THE OFFICER IN QUESTION

Cory Zimmerman

The Officer in Question

The officer in question smelled of Old Spice and beer. He had taken off his belt, seeing the flashlight, nightstick, handcuffs, and Glock 45 were digging into her thighs. He’d thought to take her into the backseat, but then he’d take the chance of being locked in. He worried the old farmer might drive by and see his shiny black shoes hanging out, mistaking him for dead. The last thing the officer in question needed was that nosy old farmer poking his head around. They’d parked in the same spot they always did, under an old oak tree alongside a country road. The view was beautiful: rolling hills of green grass and grazing cattle to the north, a stretch of field corn in the valley to the south, where just beyond, a slow stream meandered through cottonwood and willow. The officer in question worried the old farmer he’d spotted on his tractor in the rearview might find it odd a city squad car was parked on the side of a country road, a good 12 miles out of its jurisdiction. He stressed whether the farmer might mistake the odd parking job for an unthinkable tragedy, possibly an officer down. But as the large wheels on his tractor rolled by, the old farmer did not come snooping around but instead gave a friendly wave to accompany his rubber neck. The officer in question returned a two-fingered salute while shoving the girl’s face between his knees. Sitting up, she whacked her head on the steering wheel but laughed it off and smooched his bushy, mustached lip. He kissed her back, running his fingers through her long blonde hair, before grabbing the back of her neck while shoving his fifty-two-year-old tongue down her sixteen-year-old throat. He tossed his Glock to his feet as he unzipped his zipper. She reached under her GAP sweatshirt to unfasten her bra as the police radio blared, “Checking status, 10-4.” The officer responded, “On break, 10-6,” before turning the radio off. He then pulled the pants off his daughter’s best friend and crawled onto her, accidentally hitting the switch for the lights and siren, sending the cows running for the barn.

The Daughter

The daughter of the officer in question was tall, about 5-foot-eleven. But she had quit the basketball team—just giving it up after a slight break with reality. She left the basketball court one night and crawled into a dumpster in the park where she conversed with herself before being found by a sanitation worker two days later. Seeing she was an all-star athlete, this begged many about Cantonville to wonder, “was there more to the story?” Born in 1981, she attended Cantonville High School. On the junior-varsity basketball team, she averaged 17.7 points and 4.0 assists a game. She was the all-time leading scorer at Cantonville High with 2,073 points and all-time assists leader with 604. In 1997, she was crowned Miss Basketball. She had ambitions to attend Notre Dame, possibly win State Amateur Athlete of the Year, team MVP, WNBA third-round draft pick, member of Team USA, and perhaps a gold medal. But it was said amongst parents in council meetings; whispered amongst students in locker rooms; gossiped at the salon by little old ladies; spoken over coffee and donuts by fellow cops; debated over ice cold brewskis at Barney’s Tap; and rumored at the Cantonville diner, that, “there is, indeed, more to the story.”

The Story

Rumors swirled around the Cantonville Diner that the officer in question had knocked up his daughter's best friend. “Did you hear she’s left state to get an abortion?” asked a local patron in a Carhart jacket, as a waitress refilled his coffee. Setting the pot on the counter, she leaned in wringing her apron in her hands, and whispered, “I heard the old farmer saw them parked out there past Brownville Blacktop, you know, the junction there, that gravel road that runs down in the valley—you know where I’m talking about, hun?” she asked. “Oh, it’s real purty down there, me and the old man used to take the pickup down there when we was first datin’!”

The Farmer

Upon discovery of the underage affair, the officer in question was fired. But there was no sentence, no verdict, no jury, no trial, no witnesses called, and the officer in question had been fired over circumstantial evidence alone. Seeing how there was no trial, no discovery, and no witnesses called, there was no farmer to speak of. So based on that twisted logic, the farmer never woke up at 4:30 AM. He didn’t eat eggs, bacon, and a biscuit baked and buttered by a wife he never married. He didn’t head out to the barn by 5. The dew never hit the ground by 5:15. The chickens never hatched eggs—were never fed nor watered. The roosts went un-mucked, no heads were counted, no losses, no isolated broody chicks. Were all the animals healthy? Who knows. Did the old farmer take the buckets of manure out? The answer: What old farmer? Was water added to the watering pan and stirred? Of course not. Was the garden that was never planted hosed down? No, no it was not. Also, no cows were milked. The weather wasn’t cool at dawn, and the farmer never wore out in the heat as the day wore on. Nothing was mended, seeing there was nothing to mend. Nothing was painted. Nothing lubricated, sharpened, nor cleaned. No vet skills were needed. No work was interrupted. Nothing was planted nor harvested. There was no weather to beat. No sun to shade. No weeds to weed. No grounds to maintain. No gates to fix. No fence to run, no silo to empty nor fill. There was no lunch as there was no noon. The bologna sandwich that was never made was never eaten. Lemons were never squeezed. Sugar never stirred. After a quick call of nature, no belt was fastened. Nor was a belt replaced on a tractor that didn’t exist. No hoses were patched. In fact, the old farmer’s tractor never broke down that day, as there was no gravel road to upkeep. Also, there was no rush to get the tractor back to the barn. And there was no friendly wave, no rubber neck, no two-finger salute, not on a day that may or may not have ever been witnessed.

The Witness

The officer in question was the lead witness at a murder trial in 1993. He testified that a victim’s charred remains had been found on a foldout sofa bed. That she had been raped and strangled. And that during an initial investigation of the suspect’s home, he opened a wooden box belonging to the suspect, and discovered a gold ring which had belonged to the deceased.

The Ring

At 9 a.m., on February 13, 1993, the victim had not yet arrived at the bank. A coworker reported the victim’s absence to her supervisor, who telephoned the Cantonville police department for assistance. The responding officer, in fact, the officer in question, noticed a faint puff of smoke emanating from the apartment upon arrival. And pulling out a window air conditioner, smoke, under pressure, billowed out from the opening. The officer in question quickly kicked in the door. Inside, he could see only smoke and a bright orange glow. He called out to the victims as he reached inside but felt only furniture. Firefighters soon arrived and extinguished a fire that had been fast, intense, and extremely hot. Inside, was discovered the charred remains of the victims. They were found on the metal framework of the sofa bed, the bed extending from the sofa. The victim laid rigidly face-up on what had been the mattress. Her legs hung over the edge of the mattress frame. Her daughter lay curled on her side next to her mother. The officer in question then noticed a golden ring on the mother’s charred finger.

The Sofa Bed

The victim, 30 years old, worked at the Cantonville National Bank. Beginning in the spring of 1992, she also worked part-time as a waitress at the Cantonville Elks Club. In October of the same year, she rented an apartment at 422 S. Second Avenue in Cantonville for herself and the other victim in the case, her three-year-old daughter. A coworker of the defendant at the Elks Club first introduced the victim to the defendant, who worked with her husband delivering furniture. The victim told the defendant that she wanted to buy a sofa bed for her new apartment, and the defendant responded that he had one to sell. “But don’t you be lettin’ him into yer apartment if you’re ever there alone, he ain’t all there, if ya know what I mean,” warned the coworker. “A few screws short of a hardware store.” The defendant soon thereafter sold the victim a used sofa bed. She arranged for the defendant to deliver the sofa while she and her daughter were not at home. In her mailbox, she left for the defendant a check for the sofa bed and the key to her apartment.

The Prosecution

The prosecution presented evidence that on the night before the fire, the defendant was living approximately 10 blocks from the victim’s home, at the home of a new girlfriend. Also present were several friends. They played cards and drank beer. At approximately 2 AM, the defendant borrowed his girlfriend’s car to go buy cigarettes, and the girlfriend went to bed. Instead of driving directly home after purchasing the cigarettes, the defendant drove around Canton drinking beer for approximately 30 minutes. The defendant twice drove past the victim’s apartment. Each time the defendant drove past, his desire increased, until it finally overcame him.

The Defense

The defense maintained that the defendant was innocent, arguing that the true murderer was possibly the responding officer, the officer in question.

The Defendant

The defendant's IQ was low average, ranking at the bottom 2% of the population. Also, there were clear indications of brain dysfunction possibly resulting from a motorcycle accident. He had a language-based learning disability, thought slowly, and was mentally impaired. The defendant abused alcohol and drugs. Also, the defendant loved his mother, whose death in 1990 had devastated him. The defendant was not close to his father, who had often called the defendant stupid or dumb. The defendant had always tried to obtain his father’s attention and to please him. However, the defendant’s father was an excessive drinker; he also was a gambler, and a womanizer; and he left the family when the defendant was 15 years old.

The Verdict

“Will the defendant please rise?” said the judge, “I have reviewed the factors in aggravation and mitigation in this case. I find, essentially, that the State’s characterization is the correct one. In aggravation, you have caused the death of two people and you have a criminal record. The other factors in mitigation that were brought forth concerning your background and concerning your academic problems, concerning the problems you had growing up in your family, do not rise to the level of mitigation in the Court’s view. In fact, they don’t even help understand, or anyone understand, what you have done here. You snuck into this young woman’s apartment, at night, and you raped her. And you strangled her to death. And if you would have stopped there, I think life without parole would have been an acceptable sentence, but you didn't stop there. You heard that little girl and you strangled her and then you set them on fire to cover your tracks. But you didn’t cover your tracks because this isn’t a totally circumstantial case. You kept that young lady’s ring in a little wooden box, a souvenir if you will. And despite your efforts to cover up your crime, you have been unsuccessful. Like I said, if you would have stopped with the initial victim, I think life without parole would have been acceptable, but you didn’t. You heard the child, who couldn’t hurt you. Who couldn’t identify you. Couldn't have testified against you, and you killed her, and for that, I sentence you to death.”

The Rumors

“Can you believe they did it in a cop car?” “Do you think he came on the seat?” “Lucky as hell he didn’t get locked in the back!” “Imagine that poor farmer, must a got his overalls in a bunch!” “Bet his poor wife didn’t know what got into him that night!” “Poor girl, I heard she left state to get an abortion.” “Never did trust that man!” “Did you hear he’s working as a car salesman now?”

The Car Salesman

The officer in question was hired at a local Ford dealership a few weeks after his firing. On July 2, 1998, a witness at the Cantonville Department of Motor Vehicles reported that the car salesman in question applied for registration for his brand new 1999, Japan Black, Ford F250. “He paid extra for personalized plates,” she gossiped, “‘GLOCK 45’. Begs ya to wonder!”

The Gossip

“Pervert!” “His own daughter's best friend?” “Did you hear what happened to the daughter?” “They say she left a note.”

The Picture

She held the photo of the two of them in her shaky hands. They had their arms around each other, basketballs in the other. One was number 21, the other 14. Best friends since kindergarten, but she could not forgive her, and she tore the picture in two. She then took a lighter and burnt the pieces in a waste basket. She could not understand why. “Why would she do such a thing?” She grabbed her ball and headed for the court as she always did when she was stressed. Taking off her sweatshirt she jumped in on a pickup game. Scoring the first few shots, she was nothing but net. But then the memories started to creep back in. She had been asleep, but she awoke to the hinges of her door squeaking open, and the ball bounced off the rim. She dropped two dimes, setting up an assist. But shut her eyes wanting to fall back asleep and pretend she didn’t feel him sit on the bed beside her. The passed ball whacked her in the chest, and the other team made a steal. 12-6. She dribbled down court and made a splash from the three-point line. 15-6. He pulled the blanket down and she could feel his rough palm on her thigh as a boy checked her making a layup. She fell to the court as he pulled her panties to the side—SWISH—she made a flop, screaming at the boy. 15-8. The boy threw his arms out in confusion, and she jumped to her feet and ran off. She opened the lid to a dumpster as he shushed her, his finger before his thick mustache. Crawling in, she shut the lid, and curled up in the corner, squeezing her eye lids tight. “Do you know how much I love you?” he asked, and she put her hands over her ears. “But don’t tell your mother, this is our little secret.”

The Note

Sources say the officer in question’s daughter, left a suicide note that stated the alleged sex crime allegations against her father were false, and that they had led to a deep depression that had finally claimed her life.

The Investigation

The officer in question’s daughter, age 17, died June 16, 1998. After an initial investigation, her death was ruled a suicide. But rumors swirled that there was more to the story. “He killed her,” said one local resident at the Cantonville Diner. The coroner’s report called her death “suspicious.” Even the sheriff’s department investigation considered the case, “suspicious.” The report on the suicide note: “suspicious.”

***

The Previous Investigation

“You shot me, you fuckin’ shot me, you fuckin’ asshole!” screamed the man with blood oozing into the threads of his flannel shirt sleeve. In 1992, the officer in question shot a colleague in the arm. However, he reportedly claimed that it was an “accidental discharge.” He said that he was cleaning his gun when it fired after jamming.

The Basketball

One month later, the officer in question, threw a basketball at a fellow cop after losing an inner-department game, 24-37. “It was just a game—the son of a’ bitch is a psycho,” quoted the fellow cop.

The Boyfriend

According to a local teenager, six-two, red hair, bad acne, he met the officer in question’s daughter at the park, and they had dated very briefly. The relationship was rocky, with frequent arguments, but overall, it was good, “she was one hell of baller!”

The Report

According to the coroner’s report, the officer in question and his daughter had been “shooting hoops” earlier in the evening at a nearby park. The officer in question told responding officers that he had last seen his daughter alive fifteen minutes prior to going to a local gas station near the residence, and that, when he returned to his apartment at 7:52 p.m., he found his daughter unresponsive on the bed with a gunshot wound to the head.

The Wound

According to a coroner’s report, the Officer in Question’s daughter died of a gunshot wound to the head. Two bullets had been fired from the gun, and one lodged in the wall in her bedroom. The gun—the officer in question’s Glock 45 pistol—and two casings were found near her feet. A Cantonville police detective told a sheriff’s department investigator that a neighbor heard arguing around the time of the gunshots.

The Question

“Why were there two shots if she killed herself?” asked a toothpick chewing dishwasher scrubbing burnt mac n’ cheese from the bottom of a pan at the Cantonville diner.

The Residue

A sheriff’s department detective covered the daughter’s hands with paper bags and ordered a crime scene technician to gather evidence to test for gunshot residue, indicating she fired the pistol that killed her. It’s unclear if and when crime scene technicians conducted the gunshot residue test. The coroner's report, however, noted no visible gunshot residue on the hands.

The Alibi

Cantonville officers reviewed a surveillance photograph of the officer in question at a gas station on the night of his daughter’s death, which the officers said proved the officer in question had a tangible alibi, “he was not present when his daughter allegedly shot herself.”

The Wife

The wife, five-two, hair dye jet-black, pursed lips, stood vehemently by her husband’s side at the funeral, as she did in the face of public scrutiny as the gossip spread like wildfire.

The Scrutiny

“I can’t believe she stayed with him,” said the owner of the Cantonville diner, a heavy set man with a shiny round head, proclaiming in a bold statement, “No doubt in my mind the officer in question killed his daughter, and I ain’t afraid to say it aloud! And seein’ fish smell from the head down—well, the police department is covering it all up!”

The Attorney

“To the extent these allegations are true,” said a local attorney in a red bowtie, and oxford shoes, “this could impact the police department as a whole.”

The Unconvinced

A line cook at the Cantonville Diner was not convinced, suggesting the police officers appeared to be downplaying the possibility of a homicide. “I wouldn’t trust them assholes as far as I could throw ‘em,” he said placing a slice of American cheese on a sizzling burger patty. The corners of the cheese slowly oozed to the flattop where it seared before the cook covered the burger with a lid. “Never understood these assholes who like their burgers well-done. Hell, I can eat ‘em unless their raw! Cows are stupid anyhow, but beef, beef is delicious. Bloodier the better, now say moo,” he mooed, as he dropped the crinkle fries in the frier, and then blew his nose.

The Trauma

“According to sources who viewed the suicide note,” the attorney went on between bites of his burger, well-done, “the officer in question’s daughter claimed she had been struggling with traumatic stress. She wrote that she had been drinking heavily due to the false accusations against her father, which led to her death. Copycat suicides are a real concern. And there has been a great deal of local pressure for increased mental health services in the community, including counseling and mental health therapy for athletes. It is unclear, however, what sort of assistance or outreach was made to the officer in question after the death of his daughter.

The Whisper

Refilling the lawyer’s coffee, the waitress, wringing her apron, leaned in with a whisper, “There has got to be more to the story!”

The Response

The Cantonville Police Department did not respond to request for comment.

The Best Friend

Missing

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