A GLIMPSE OF WHAT COPS DEAL WITH AND THINGS THAT HAUNT THEM

Cops are more than ( in my case) just 230lbs of police meat smothered in gear and Kevlar.
Many of us are educated way beyond what the job calls for. An often used quote attributed to Michelangelo “I am still learning “ is appropriate for many of the men and women who wear the shield, therefore do not underestimate us.
We often find ourselves shouldering the burdens of society of which the public has no idea, because we conceal it behind the masks we often wear. We’re often guarded, but there are hundreds of stories culled from as many calls and encounters. I am among many things, a poet.
This piece was written after running non-stop for about 10 days back and forth between Missouri and and the seedier parts of Illinois just across the Missouri River in the city of Alton, Illinois .
A prostitute was murdered ( probably in Alton) and dumped naked in an abandoned house in St Louis County.
As an investigator for the Major Case Squad we were tasked with investigating her murder. I’m talking about round the clock, hard-police-door-knocks in search of a killer, in the soft white underbelly of neighborhoods awash in drugs, prostitution and every crime imaginable.
The assembly of detectives are usually handpicked, for their specific skill set and “take no shit” personalities. Running on little or no sleep, lots of coffee and adrenaline, quick trips to shower and change into a new suit. Prostitution or whatever the victim did to pay the bills or feed the habit, however someone gets “unalive” by violent means , we investigate with the same vigor, tenacity, and aggression. People need to understand that. We go into the shittiest, dangerous, neighborhoods and deal with people , so fucked up, each is a story or book unto themselves.
Every copper or detective has one or several ghosts that haunt them. This is one of mine. The success rate of the squad is quite high, unfortunately this was one that we couldn’t close.
100%, I know who the killer was, but I had no physical evidence to get a conviction. The frustration we face is overwhelming. As I thought about the victim and her murder, this poem is the byproduct of her ghost. She haunts me.
And I’m still learning.

Thoughts On Finding The Body Incorrupt

Oh you
Black Madonna
Asleep in the cool dirt
On the floor of an abandoned farmhouse
Just past the muddy river
Brown as your skin
Naked
Bathed in a shaft of light
Swirls of fine dust
Uncertain if rising or falling
As I climbed through the frameless window
Trying to avoid disturbing
Not your sleep
But the place where you slept
In its grim finality
Where your earthly shell
Discarded
Facedown in the gravel
Left behind after the floodwaters subsided

When I rolled you over
The first thing I saw and still remember
Your face
Your skin
Perfect
Waxen
Even after several days
Asleep in your death
Your murder
A crooked smile
Thin and homely
Yet still, once
Someone’s little girl
Or teenage crush
A little bookish
In photos I would later study

Now, simply a murdered prostitute, hooker, whore
Or angel, albeit fallen
Tossed away like a piece of trash
A consequence of a lifestyle
We assembled to champion for you
The body incorrupt
Saintly
A wilted flower
Two bullets to the chest
Smiling at me
Face pocked with white gravel
You know the secret, but won’t tell

Just another dump job
Not a trace
No help
And still
Just that crooked smile

On the morning you were found
A final look
Before you were loaded into a body bag
Carefully carried to a white van
To take you on the next leg of your journey

Later
Returning to that house
Back through the window
Still cool inside
My wingtip stirring in the dust
As I leaned against the wall

Brimming with tears
No one to see
Closing my eyes
Just that crooked smile
And I
Simply worn out

© Kirk Lawless
Crossing The Divide (from the poets of St. Louis)
Selection by Michael Castro 2016 Vagabond Press