anybody buy a shirt like that?" LHM asks in disgust. "How tacky."
"Yeah!" I say, "What kind of a person, indeed!" I place the t-shirt on the checkout counter and wink at the cashier. (Sorry, Dad. If you're reading this then Father's Day won't be much of a surprise this year.)
I gather my purchases and head back to my room to go over reports for the night. I am especially anxious to read Fish's. He called me on the radio early this afternoon all in a tissy. "Polly! This Subject I'm following... His car is on fire! He's speeding down the road toward his house! I'll call you back!"
Well, there's something you don't see everyday.
A half hour later Fish radios me again. "Man, I've been doing this for 11 years and I've never seen anything like that before. It's almost as good as when the old homeless guy threw poo at my car." I consider asking him about the homeless poo experience, but think better of it.
"Anyway, the guy rushed home, ran at top speed into the house, and came back with a bucket of water. His limp miraculously disappeared, too, by the way."
Now, what are the chances of that? Of all the days that the guy would be under surveillance, it would be the day that he was required to test his supposed disability under extreme circumstances. Karma? I'd like to think so.
Anyway, I'm set up on a rural road here in Almost Canada. It's nearly 8am and still dark. The area is flat and barren with a few pine trees dotting the landscape. This is crazy. Why would anybody live out here voluntarily?
And I have no place to hide. There are no trees tall enough and thick enough to provide significant cover on the tundra.
I suppose I could dress up like a moose. Blend in. Go casually graze on the bushes under the Subject's bedroom window...
I FORGOT TO PACK MY MUKLUKS
It's 7am. Still pitch dark outside. The moose (meese? mooses?) are looking at me funny.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Stuck in Chicago traffic
It's times like these when I wish I'd gone for that on-board rocket launcher option.
1/12/06
1:17 a.m.
Tomorrow morning I leave for a glorious adventure in northern Michigan! In the middle of January!
Hooray!
What? Don't look at me like that. I've been itching for a road trip for ages. Too many months cooped up in front of my PC.
I've got my digital camera, my guitar in the trunk, my bucket, and my laptop revved up and ready to go.
It's going to be a long drive and I'll be sure to take lots of pics and blog along the way. Right now I'm going to download some music for the road.
I bet those people at the BP station missed me...
Tomorrow morning I leave for a glorious adventure in northern Michigan! In the middle of January!
Hooray!
What? Don't look at me like that. I've been itching for a road trip for ages. Too many months cooped up in front of my PC.
I've got my digital camera, my guitar in the trunk, my bucket, and my laptop revved up and ready to go.
It's going to be a long drive and I'll be sure to take lots of pics and blog along the way. Right now I'm going to download some music for the road.
I bet those people at the BP station missed me...
Monday, January 09, 2006
01/09/06
8:18 a.m.
After I get home from releasing the suicide, I tackle some PI work that has started to pile up when I was gone. Several hours of travel requests, investigator phone calls, and case reviews later, I'm eating my cat curry when my beeper goes off again. I look at the display. It says: "Please call Droi..." That's it.
Errg. I hate it when they try to text messages to me. They never come through all the way. I've told them 400 times to just send the phone number and I'll call them back. I call dispatch.
"Dispatch, Rollins."
"Yes, this is Polly from the ME's office. Did you guys paged me? I couldn't tell because the text didn't come thr..." She cuts me off.
"Oh. Yeah. Hold on."
Several cuss words and a short conversation with the supervisor later, I am calling the emergency room at one of the local hospitals. The ER nurse tells me she's got a 65-year-old male who collapsed after going for a jog this afternoon. The nurse said the decedent was in the garage and fell on the corner of a set of concrete stairs. The fall was not witnessed. "Polly, I've never seen a face split open like this. It looks like somebody took an axe to this guy's face... Right down the midline. I can't imagine anybody sustaining an injury like this from a simple fall."
Oh, great. Now I have images of the wife taking a frying pan to his face. But I'll come back to that later. First thing's first.
"Does he have a medical history?"
"Not recent. The last time he saw his doctor was 2 years ago. He was diagnosed with hypertension, but he refused to take medication for it. I already talked to Doctor Morris and he refuses to sign the death certificate."
I sigh. Doesn't look like I'm getting out of bringing this one in. Besides, I want to check out that facial laceration. It's got my spidey sense tingling.
"Is the family still there?"
"Yes. The wife is here and a son."
"Okay. Please ask them to stay. I want to question the wife. Oh...and how big is this guy?"
"Big. Maybe 6'5" and 375 lbs."
Ooftah.
I pick up the van at the ME's office and drive around to the back of the hospital...where the morgue is located. I am concerned enough about the facial injuries that I shove several paper sacks in my satchel...just in case I'm suspicious enough of foul play that I need to bag the hands for trace. I hop out of the truck and two security guards are waiting for me in black dress pants and red blazers with gold embroidered lettering on the breast pocket. I love this hospital that way. They are so accommodating. I feel like the bellhop just met me at the door of a fancy hotel. One of them takes the cot to the morgue while the other escorts me to the ER.
There are several nurses and doctors gathered around the nurses station when I get there. They are listening intently to a cop who is telling them a story in hushed tones. I wait for a moment, but when it becomes clear that nobody is going to help me, I walk closer to get the nearest nurse's attention. The cop who is talking looks at me just then and stops his story. He gives me a big smile. "Polly! I haven't seen you since we moved that decomp the other day!" It's Officer Wink. I greet him and we chat for a few minutes while the nurses and doctors dispurse... Story time is over, I guess.
One of Wink's partners comes over and chats with us. After the introductions he says, "Yeah. Wink told me how you caught him trying to take a picture of your butt at that decomp scene." They giggle like a couple of 12-year-olds. I roll my eyes. Cops. We are interrupted by Charles, the nurse assigned to my Dead Guy's case. He tells me that the body is in Room 5 and the family has all had a chance to see him.
I ask Charles to take me to the body first. I want to examine that wound before talking to the wife.
I walk into the room. Dead Guy is covered in a sheet from head to toe. A small wooden cross has been laid on his chest. The chaplain must have been here. I glove up, remove the cross, and pull back the sheet. Oh, for crying out loud. The way that nurse was talking, I was expecting the man's face to have been practically cloven in two. This is a nasty laceration, but it certainly is within the realm of possiblity if he hit a concrete stair at just the right angle. I can feel myself relax. No spousal homicide today. That's good.
More later...
After I get home from releasing the suicide, I tackle some PI work that has started to pile up when I was gone. Several hours of travel requests, investigator phone calls, and case reviews later, I'm eating my cat curry when my beeper goes off again. I look at the display. It says: "Please call Droi..." That's it.
Errg. I hate it when they try to text messages to me. They never come through all the way. I've told them 400 times to just send the phone number and I'll call them back. I call dispatch.
"Dispatch, Rollins."
"Yes, this is Polly from the ME's office. Did you guys paged me? I couldn't tell because the text didn't come thr..." She cuts me off.
"Oh. Yeah. Hold on."
Several cuss words and a short conversation with the supervisor later, I am calling the emergency room at one of the local hospitals. The ER nurse tells me she's got a 65-year-old male who collapsed after going for a jog this afternoon. The nurse said the decedent was in the garage and fell on the corner of a set of concrete stairs. The fall was not witnessed. "Polly, I've never seen a face split open like this. It looks like somebody took an axe to this guy's face... Right down the midline. I can't imagine anybody sustaining an injury like this from a simple fall."
Oh, great. Now I have images of the wife taking a frying pan to his face. But I'll come back to that later. First thing's first.
"Does he have a medical history?"
"Not recent. The last time he saw his doctor was 2 years ago. He was diagnosed with hypertension, but he refused to take medication for it. I already talked to Doctor Morris and he refuses to sign the death certificate."
I sigh. Doesn't look like I'm getting out of bringing this one in. Besides, I want to check out that facial laceration. It's got my spidey sense tingling.
"Is the family still there?"
"Yes. The wife is here and a son."
"Okay. Please ask them to stay. I want to question the wife. Oh...and how big is this guy?"
"Big. Maybe 6'5" and 375 lbs."
Ooftah.
I pick up the van at the ME's office and drive around to the back of the hospital...where the morgue is located. I am concerned enough about the facial injuries that I shove several paper sacks in my satchel...just in case I'm suspicious enough of foul play that I need to bag the hands for trace. I hop out of the truck and two security guards are waiting for me in black dress pants and red blazers with gold embroidered lettering on the breast pocket. I love this hospital that way. They are so accommodating. I feel like the bellhop just met me at the door of a fancy hotel. One of them takes the cot to the morgue while the other escorts me to the ER.
There are several nurses and doctors gathered around the nurses station when I get there. They are listening intently to a cop who is telling them a story in hushed tones. I wait for a moment, but when it becomes clear that nobody is going to help me, I walk closer to get the nearest nurse's attention. The cop who is talking looks at me just then and stops his story. He gives me a big smile. "Polly! I haven't seen you since we moved that decomp the other day!" It's Officer Wink. I greet him and we chat for a few minutes while the nurses and doctors dispurse... Story time is over, I guess.
One of Wink's partners comes over and chats with us. After the introductions he says, "Yeah. Wink told me how you caught him trying to take a picture of your butt at that decomp scene." They giggle like a couple of 12-year-olds. I roll my eyes. Cops. We are interrupted by Charles, the nurse assigned to my Dead Guy's case. He tells me that the body is in Room 5 and the family has all had a chance to see him.
I ask Charles to take me to the body first. I want to examine that wound before talking to the wife.
I walk into the room. Dead Guy is covered in a sheet from head to toe. A small wooden cross has been laid on his chest. The chaplain must have been here. I glove up, remove the cross, and pull back the sheet. Oh, for crying out loud. The way that nurse was talking, I was expecting the man's face to have been practically cloven in two. This is a nasty laceration, but it certainly is within the realm of possiblity if he hit a concrete stair at just the right angle. I can feel myself relax. No spousal homicide today. That's good.
More later...
Sunday, January 08, 2006
01/08/06
6:30 p.m.
The doorbell rings and I run down the stairs with check in hand.
"Hey. You ordered Chinese, lady?"
It's the delivery boy from The Bamboo Palace. They have great curry.
I pay for my food and hurry upstairs to the kitchen. I transfer the contents of my little white box to a plate heaping with rice. Mmmm...I take a big whiff of steam and smile. I could eat a horse. Or a cat. I don't really care as long as it's in curry sauce.
I take a bite while standing over the sink and am chewing away happily when I hear a loud buzzing sound in the other room. It's dispatch paging me. Oh, fudge. I whimper a little and look down at my food. Looks like Fluffy died in vain. I shovel one more bite in my mouth and head to my bedroom.
This shift has been hectic. It all started at 7am when I was called by a funeral home to release a body from the morgue. That took me a half hour or so and I was just heading home when I saw an ambulance pull out of the station near my home. Great. Probably a DOA. Happens all the time in the morning. I was right. Ten minutes later I got the page. I went to the scene and pronounced. It was an unremarkable situation. The decedent was an 80-year-old man who lived alone. His son tried to call him yetserday and got no answer. Son then drove by the house this morning and noticed that the garage door was open. That's when he knew something was wrong. Dad never left the garage door open all night. Son walked in and found his father face down on the floor by the couch. Dad had a host of health problems and nobody was exactly surprised. This was a natural. Not an ME case. I kicked it to the family doctor and released to a funeral home.
A couple of hours later I got a call from one of the local hospital ERs. Another old guy. Another natural. I declined ME jurisdiction and didn't even have to go pronounce since the ER doctor obliged.
Then I got called by a funeral home regarding a local police officer who committed suicide on a high school football field last night. "Oh, really?" I said. "I wasn't aware." My shift didn't start until midnight, so it's possible it came in earlier and I wasn't informed.
"Yeah," Mort from Pearly Gates Funeral Home said. "I would like to know how she looks so I can tell the family whether there will be an open casket or not."
Ugh.
"Well, since I live five minutes from the office, why don't I head over there and check for you?"
"Would you? That would be so nice! You're such a nice girl."
Yeah. Plus I want to see the woman. The name sounds familiar. I think maybe I was out on a scene with her once.
I drive over to the MEO and notice Dr. Frank's truck out front. It's 2pm on a Saturday. That woman works all the time. It's like all she does is work. She should just relax sometimes and turn off her phone and...
Nevermind. Pot...kettle...black.
So I walk in through the front door. "Hello?"
Dr. Frank greets me. She's in her office writing a lecture she's giving at a big symposium on Monday. I see a Powerpoint presentation on her computer screen and the word "Cirrhosis" emblazoned across the slide with bulleted points underneath it.
"Hey, Doc. Does Cory Shelly ring a bell to you? I got a call from a funeral home a few minutes ago asking me if she's viewable."
Dr. Frank turns in her seat and faces me. "Yeah. That was a sad case. So young. She was a local cop. Yesterday night she called into dispatch and gave them a ten code...10-45 or something like that...It's supposed to mean you're going off duty. Only she wasn't supposed to be off until the next morning. Anyway, dispatch couldn't really understand what she said and thought it was a different code...like an armed robbery or something...so they sent a whole bunch of cars and shit out there. Only it was too late. She shot herself through the side of the head."
I imagine the woman, still in uniform, sitting on the bleachers of a dark football field at night. What kind of dispair would have driven her to that?
Dr. Frank goes on, "I posted her yesterday. She should be viewable if they're good at putting craniums back together. Her face was pretty much okay. Go ahead and tell them they can pick her up."
We chat for a while longer before I call Mort back and tell him he can come get the body.
I walk down to the morgue, glove up, grab the cooler key from on top of the door frame, and pull the door open. There's a loud click and a hiss. Inside I can hear air whooshing from the ventilation system. Even so, it smells stale. I walk in and scan the toe tags for Dpty. Shelly.
I pull her out of the cooler and into the bay area where Mort will soon be arriving in his Suburban. I unzip the bag and immediately note there are loose stitches of waxed cord running up and down her arms, legs, and torso. She was harvested for tissue and organs. Her head is bagged. I tuck the white plastic up so that I can see her face. I sigh. I do recognize her. Back when I had my kidney infection and I had to run that motorcycle case. She was the rookie cop that came in with the body and almost started to cry when she was describing the scene to me. Oh, hell.
Her eyes have been harvested so her lids are closed on concave orbits. I can see tell-tale "raccoon eyes"...bruising in and around the eye sockets. Raccoon eyes are a direct result of the enormous pressure that is expelled when a bullet penetrates the brain at close range. Her skin is pale and her dark hair is tangled in around her face like a mass of seaweed.
I shake my head. I pull the bag back down on her head.
As I drive home I keep envisioning the young woman with the clear, kind eyes telling me about the motorcycle accident scene. Trying to be professional. Trying to be a cop.
More later....this was a long day...
The doorbell rings and I run down the stairs with check in hand.
"Hey. You ordered Chinese, lady?"
It's the delivery boy from The Bamboo Palace. They have great curry.
I pay for my food and hurry upstairs to the kitchen. I transfer the contents of my little white box to a plate heaping with rice. Mmmm...I take a big whiff of steam and smile. I could eat a horse. Or a cat. I don't really care as long as it's in curry sauce.
I take a bite while standing over the sink and am chewing away happily when I hear a loud buzzing sound in the other room. It's dispatch paging me. Oh, fudge. I whimper a little and look down at my food. Looks like Fluffy died in vain. I shovel one more bite in my mouth and head to my bedroom.
This shift has been hectic. It all started at 7am when I was called by a funeral home to release a body from the morgue. That took me a half hour or so and I was just heading home when I saw an ambulance pull out of the station near my home. Great. Probably a DOA. Happens all the time in the morning. I was right. Ten minutes later I got the page. I went to the scene and pronounced. It was an unremarkable situation. The decedent was an 80-year-old man who lived alone. His son tried to call him yetserday and got no answer. Son then drove by the house this morning and noticed that the garage door was open. That's when he knew something was wrong. Dad never left the garage door open all night. Son walked in and found his father face down on the floor by the couch. Dad had a host of health problems and nobody was exactly surprised. This was a natural. Not an ME case. I kicked it to the family doctor and released to a funeral home.
A couple of hours later I got a call from one of the local hospital ERs. Another old guy. Another natural. I declined ME jurisdiction and didn't even have to go pronounce since the ER doctor obliged.
Then I got called by a funeral home regarding a local police officer who committed suicide on a high school football field last night. "Oh, really?" I said. "I wasn't aware." My shift didn't start until midnight, so it's possible it came in earlier and I wasn't informed.
"Yeah," Mort from Pearly Gates Funeral Home said. "I would like to know how she looks so I can tell the family whether there will be an open casket or not."
Ugh.
"Well, since I live five minutes from the office, why don't I head over there and check for you?"
"Would you? That would be so nice! You're such a nice girl."
Yeah. Plus I want to see the woman. The name sounds familiar. I think maybe I was out on a scene with her once.
I drive over to the MEO and notice Dr. Frank's truck out front. It's 2pm on a Saturday. That woman works all the time. It's like all she does is work. She should just relax sometimes and turn off her phone and...
Nevermind. Pot...kettle...black.
So I walk in through the front door. "Hello?"
Dr. Frank greets me. She's in her office writing a lecture she's giving at a big symposium on Monday. I see a Powerpoint presentation on her computer screen and the word "Cirrhosis" emblazoned across the slide with bulleted points underneath it.
"Hey, Doc. Does Cory Shelly ring a bell to you? I got a call from a funeral home a few minutes ago asking me if she's viewable."
Dr. Frank turns in her seat and faces me. "Yeah. That was a sad case. So young. She was a local cop. Yesterday night she called into dispatch and gave them a ten code...10-45 or something like that...It's supposed to mean you're going off duty. Only she wasn't supposed to be off until the next morning. Anyway, dispatch couldn't really understand what she said and thought it was a different code...like an armed robbery or something...so they sent a whole bunch of cars and shit out there. Only it was too late. She shot herself through the side of the head."
I imagine the woman, still in uniform, sitting on the bleachers of a dark football field at night. What kind of dispair would have driven her to that?
Dr. Frank goes on, "I posted her yesterday. She should be viewable if they're good at putting craniums back together. Her face was pretty much okay. Go ahead and tell them they can pick her up."
We chat for a while longer before I call Mort back and tell him he can come get the body.
I walk down to the morgue, glove up, grab the cooler key from on top of the door frame, and pull the door open. There's a loud click and a hiss. Inside I can hear air whooshing from the ventilation system. Even so, it smells stale. I walk in and scan the toe tags for Dpty. Shelly.
I pull her out of the cooler and into the bay area where Mort will soon be arriving in his Suburban. I unzip the bag and immediately note there are loose stitches of waxed cord running up and down her arms, legs, and torso. She was harvested for tissue and organs. Her head is bagged. I tuck the white plastic up so that I can see her face. I sigh. I do recognize her. Back when I had my kidney infection and I had to run that motorcycle case. She was the rookie cop that came in with the body and almost started to cry when she was describing the scene to me. Oh, hell.
Her eyes have been harvested so her lids are closed on concave orbits. I can see tell-tale "raccoon eyes"...bruising in and around the eye sockets. Raccoon eyes are a direct result of the enormous pressure that is expelled when a bullet penetrates the brain at close range. Her skin is pale and her dark hair is tangled in around her face like a mass of seaweed.
I shake my head. I pull the bag back down on her head.
As I drive home I keep envisioning the young woman with the clear, kind eyes telling me about the motorcycle accident scene. Trying to be professional. Trying to be a cop.
More later....this was a long day...
Friday, January 06, 2006
01/06/06
2:24 p.m.
Seriously...
Everything I touch has turned to monkey poo today.
It started out last night when an investigator called me (at 9pm) to tell me his car wasn't out of the shop yet..."I was waiting and then they just closed so now I can't leave for my case I'm supposed to start that's 400 miles away in San Antonio at 6am tomorrow."
Then, I was reviewing a report from South Carolina. The investigator USED to be a supervisor for my company but was relieved of her duties. I think I know why, now. The report said that the cops came out and questioned her on her surviellance and then the cop went to the CLAIMANT'S house and talked to them. So..clearly she got picked up. But did she call her supervisor? No. Did she immediately break off? No. She stayed on him for two more hours AND EVEN ENGAGED IN A MOBILE SURVIELLANCE ON HIM. Bloody hell.
So, I went to bed.
I woke up this morning to find that a case that was started yesterday was supposed to have been scheduled from 3:30pm to 11:30pm. I reminded my supervisor 4 times before he found somebody to run the case to schedule it properly. My supervisor scheduled it for 6am-4pm. And I'M the jerk because I didn't catch it while reviewing his assignment. It's just that I review 10 to 20 assignment schedules a day and it slipped by. So now we have to rerun the first day.
Then, Fish was running a case and his video camera blew up. He had to leave and get a new camera.
After that, Joe...remember Joe? My absent-minded former boss? He screwed up the video on a couple of cases he ran last week and then messed up some dates and times in his report, so I had to spank him for that.
Not to mention yesterday. I was renegotiating my contract and my boss...being the wonderful man that he is...called me and said, "You either take what we're offering or you're fired. Tell me now." He knows I've got a few very good little reasons for remaining where I am for the time being otherwise I would have told him to shove his job up his ass. Which I will do as SOON as I find another one.
And now I'm late for the dentist. I'm kind of looking forward to the drill. At least I don't have to answer the phone for an hour or so.
Seriously...
Everything I touch has turned to monkey poo today.
It started out last night when an investigator called me (at 9pm) to tell me his car wasn't out of the shop yet..."I was waiting and then they just closed so now I can't leave for my case I'm supposed to start that's 400 miles away in San Antonio at 6am tomorrow."
Then, I was reviewing a report from South Carolina. The investigator USED to be a supervisor for my company but was relieved of her duties. I think I know why, now. The report said that the cops came out and questioned her on her surviellance and then the cop went to the CLAIMANT'S house and talked to them. So..clearly she got picked up. But did she call her supervisor? No. Did she immediately break off? No. She stayed on him for two more hours AND EVEN ENGAGED IN A MOBILE SURVIELLANCE ON HIM. Bloody hell.
So, I went to bed.
I woke up this morning to find that a case that was started yesterday was supposed to have been scheduled from 3:30pm to 11:30pm. I reminded my supervisor 4 times before he found somebody to run the case to schedule it properly. My supervisor scheduled it for 6am-4pm. And I'M the jerk because I didn't catch it while reviewing his assignment. It's just that I review 10 to 20 assignment schedules a day and it slipped by. So now we have to rerun the first day.
Then, Fish was running a case and his video camera blew up. He had to leave and get a new camera.
After that, Joe...remember Joe? My absent-minded former boss? He screwed up the video on a couple of cases he ran last week and then messed up some dates and times in his report, so I had to spank him for that.
Not to mention yesterday. I was renegotiating my contract and my boss...being the wonderful man that he is...called me and said, "You either take what we're offering or you're fired. Tell me now." He knows I've got a few very good little reasons for remaining where I am for the time being otherwise I would have told him to shove his job up his ass. Which I will do as SOON as I find another one.
And now I'm late for the dentist. I'm kind of looking forward to the drill. At least I don't have to answer the phone for an hour or so.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
01/04/06
3:44 p.m.
I am standing in front of the mirror in the guest bathroom at LHM's house. It's New Year's Eve and we're getting ready to go out for a nice steak (medium rare, of course) dinner. We are running late, so I call to LHM asking how much more time he needs.
"Hey!" I yell.
Silence.
I narrow my eyes. It's awfully quiet out there. Too quiet. I shrug. Maybe he's busy seeing a man about a horse. I turn back to the mirror and just finish powdering my nose when I hear a loud pop and feel a sharp sting in my left buttock.
"Ouch!" I jump and look up at the doorway. LHM is standing there with a grin on his face and the toy shotgun I bought him for a How To Host A Murder party we went to the other night. (He was Elias Truis Teeth, a young gun slinger, and I was Elvira Lynn Fection, the owner and maddam of the local brothel. I'll post a picture or two later.)
"Damn it!" I kick off my heels and start chasing him around the house. "This is the fourth time you've shot me in the ass with that thing! Now prepare to be kicked in yours!"
Unfortunately, I'm a rather small woman and in a wrestling match with a 6'3" tall man, fingernails and teeth can only do so much. I have no choice but to pull out the big guns. I collapse.
"My arm! Oh, it hurts! You hurt me!" I curl into a ball and craddle my arm. LHM lets me go and immediately asks me if I'm okay. I gasp a few more times before springing into action.
Ha. Men. So easy.
Unfortunately, the surprise attack only really works if you are intent on truly disabling somebody. So because I was kind and figured LHM might want to have children someday, I ended up in a headlock in my fancy dress until I said "uncle". Serves me right for not fighting dirty. Dirtier.
In other news:
Jose quit a couple of days after Christmas. So now I am acting supervisor for his area in addition to my other duties. Pile it on, babies. More weight.
I got my new contract, which was a joke, as expected. I countered this morning and have been waiting all day to see if I'll get what I asked for.
I am going to go run a couple of cases in Michigan next week...that is if they accept my counter-offer. It'll be fun to get out there on the road again. It's surprising how much I miss sitting in my truck blogging all day.
I haven't taken off my robe in 3 days. Maybe I'll get dressed tomorrow just for lips and tickles. I'm starting to feel like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
All work and no play makes Polly a dull girl.
I am standing in front of the mirror in the guest bathroom at LHM's house. It's New Year's Eve and we're getting ready to go out for a nice steak (medium rare, of course) dinner. We are running late, so I call to LHM asking how much more time he needs.
"Hey!" I yell.
Silence.
I narrow my eyes. It's awfully quiet out there. Too quiet. I shrug. Maybe he's busy seeing a man about a horse. I turn back to the mirror and just finish powdering my nose when I hear a loud pop and feel a sharp sting in my left buttock.
"Ouch!" I jump and look up at the doorway. LHM is standing there with a grin on his face and the toy shotgun I bought him for a How To Host A Murder party we went to the other night. (He was Elias Truis Teeth, a young gun slinger, and I was Elvira Lynn Fection, the owner and maddam of the local brothel. I'll post a picture or two later.)
"Damn it!" I kick off my heels and start chasing him around the house. "This is the fourth time you've shot me in the ass with that thing! Now prepare to be kicked in yours!"
Unfortunately, I'm a rather small woman and in a wrestling match with a 6'3" tall man, fingernails and teeth can only do so much. I have no choice but to pull out the big guns. I collapse.
"My arm! Oh, it hurts! You hurt me!" I curl into a ball and craddle my arm. LHM lets me go and immediately asks me if I'm okay. I gasp a few more times before springing into action.
Ha. Men. So easy.
Unfortunately, the surprise attack only really works if you are intent on truly disabling somebody. So because I was kind and figured LHM might want to have children someday, I ended up in a headlock in my fancy dress until I said "uncle". Serves me right for not fighting dirty. Dirtier.
In other news:
Jose quit a couple of days after Christmas. So now I am acting supervisor for his area in addition to my other duties. Pile it on, babies. More weight.
I got my new contract, which was a joke, as expected. I countered this morning and have been waiting all day to see if I'll get what I asked for.
I am going to go run a couple of cases in Michigan next week...that is if they accept my counter-offer. It'll be fun to get out there on the road again. It's surprising how much I miss sitting in my truck blogging all day.
I haven't taken off my robe in 3 days. Maybe I'll get dressed tomorrow just for lips and tickles. I'm starting to feel like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
All work and no play makes Polly a dull girl.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)