Evidence 101

EVIDENCE 101...Wherever you go, there you are...







Tuesday, January 19, 2016

The Noise In My Head: Oregon Pen Visits

Bug worked long periods on her homework. It really was no different than any other day. She has a lot of it. Like endless. Last night she snapped a picture of Oliver sleeping and captioned it, "Even my dog is tired of homework." After she showed me her FacePlant post, I laughed. Then I told her, "He also ate the corner of your Biology book and a piece of your report while you were downstairs."

She screamed...mostly at me because I didn't stop him in time. I was computing.  One moment he was cute and awesome. The next he was naughty.

Oliver The Cute
So enough of The Harry Potter House. I bet you are ready for a cop story, unpublished type. It's new to you, but not new to me. I have never released this inside scoop of the Big Case. This journal entry details how I felt, what I did, and some of the cop stuff most people don't make public. Or maybe I am just unique with the noise in my own head. LOL.

Previous sections of these journal entries were written and detailed in my books and a blog post a while back, but I kept some of it to myself. If you haven't realized...when I write the way I am thinking and write the noises in my head...I change from tenses and talk about past, present, and future. It's a mess. You are welcome.

Photo courtesy Pinterest: It's a good day for a serial killer?

Walking into the prison was a little unnerving with their nonchalant behavior about security. I almost walked in with my gun. Not that I was being an asshole cop, but it is so naturally a part of me that I forget. And they did too. They didn't even check my credentials. I guess not many Wyoming detectives fly out to talk to a state pen inmate. "Correctional Institute." What a nice phrase. We must just reword that as PRISON. 

"The warden's expecting you." 

That sounded straight out of a Hollywood creep flick. Chills down my spine. The front gate guards seemed way too happy in their jobs. I could not imagine doing that all day. 

"It's also visitor day, Detective, and so you will be in with the population."

"Ok. How many?"

I had to know my odds.

"A couple hundred or more in there today."

Super. Feeding a lamb to the wolves. Not only was I going in to see a man I thought was on the outside in the first place, now they are putting me in with convicts and their family who hate cops. The federal  joint was a cake walk. The state pens are the ones that make me uneasy. Not enough detention officers. Unruly crowds. Maybe some human compassion and that smaller moral compass still sticks with the majority of the inmates. How easy would it be to overtake a prison? But...what purpose would it serve unless you were a lifer? Then again, who knows what these dudes are thinking. They didn't make good choices when they were on the outside with freedom...what makes anyone think being shut up like a caged rat will produce better choices?

It was a creepy day with the fog and mist surrounding a nasty dingy prison with lush green grounds and a forest. But was it a great day to die? I kept thinking it was a great day for a serial killer. Actually, Oregon fog was a perfect backdrop for any movie featuring Hannibal Lector. 

Enough of creeping myself out. 

I am feeling really fat. Being my all time heaviest sucks big balls. Everyone notices. In fact, I am at the same weight that Lynn was when she was killed. Don't think that doesn't mess with my self esteem. I often try to think how she felt when David made fun of her weight. I know I am talked about at work. Every where. Oh, yeah. Davison. She is that fat female detective.

Somehow I felt fatter than Lynn looked in the pictures. She was pretty and happy. I am bloated, uncomfortable, and my energy level is low. It's no secret this case is on the verge of killing me...inside and out. Is it worth it? It doesn't matter. It's my duty. I wouldn't stop anyway. No one ever accused me of being a genius....just a worker bee. 

My physical health is on metabolic roller coaster. My mental health is...well...all cops are mental some how. At least my brain is sharp. There will be a day where all these things fade and it seems like a dream. Or will it? Will this case always haunt me? Will I remember all these details? 

This is something. Two guards with shotguns  in the tower to all these hundreds of inmates and family members. Two unarmed guards at the desk. How many rounds? Puhlease. We have no chance if a riot breaks out. Wow. 

This is shit. No glass between them and their visitors? Just put them all out there like a shit storm cafeteria style? Picnic table like. What if some dude wants a piece of another dude or says something about his baby mama? Crazy as hell. 

My butthole just got smaller. Is it possible to scare it shut so I can never poop again? I bet those detention officers are thinking "That Wyomin' gal looks scared shitless. Har, har." 

Well, no shit. State prisons are never really secure. It's all on faith of human nature. What a joke. Looking around...I am the only female. Oh, wait...there are a couple out there seeing their man. So comforting. This place is nothing like the others. I feel like I took the wrong bus. 

Just call me the fat ninja. If I put on a fat bitch face maybe they will leave me alone. Maybe I can look like I do manual labor. Even though I am fat. I am strong. Farmer girl strong. Don't mess with a fat farmer girl. I hope they didn't tell him the cops were here. Maybe I can pose as a lawyer to the crowd. I hope they told Paul it was an attorney. If he says "cop" I am fucked. 

I have got to get back to eating right and exercising. Fuck me in the ass.

The Samoan inmate guarding my glass visiting room scares the shit out of me. He is intimidating. My only hope in here is to outrun him. He is HUGE. Maybe he is a gentle giant? Hah. He could have at least smiled a little when I acknowledged him. Grunting is too passe. Seriously? 

This is better than a horror flick. Fuck those ghosts. Let's put normal people in prison tours and make a movie out of it. Under guarded. Wide open. Yep. I would pay to watch that on the big screen. 

County jails. No problem. Federal prisons/supermax cakewalk. State prison. Eternal punishment. 
Pergatory.

Ok. I am being a big sissy la la. Fuck. I'm a fucking cop. It's fucking prison. Grow a set. 

Where is he? Shit. This is taking a long time. 

So...if shit goes bad, can I lock myself in? Is this glass thick enough to sustain a riot? 

*tink tink* on the glass.

Nope. Maybe I could use the shards as knives. I could throw a chair and run and hide somewhere. 

Now is not the time to be too fat to fit in the vents. Fuck. Why did I let myself go? No more Metro Muds. I think I would rather have 3 rifles aimed at my head. At least I would know what to do and not feel like a helpless bunny in a den of lions. 

This is the Fargo Freak Show. Maybe I should sell tickets. What the fuck? Shut the fuck up. Get your interview shit ready and be alert. What a fucking shit show inside my head.

(Some noise outside the room alerted my attention to about 40 feet away. There is a tall, large figure screaming)

Nice. Paul. There he is. He is announcing to the world he doesn't want to talk to the cops and is planting his feet in the ground. Who is shoving him forward? Oh. Three detention officers. Shit. There are more DOs escorting him than are guarding all these people. He is mad as hell. 

He is hot. Holy shit. Fuck me.

Ok. Gross. You can't think a convicted cop hating felon is hot. What the fuck is wrong with you? Don't answer that question. 

Damn. He is huge. Brick shit house. I am totally fucked if he decides to take me out. The cops told me he was a dick and fought cops, hated cops, and always caused a ruckus. 

*clank, clank*

Well. Here we are. Nice shackles. I wonder if he notices me looking him up and down. If he starts being an ass about it, I will tell him a cop always sizes up his opponent. Do I have google eyes? He surely needs to see hardened steel cop eyes, not google eyes.

"You can take off his irons and cuffs."

"I'm not talking to you, lady. Fuck you! I'm not going back to Wyoming."

Well, I guess I didn't need to ease into the conversation. 

Apparently, the gig was up and the big mouth DOs  told him everything before I got here. I wonder how many days he has had to stew on this. Fuck. Can't cops just say they don't know? Do they have to read everything off my transmittal and request? Gossip queens.

"No. It's fuck you, Paul! Fuck you!"

I bet he doesn't like a girl pointing at him. Look at his face getting red.  He is going to explode.

"I don't want to bring you back to Wyoming. It's a waste of my time and money. No body wants to ride a fucking plane with you and you aren't important enough for Con Air. David will try to pin this murder on you. Fuck it. I don't really care. You can't keep yourself out of prison. If you want to go down with him, fine. I don't think you did it. But I have to prove it to the defense. I can't just say Paul is a nice guy. You don't want to talk, then that is on you. I will start arranging for your ride back.

So fuck you! And don't be a dickhead. Fuck."

Slamming my notebook he kind of jerked a little. Girl cops. We are all drama. I hope my acting job worked. I wonder if he knew he was already cleared in the 90s by the first detectives. Ah. Probably not. Criminals are always paranoid.

"Fine. I'll talk to you. But you have to guarantee I don't go back to Wyoming. Because if I do..."

"Paul, you have to guarantee that yourself. You have to tell me the truth and all of it. Shit. I know we have NCIC hits and all kinds of travels with you and Glen. But I need to know what was going on? Conversations. All that. What happened in Casper. What days. Details."

"Fuck that was years ago. What if I don't remember all the details you want? You know Glen is too stupid and never did anything except walk away from camp and steal. David is a mastermind. That guy. He was conniving and treated women like shit. He was cheating on his wife. Shit we were riding trains and then I lost track of Glen. Went on my own. It's all David. I always feel sorry for the little girl."

Talking to him was fun. He was articulate. I don't know why. I could listen to his stories and his raspy voice with those Hollywood good looks all day. When he relaxed, he was actually personable. Eek. I'm going to the other side. Not really. But he would be the ticket to take me to naughty town. Nasty. I am married. I am good. He is bad. No prison crushes. I fucking need therapy. 








2 comments:

Old NFO said...

Criminals are truly strange people. Their sense of self manifest in ways we can't even comprehend!

Bob G. said...

Momma Fargo:
Sounds JUST like the kind of stuff they NEVER put in movies.
Creepy real.

I think you did a GREAT job of taming the lion in his den.

Great post.

Roll safe down there, dear.