Deeply discouraged as an only child with dysfunctional parents, especially of his disillusionment of motherhood, Jerry Dunn carries emotional baggage with him as he later joins the Marines. Though he distinguishes himself in battle he is only further disillusioned by the typical self seeking actions of his superiors. His already damaged psyche takes a further hit after his discharge. He joins the Memphis Police Force where he again rises quickly in achievement, and escalates to Homicide Detective, only to find that nothing is different, only proof that men everywhere are full of dishonesty and hypocrisy. A moniker of "Dirty Jerry", that he would not have chosen for himself, was attached to him by the press as a result of his heroics under fire. His search for something that was true and honorable, however, seemed to escape him at all turns and made him even bitterer. Suddenly and mysteriously, he finds himself embroiled in an extremely complicated and perverse murder case where he is astonishingly accused of the crime; a crime where nothing seems to fit proper Police procedure. The network of evil extends in many directions and threatens to engulf him along with many others. Just when he is at his peak of bitter cynicism, he sees a ray of sunshine in truth and integrity only to have it taken away, then returned and then taken away again in a shattering experience of an emotional and bizarre turn of events. The single ray of hope that he has looked for all his life, seems illusive at best. But may hinge on a very strange and conflicting set of heart rending circumstances, going against everything he has learned in his early life.

Dirty Jerry

Faith in the real worldBy T.F. Bohn

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 T.F. Bohn
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4634-0891-6

Chapter One

COLD WEATHER KILLER

"... those who plow iniquity and those who sow trouble shall harvest it." Job 4:8

The building was one of the upscale, new, ultra secure apartment houses built in Memphis, Tennessee, one of the most violent cities in America. It was only three years old in an area not far from the massive Cook convention center, renowned throughout the United States.

It was a typical cold winter evening where most people were inside hugging their fireplace and bundled up to keep from getting chill blains. But ambience aside, many were outside looking toward the near new, beautifully landscaped, apartment building that claimed to have all the latest security systems people require today.

Three black and whites were in front, while another blocked the road. Two uniforms were taping off the area with crime scene yellow tape signifying someone was killed.

It was late evening when most people should be at home getting ready for bed, but instead the neighbors were lining the street on both sides gawking at the many blazing red and blue lights, and the confusion down the street.

Though everyone was paranoid about their own personal safety, they still wanted to see a possible bit of carnage against someone else. It's as if they wanted to witness something that they feared and yet were drawn to the possible excitement of some blood being spilt, spicing an otherwise dull and mundane lifestyle.

Inside, on a ground floor apartment, photographers were shooting the near nude bodies of a young woman Jennifer Logan and her two young daughters Sheryl and Kaitlyn.

CSI had gotten through with their vacuuming and meticulous quest for clues, now Detective Dunn was taking his time trying to figure out what might lead him to the perpetrator. The little desk in the living room with its meager offering of bank notes and papers revealed nothing of significance, with no strange monetary deposits or withdrawals, a letter from her mother in Idaho, some junk mail and little else that would tell him anything. He scribbled a few notes.

Searching the bedrooms he found them orderly with the beds made and all waste baskets empty. Nothing out of the ordinary in the clothes closet, everything neat and clean

The bathroom was as normal as a fastidious person would have it. No drugs, except some Tylenol, mouth wash, a tube of Neosporin and toothpaste with three toothbrushes. A small box of band-aids and cold cream were sitting on the counter as was a box of Q-tips and some Vaseline and of course several hair brushes and combs and a blow dryer.

A large black sedan drove through the Police barricade and stopped by the ornate beige apartment house, with swaying palms along the front. A uniformed officer popped out and opened the door for a large man in a suit and tie, with a topcoat. It was a very cool and brisk evening.

Entrance to this Bastille like structure was first through the card keyed parking structure, which was propped open, then through a tall electronic gate, also braced open. This is the garden area. There were two more electronic doors, each with an officer holding it open, and then into the atrium area and the apartments.

The residents had to pass through four locked entrances to get into their living quarters. But this is what the people paid top dollar for, absolute security.

The man in the suit spoke to the officer at the first door,

"Is Dunn here?" The officer nodded toward the building.

Detective Jerry Dunn was kneeling down beside the one girl holding her limp hand with his eyes closed and a tear running down his cheek as the coroner began zipping body bags.

The gory scene was so gross that two grizzled officers had to leave, each thinking of their wives and children and almost retching at the arena of blood at this scene.

To those who didn't know, it would look as if remorse was overtaking him, but the Detective's emotion was not just for the woman and her children but for the deep anger that rose within him, for the animal that caused this brutal attack.

He was a cop known to carry a vendetta against those who would prey on the innocent and the defenseless. A killing of gang against gang, or other forms of a man against another man in combat, he could handle that. But each crime of passion and murder against the vulnerable or the poor, he took personally and it drove him into a rage.

As always, a driving commitment to make the killer pay became his persona; find the perpetrator and bring him to justice, one way or another, alive or dead, which ever he chooses.

The tall suited man just silently waited for the detective to rise before he said anything.

Finally he rose, with fury in his eyes and stared off in the distance.

"What do you think, is this the same guy as two weeks ago, you know, the McCarthy woman?"

Detective Dunn said nothing for a minute then turned to the Chief.

"It's him alright.... the same MO and almost certainly the same knife. It seems he likes to do it only in cold weather when all are inside. Each of the two nights has been bitter cold. For now, I'm calling him "the Cold Weather killer" until we get a name."

"What's the plan? Who do you want working with you?"

"I could use some uniforms to stay around here for the next two days, to ease the tension and fear that will surely grow when the occupants hear of this. A couple more to do some perusing the grounds and surrounding neighborhood tomorrow. They won't get much done tonight, it is late. I will call if I need any more help. I will be working alone though, no partner, others just get in the way, besides I have all the help I need."

The Chief knew that he meant his stable of informants which was more extensive than any other in the department.

Since his former partner was killed almost a year ago, he mostly worked alone. Some guessed that he wanted to work alone because of certain things he did might not be according to rules and regulations. But he usually got the job done so this was overlooked.

Two weeks prior there had been another killing of a single woman, Denise McCarthy, killed the same way. She was in her apartment alone and for some reason allowed the man to come in. There were no clues and, of course, no one saw or heard anything. That apartment also was advertised as a highly secure residence. They were still working on that one, but it seemed to be a blind alley.

He still couldn't figure how the guy talked his way into a woman's apartment at night. And, of course there was no one alive to answer that question.

Dunn, with a stoic resolve and deep anger steeped in his eyes, looked straight at his Chief.

"It's time to take the gloves off. This perp doesn't deserve any powder puff police procedure that the politicians want. I'm going to take him down, that's a promise. Don't stand in my way." He then started walking out scanning his pad of notes, adding another thought, and then jumped into his pickup truck that he had 'tricked up' and could out run any Crown Vic in the motor pool. Some rubber chirped as he drove away.

The Chief stared after him and mumbled to himself,

"Some rules will surely be bent and I pity the other guy."

At his apartment Dunn sat down and went over his meticulous and copious...