Squandered Souls

Garner's office was on North and Pennsylvania, right across from the public library.  The sign stenciled on the window said Garner Private Investigator, twenty-four hour service.  But if a person weren’t looking for the office, he or she probably wouldn't see it.  Its unobtrusiveness and location seemed appropriate.  It was just there, unseen but watching.  The public library, a treasury of words; a private club, a place for entertainment and relaxation; a Kentucky fried chicken outlet, ready made food for the masses; and a subway station sat on each of the four corners.  When I opened the door, the words, "Woke up screaming fuck the world" enveloped me.  He reached over and turned the CD player down.  Garner hadn't aged at all.  He looked just like his picture of six years ago.  He was thirty-three now, but he could easily pass for one of those hoppers on the corner.  Cap turned backwards on his head, baggy clothes, and with his feet propped up on the desk, a pair of Timberland Boots on. He made for a most curious private investigator.

"How can I help you?"  he said, still sitting down.

"I'm Karl Wright, Assistant Prosecuting Attorney for Baltimore City.  I like to talk to you about the murder of your wife."

"So talk."

With those two words a line was drawn; we where on opposite sides.  "Mr. Garner, I realize you're going through a period of grieving, but I need to go back over the evening of August 21st.  Please don't leave anything out."  He took his feet down from the desk and stood up.  The police report said he was five feet, seven, one hundred fifty pounds, but the look on his face overshadowed everything else.  Its intensity unlocked a door within and for a brief moment the person in that six-year-old picture didn't exist.  The anger was to be expected, but not the look of rage.  He looked anything but youthful.

"I don't care who you are.  I gave my report to the two     detectives handling the case.  I don't have anything new to add."

"That's where you're wrong.  I don't care what you told the detectives.  As far as I'm concerned it never took place.  Now we can have the interview here or downtown.  It's up to you?  My department, along with Violent Crimes, is working this case.  Mr. Garner, the fact that your wife and unborn child was murdered is a tragedy; but just as important, the Uzi used in the killing is being sold with brand new semiautomatic handguns on a mass scale throughout the city, mostly to dope dealers and other thugs on the corner.  Presently there is underway a joint investigation by various law enforcement agencies.  And, if you think about it, the culprit behind the selling of those firearms is ultimately the one responsible for the murder of your wife and unborn child.  Sir, your cooperation is needed."

This case had personal overtones for me.  The shooting had touched too close to home.  My mother lived a scant three and a half blocks away.  It could just as easily have been her.  How could I have left her in our old neighborhood all these years?  I wondered if that was the price for my success?

"Man, like I told those first two detectives, my wife and I were coming off our front porch when someone in a red Lexus started shooting.  I reached for my wife, but it was too late.  She had already been hit.  Another teenager pulled out his automatic and started shooting at the Lexus.  That's about it."  The look on his face stayed the same.  I had a feeling there was much more to him than met the eye.

"What about the driver?  How did he look?  Was he tall or short?  Light skin or dark?  Come on Mr. Garner, you're an investigator, and a good one too.  I know because I've had you checked out.  What else did you see?"

"Man, I've told you all that I know.  Bullets were flying. My wife was shot and killed.  Now that's all I know.  You got any more questions for me?  If not I have work to do."  Garner stood there staring at me like he could care less if I believed him or not. I didn't.  He wasn't telling the whole truth.

"If that's how you want it . . . I thought we might be able to work together.  My office contracts out work to private       investigators from time to time.  I imagine no one wants this case solved more than you.  But, again, if that's how you want it?  Listen Garner, I have the police report about the murder of your father, and the subsequent killing of those three thugs who allegedly shot your father to death."  I watched closely for his reaction.  His stare never wavered.  Eyes didn't blink.  I guess after six years the murders were an insignificant part of his past.  After all, he