It was late when they left Freedom village and both detectives, Tracy, and Franks, were at home winding down after a long day. Tracy enjoyed a nicely appointed apartment in south Bradenton and Franks had purchased a small house on the near east side. Both were in an easy chair, and both were enjoying the taste of their favorite “end of the day” beverage. Tracy a nice cab and Franks a Famous Grouse, neat (room temperature with no ice). Both pondered the new case and their relationship.

Tracy felt a renewed concern over trying to control Frank’s actions during interviews with ordinary citizens, particularly the senior bunch they were now dealing with at the old people’s home. They were great together with the everyday bad actors, merely assuming the “good cop – bad cop” roles inherent in their nature. Oh well she mused, they were new together and it would work itself out.

She smiled at the memory of the chief of detectives describing them to his boss. “My Doberman and bulldog team” he said as he chuckled, “you don’t want either one locked on your gluteus maximus if you’re a bad guy.” She was fairly sure which role she enjoyed in the chief’s assessment. And that was ok, quick, smart, and lethal when necessary was accurate, even if not personally flattering. She smiled again as she drew the cab over her tongue.

Franks was on his second round as he pondered Tracy. Competent… actually better than that he admitted to himself, she was damned good at what she did. But the senior detective’s slot should have been his. He had more seniority on the force. Tracy had transferred in from Chicago. She had never served as a patrol officer in Bradenton or anywhere else.

But he grimaced as he acknowledged to himself, there was the fact that she had nearly aced the advancement exam. He had scored high, but not nearly at her level. He smiled at last when he remembered that since they had paired up as a team, they had enjoyed the highest clearance rate on the homicide squad.

As his stomach warmed and his mood lightened, he conceded to himself that it would probably work out. She was really smart and good to work with. If he could just break her of sounding like his mother…. He quickly put down his drink and picked up the phone. Geez, he thought to himself, it’s been way too long since I called my mother. “Hi Mom….” “Oh! Dave, how wonderful.”

Tracy and Franks met early the next morning at a convenient diner to enjoy a cup of coffee and to plan their day at the OPH. They reached an easy agreement on how to proceed, then and drove back to the Colonial building to start canvasing the residents for further insight about what had transpired the night before. A short distinguished greying man met them at the door, offered his hand, and said, “we need to talk.”

"I’m Alistair McDuff the General Manager, and you are?" After the preliminaries were exchanged, McDuff offered that he or his staff would afford them any assistance they might require. Tracy thanked McDuff. Franks opined the best thing McDuff could do was to stay out of the way. Tracy thought she actually heard McDuff’s teeth grind as he walked away. Oh well “another day another dollar” she thought. She asked Franks to start with the resident canvasing and decided she would meet with the General manager. Patrolman Lewis would help Franks.

Tracy met McDuff in the quaint administration building known to the locals as “The Landings.” She thought the building looked like it would be more at home in the Alps rather than Bradenton. More inviting of snow than palm trees.

“Please call me Al” McDuff said as he offered her a cup of coffee. Dixie pleasantly replied, “Yes, on the coffee -Tracy or detective Tracy as you prefer.” “Now, what can you tell me about the victim?” Al replied, “good, let’s get down to business.”

Their conversation quickly established that the victim’s name was Douglas Fairhaven and that he was a “senior accountant” for Freedom Village’s owners. McDuff further clarified that Fairhaven’s job really was more of a trouble shooter and that the military would have designated him as the company’s Inspector General.

Apparently, Fairhaven was on the campus concerning an issue with bookkeeping or, perhaps, some other troublesome activity related to the Colonial building. The Village rumor mill hummed that “where Fairhaven goes, usually heads roll shortly thereafter.” McDuff finished with, “I actually know little more than that.” Tracy also confirmed that the owners had notified Fairhaven’s next of kin and McDuff offered to provide that information If she needed it.

From her own observations and McDuff’s input, Tracy determined Freedom Village covered over thirty acres of ground and the Colonial was only one of several buildings. Potential suspects – five hundred plus residents and four hundred plus staff. “Great” she thought.

Tracy asked McDuff for a business card so she could contact him again, if needed. He produced a card without further comment. “Ok,” she thought, “this interview is over as far as Al is concerned.” Well, she had everything she needed and felt no need to prove who packed the biggest gun…for now. She simply replied, “Thank you,” and went looking for Franks and Lewis.

As Tracy made her way back to the Colonial building she noted the location’s proximity to Blake hospital’s emergency room, only a short block away. Many of the people who ended up in the ER were there because of a lifestyle incompatible with “law and order.” If nothing broke quickly in this case Blake is, yet another huge question she couldn’t dismiss.

The Florida weather was hot and oppressive. Tracy felt her clothes absorb her body’s moisture as she walked. “Phew.” Perhaps evening would provide a breeze off the Gulf of Mexico, or a rain shower, to give temporary relief. But for right now she remained uncomfortable. She yearned for the building’s AC as she headed for the Colonial’s front door. The anticipated relief vanished when, in the U-shaped front drive, Tracy encountered the “crime scene team” loading their van. “Oh well, business first.”

The crime scene team’s chief tech provided additional detail to her case. Luminol, a chemical used with ultraviolet light to disclose otherwise unobservable blood stains, had identified the area outside the second-floor elevator door as the other half of the crime scene. The “uniforms” had secured the area with the ever-present yellow tape. The technician noted further that the Luminol also uncovered a partial shoe print in the hall. Unfortunately, while the Luminol revealed part of the tread pattern, most of the details were obscured.

Even more troubling, as far as Tracy was concerned, was that the necessity of using the luminol meant the perp had tried to destroy the evidence and, apparently came prepared to do so.

The lab would test blood samples from both areas. She thought, “Oh yeah, those results would show up too late to help me.” Useful to the prosecutor’s case, but unlikely to provide any useful information for her investigation. The tech finished with an opinion that the “green” writing on the victim’s face was probably blue magic marker interacting with whatever chemical was used to clean the “vic’s” face.

Those details logged in her brain, she entered the lobby and was finally enjoying the blessed AC. The Medical Examiner was waiting for her in the seating area across from the front desk. She put the ME on hold for a minute while she poured a glass of icy water from a nearby fountain.

They then sat in comfortable adjacent chairs and the ME noted that, while the final results would await the autopsy, the apparent cause of death was exsanguination, loss of blood, from the jagged wound that nearly removed the victim’s head. The wound, she opined, was from a blade at least eight inches long with a serrated edge.

The ME agreed with the crime scene tech’s yellow and blue hypothesis. Closer examination, she explained, disclosed that the writing read, “Sic semper tyrannis.” The time of death was consistent with the discovery of the body, about 6 P.M. Tracy appreciated the “hard evidence,” albeit sparse, that these details provided. She thanked the doctor for her help.

Franks and Lewis stood nearby and patiently listened to all this while waiting to report their findings to Tracy. Lewis went first. Tracy had assigned him to interview the original four octogenarians on the scene, sensing that he might have more success than Franks. Lewis reported that all four had solid alibis as they were each with forty or more other residents eating in either the Concord building or in the Colonial’s first floor dining room at the time of the murder.

One of the four, Jacko Bryan, did offer that one of the other residents, “Lou Ferrigno, a big hulking guy,” was seen from time to-time with some pretty “unsavory characters.” These “visitors,” according to Turner, seemed to come and go at all hours of the day and night. “They didn’t look like our kind of people” was his last thought.

Following Bryan’s revelation, Franks collected data on Ferrigno from the police database. Ferrigno, as it turns out, was from Howard Beach New York and had an extensive arrest record, but no convictions. He was “suspected” of being muscle for the local, “Howard Beach,” crime boss. Again, no proof. Shaking his head Franks finished, “Believe it or not, his nickname in Howard Beach was “the Hammer.”

“Interesting” Tracy thought, but the idea of a mafia hitman living in an old people’s home in Bradenton Florida didn’t get much traction in her immediate plans. Looking back at Franks she asked, “What else?” Franks, thorough as always, had surveyed the Colonial’s inhouse kitchen as a logical source of knives. Indeed, “the chef” indignantly reported that one of his personal, “awfully expensive,” knives had “gone missing.” The missing piece of cutlery was about ten inches long with a serrated blade.

The business with Ferrigno nagged at Tracy’s mind. She had to put it out of the way before moving to other issues. So, she and Franks returned to Jacko Bryan’s apartment to flesh out the story. Glancing with distain at Franks, Jacko immediately asked where police officer Lewis was.

Franks lit up like a Roman candle. Stepping into Jacko’s face he angrily yelled, “You are way too close to this case and I’m going to figure out what you’re up to.” Backing up, Jacko responded, “we’re through here.” Tracy looked to Jacko and asked if he could give them a minute. Jacko blew out his breath and shrugged his shoulders. Tracy took that as a “yes” and asked Franks to step into the hall for a moment.

In the hall Franks, still angry, said, “That guy is up to something.” Tracy nodded, “perhaps, but we’re not going to get anywhere if he is unwilling to talk to us without lawyering up.” Franks mumbled, “give me two minutes alone with that clown and he’ll sing like a canary.” Tracy took a deep breath and thought, “teaching moment.”

“Dave,” she began and then assigned Franks to go through the small dumpster she had noticed earlier behind the kitchen downstairs. Franks started to reply, “Dixie,” an upturned hand in his face stopped him in mid-sentence. “Senior Detective Tracy” she ominously intoned. “Does the junior detective have a question about his assignment?” Franks glared at her for a moment, said “No” and quickly turned on his heels and started downstairs.

Shaking her head she thought, “Good move Dave Franks, perhaps there is hope for you.” She went back to Jacko but learned nothing new about the case or “the Hammer.” Tracy then went to the Betsy Ross room and tried to put the facts together in her head. After a few minutes Patrolman Lewis stuck his head in the door and Tracy asked him to canvas the staff at Blake Hospital to see if anything stood out in their minds on the night of the murder.

Dismissing Lewis, Tracy returned to her review of the facts. For the next hour and a half Tracy pondered the facts and cataloged them in her notes.
Tracy heard the door open and turned to see Dave Franks looking a little more than worse for the wear. Deeply bowing his head and spreading his arms in supplication Franks offered, “The Junior Detective humbly seeks permission to approach the venerable senior detective to report.”

Despite herself Tracy chuckled aloud and asked, “What have you got Dave?"
“Sorry Dix” he said. He then produced a plastic evidence bag containing a long kitchen knife. “Bagged, tagged and entered in the log” he reported. He also noted that FV employees had dumped the small trash wagon Tracy had seen into an exceptionally large dumpster in a nearby building. That’s where he ended up. Franks was as thorough as ever she thought. “Let’s get it to the lab” she instructed. She also wrinkled her nose and observed “Franks you smell and badly need a bath.” She got back only a grunt in response.

Tracy then told Franks that their next step was a walk around the building and its outside perimeter.” We need to get the lay of the land.” As they walked, Tracy explained her thoughts about the “cleaning” attempt in the Second floor elevator area. Franks confirmed her conclusion. “Yeah Dix, this is looking more like a hit than a crime of passion.”

The pair stopped to see a flock of White Ibis foraging around the edge of a small lake in front of the building. “Nice,” Franks observed. “Umm,” Tracy agreed. Still stuck on the “cleaning mystery,” she shared her discovery that almost everybody on campus possessed a key to the “Resident Storage Room” immediately across the hall from the elevator’s second floor door.

Franks considered the location and postulated that the space would indeed provide a convenient place to wait in ambush and to hide the cleaning materials that the murderer used in his or her failed attempt to destroy the evidence. Their journey then took them down a path between the building and a wall separating the adjacent housing community.

The pleasant smell and ambiance of hibiscus and bottle brush quickly gave way to something far less pleasant. Pointing to a small building off to the side, Franks confirmed the structure as the one housing the knife yielding dumpster. “Yes, I recognize the odor” she offered as she looked over at Franks and moved sightly away. His short retort quickly followed, “Not funny Dix!”

Their walk also disclosed that there were several entrances to the Colonial building, all of which, while locked, offered little real deterrence to anyone determined to gain entry. One door, immediately across from the hospital, renewed their awareness of the Colonial’s proximity to the emergency room and its sometimes-dodgy clientele.

Just off the property they also noted the presence of a bus stop and apparent “smoking areas” used by Freedom Village staff and Blake employees as well. Franks gestured to a preschool nearby and wryly noted, “I guess we can count most of them out.” Tracy merely looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately,” she mused, “they are the only ones. And if a gun was involved I might be worrying about the five-year-olds.” “Speaking of which, where the hell did Lewis get to?”

After looking confused for a second, Franks responded with a shrug and shared that his and Lewis’s earlier “resident interviews” supplied the fact that the vic, Fairhaven, was a creature of habit and would, predictably, arrive at the elevator sometime between five of and five after six every evening. He inevitably ate at the Anna Marie Oyster Bar on Cortez Boulevard at six-fifteen and promptly returned to his guest room by seven-thirty.

Tracy turned and queried Franks, “What the hell are we missing Dave?” Franks thought for a minute, shook his head, and observed, “Damned if I know Dix.”