O'Brien and Cruz at the Rifleman's Home

questioning a suspect...

5

　

Detective Peter O’Brien and Officer Victor Cruz arrived at the Rifleman’s home over

on the eastside of town. He lived on Pennsylvania Avenue. It was in a row of duplexes. His

house was the best looking one on the street.

O’Brien knocked on the door and waited a few minutes. There was no answer. So he

knocked again and stepped closer to the door, listening for movement inside. From up the stairs

came a muffled sound. O’Brien exhaled slowly and knocked again, bringing an old woman to a

second-floor window in the next duplex.

"Hi, Bridgeport police," O’Brien called. "Is the people that live here at home?"

"Yeah, he home."

"Do you know that for a fact?"

"Guess so,"she replied.

"Yes or no?"

"He at home, saw him two minutes before you started knocking like idiots," she replied.

"He came down to get the newspaper."

Cruz started pounding heavy on the door which was answered at last by a light from the

upstairs, where a wooden frame window was suddenly and violently wrenched upward. A heavy

set middle aged black man pushed head and shoulders across the window sill and stared down at

the police officers.

"Who the hell is knocking on my door this early in the f*****g morning?" he shouted.

"You got some f*****g nerve!"

"Rifleman?" O’Brien called.

"Yeah."

"Police."

"Police?"

What an idiot, O’Brien thought. How could he not tell they were the police when Cruz

was fully dressed in a uniform. And he was wearing a long white trench coat. O’Brien pulled his

shield and held it toward the window. "Yeah, police."

"What you want?"

"Can we have a word with you?"

"No you can’t," he half shouted. It came out low enough so the nosy people looking out

the windows couldn’t hear, but loud enough for the police to hear. "I don’t talk to the police. It’s

just not my thing."

"I think you better make it your thing," Cruz shouted loud enough for everyone to hear.

"How can you come knock on my door like animals while I was sleeping and demand

s**t?" He shouted back. " S**t ain’t right."

"You were sleeping?" O’Brien asked.

"I ain’t got to tell you what I was doing," he replied.

" Pete, this guy is getting on my last nerve,"Cruz whispered into O’Brien’s ear.

O’Brien agreed.

"Listen Rifleman,"Cruz started. "We need to talk to you about Sadie Moore. We

believe she was one of your hookers. The one that was murdered."

"I ain’t got nothing to say to you, not my problem."

"She was murdered!" Cruz shouted.

"I knows that!"

"And you have nothing to say?" Cruz looked confused.

"S**t happens."

"We need some answers," O’Brien added.

"So?"

"We’re investigating the murder,"he continued. "We need some answer. And we need

them from you."

"I don’t have no answers."

O’Brien suppressed an almost overwhelming desire to pull out his police issued revolver

and pump six bullets into that man. Instead, he looked hard at the man’s face and spoke his last

words in a laconic tone that betrayed only weariness.

"You know Rifleman," he started. "I can come back with a grand jury summons."

"Then you gotta come back with your damn summons, cause I ain’t feel like talking to

you," he replied. " You come by early in the morning and expect me to come down and talk to

you about Sadie Moore. F**k her!"

"Respect the dead,"Cruz half-shouted.

"We will get the summons," O’Brien said.

"Then go ahead and get it!" he shouted slamming the window.

"Well, looks like he just doesn’t have any respect for the women who are working for

him,"said O’Brien.

"That could mean that he won’t be out for revenge," said Cruz.

"Yeah, it sure doesn’t look like death matters to him," O’Brien sad softly. "His

girls fall one by one, and he’ll just replace them. That’s a sad f*****g thought process."

"Somebody needs to shoot that mother..."

"Remind me to make it difficult for him to conduct business," O’Brien added.

Cruz nodded.