Chapter 14: The Law and Daphne – Jane I .1 - Saturday

I was on call this particular Saturday. Something that happened to me a lot after our new precinct commander started. Originally, being a Black female myself, I welcomed the idea of a Black female heading the precinct. It might have been a good thing—if she was actually competent. That’s my opinion. The higher-ups obviously saw something I, and many of my colleagues, didn’t. It had a lot to do with my age—I was thirty and one of the youngest homicide detectives on the force. My degrees were a BS in Criminal Justice and an MS in Forensic Science. Her degree was in something to do with administration. She knew the official form numbers better than the radio codes. Zero experience on the street.

Being this young didn’t sit well with the other detectives either, at least originally. There was an incident where I overheard a senior detective complain that a murder scene at a restaurant felt very off. The detective he was talking with said it was his imagination. But the senior detective said the blood spatter didn’t sit right with him. I interrupted, saying he should do a 3D BPA—something I’d studied while getting my degree. I knew how exact it could be. The other detective actually scoffed, saying the chef did it. The basic BPA was good enough—any inconsistencies could be easily explained away. I suggested the 3D again, telling the senior detective it would at least put his mind at ease.

A week later he caught up to me. He said the 3D turned the case on its head. The 3D showed the killer had to be at least six-foot-five. The chef was only six foot. All the security cameras outside the restaurant showed the only other person in the restaurant was the chef’s five-foot-two girlfriend. That’s why it had to be the chef—the basic BPA said someone that short couldn’t possibly have done it. Bottom line: the girlfriend found out the victim and the chef were having an affair. She killed the woman while kneeling on a butcher table. There was a lot more to it, but he thanked me for the suggestion. I thanked him, saying I thought the boyfriend did it and probably wouldn’t have run the 3D BPA myself. I added that I’d learned a big lesson. He seemed impressed by the admission. I’ve gotten along with most of the other detectives since.

Back to that Saturday. A reported suicide at an upscale condo apartment building interrupted what was a quiet day. On the way there, I thought what could cause a person living in such a nice place to kill themselves. When I arrived at the building, a small crowd had gathered. About a half dozen uniforms had secured the scene. There were lights flashing, but no sirens blaring. Going into the lobby, I met Sergeant Barrington—a rather large, bear-like Black man. He was rather off-putting to look at, but more of a Teddy Bear than a Grizzly Bear. We were friends—not close, but we respected each other. Something I’ve learned to appreciate—respect from other officers, especially uniformed officers. A couple other uniforms were also in the lobby.

Sergeant Barrington said they were still trying to determine which apartment the jumper “originated from.” I complimented him on his choice of words. Just then, a big man entered the lobby. He seemed to know exactly who to talk with. He came directly to me and introduced himself as Tom Reynolds, an attorney. He looked at Sergeant Barrington and they exchanged nods, as if they knew each other. He told us a partner at the firm informed him someone committed suicide by jumping off her balcony and asked if I would come over. I didn’t say anything about why his partner felt they needed another lawyer. He seemed to read my mind and added, “She is a corporate lawyer. Dealing with the police is not her forte.” I still didn’t say anything.