The Comic Cop

Ron Henson PhD

           CC had never been to this precinct over the years, or in this town in the panhandle of Texas, so he had to stop and ask directions a few times before arriving at his destination, interrogation room 1. There were, of course, a couple of officers stationed at the one-way mirror that was affixed to the wall next to the door into the room. He took a second to assure them of his identification. They were quite aware of who he was and his reason for his attendance at the interrogation of the suspect. CC quickly went over the signals he would use, or, as he reminded himself, signals he hoped to be using to end his gig.

           He introduced himself by his real first name, Chris, he had been given the name CC by his buddies at his original headquarters in Dallas. It actually didn’t take very long to attain his nickname after he began using his new interrogation technique. After his promotion to detective, Chris, very quickly, began to grow very frustrated with the success rate of interrogations using the techniques and mannerisms that he had been taught. Which was basically using intimidation to push the suspect into confessing. Having seen the television shows like “Criminal Minds,” featuring detectives educated on the psychological aspect of criminal behavior, Chris decided to join the crowd and get his degree in psychology as well.

           While this new perspective gave him some insight into the criminal mind, he didn’t see much improvement in its’ effectiveness as far as getting his suspects to open up. It was when he took Neuropsychology that the light bulb came on in his head and he began to formulate his new technique. It was this technique that quickly earned him his new sobriquet, Comic Cop.

           After throwing the door open into the interrogation room, Chris began hopping on his left leg toward the desk at which the suspect was seated. Then Chris shifted to his right leg and began hopping again. “Man,” Chris belted out while pretending to be short of breath, “this hop-scotch game is harder than it looks.”

           Chris then jumped forward on both legs, then sprang into the air and twisted his body to land facing away from the desk. He took two more one-legged hops back to the door before doing the twist in the air again and hopped back to the suspect who was staring wide-eyed at Chris with a stupefied, bewildered look on his face.

           Chris plopped down on the chair facing the suspect and let out a long pursed-lip breath. “My daughter was teaching me to play this silly game this afternoon, but I don’t think she ever explained how the game ends. I’ve been hopping for eighty-three blocks from my house to here. Man, is she going to get it when I get back home.”

           Then, reaching out his right hand to the suspect, Chris used his infamous opening joke, “Hi, my name is Chris, I guess you know yours.” Chris smiled widely, but the suspect was stuck in his perplexed state of mind and didn’t answer back or even offer his hand to shake.

           Chris grinned even more largely and giggled. “You’re right sir, I don’t need to know your name, do I? You’re here to question me about me killing my wife, aren’t you?”

           The suspect jaw dropped slightly as he continued to stare at his crazy detective.

           Christ mirrored the dumbfounded look that he saw before him for a moment and burst into loud laugh. “Okay, you got me, I did it, I did it. I murdered my wife. I confess, so please just stop this horrifying interrogation!” Chris laughed strenuously for a few minutes.

           “Please forgive me,” Chris said quietly as he slumped back into his chair. “I like to have fun, is that a crime?” he asked in a somber manner. He then paused a moment while looking into the suspects’ eyes.

           Then Chris startled everyone by slapping the table with his hand while laughing loudly and shouting, “Of course it is! You’re here to be questioned about your wife’s death, and I’m here acting like some idiot on crack!”

           The detective then began to tranquilize his laughter, but then while maintaining a bright smile, he asked, “What do you call ten policemen at the bottom of the ocean?” He paused for a short time to allow the suspect to answer. After a second of nothing but a frozen stare from him, Chris blurted out while laughing, “A good start!”

           Chris was well experienced at fake laughing, as he was doing here, and so he continued this for another half-minute, then, to show his contriteness, he continued his fake apology. “Really, really,” he chortled, “I am sorry for acting this way. I just can’t help it. Do you have any weaknesses like that. Something that you just can’t stop yourself from doing?” After pausing for a brief second, Chris said somberly, “Like killing your wife.” After the last word left his mouth Chris convulsed in laughter, this time for a good minute.

           “I am so sorry, I can’t help it, I really can’t. Please forgive me. Please.” After a fleeting moment of sobriety, Chris then erupted again in laughter after shouting, “I don’t want you killing me too!”

           Chris was bent over the desk face down while repeatedly slapping it with his right hand and laughing uproariously. The suspect was able to finally to break free from his coma of consternation and stated flatly, “You’re nutso.”

           After hearing this, Chris portrayed a man trying to sober himself so that he could respond and then answered in a serious tone, “I’m so proud of you.” After acting sincere for the briefest of milliseconds he added, “You actually, finally said something that was true.” And then of course, CC burst into a fit of laughter.

           When this escapade of laughing finally subsided, Chris, while smiling this time, said, “Let’s get down to business shall we.” After fumbling in his left shirt pocket for a brief moment, he reached into the right pocket and extracted his small note pad and shook it while saying to it, “There you are you little nefarious hooligan, do you always have to be jumping from one pocket to the other?”

           Shifting his eyes to the suspect and grinning slightly, Chris opens his notes and begins to swiftly peruse through his notes audibly. “Ok, this is where I met with John Wayne Gacy…” just before flipping the page he mumbled, “I said he was innocent and I let him go.” Then, after tapping the notepad with his right index finger, “Oh yeah, I then interrogated somebody named Ted Bundy…I released him too.” Flipping that page, he mumbled again, “Jeffery Dumber, I mean Dahmer. Yeah,” she said slowly, “he was falsely arrested too, it’s a good thing I was there to set him free also.”

           Chris then peered up from his notebook to look at his suspect. Waiting for only a second, Chris burst into mirthful chortle again. He then placed his hand on his mouth to force himself into a sober state again, and then while removing his hand a few inches from his mouth, stated, “I see your name is William, is that right?”

           The detainee quickly shook his head affirmatively, after which Chris slammed his fist onto the table and shouted, “No, your name is not ‘Right’, your name is William!” He immediately broke into a smile and said, “I’m so sorry, I just can’t stop. Please forgive me. I’ll bet you are wishing they would go ahead and bring in the electric chair now, aren’t you?”

           An ever-so-faint smile then appeared on William’s face and Chris began pointing at him. “I saw that! I saw that! You smiled for a second, don’t try to deny it, it’s all on tape. I got you; I got you. You have been found guilty of having a sense of humor.”

           William dropped his head slightly and smiled again while shaking his head. Chris continued, “Ok William, or is it Will…oh, oh!” he excitedly stuttered, “or can I call you Bill? It is Bill, isn’t it?”

           “No, I go strictly by William.”

           “Well, I’m going to bill you anyway. Is the first of the month okay to send you the bills for these sessions?”

           William dropped his head again, this time while rubbing his temples on both sides with his fingers.

           “Ahh,” Chris exaggeratingly moaned, “you have a headache, you poor thing. I don’t ever get headaches. I asked my doctor once how come I never have headaches, and he said I needed something called a brain. Do you know what that is?”

           The suspect did nothing more than roll his eyes, so Chris continued, “Do you know why doctors are so unhappy?” Without waiting for a response, he added, “Because their underwear is from the ‘Fruit of the Gloom’. Get it? ‘Fruit of the Gloom’.”

           William slowly looked up to the ceiling while shaking his slightly from side to side.

           Chris then barked, “Oh, I see. Let me guess what kind of underwear you are wearing now.”

           William brought his gaze back to Chris and then let out a long sigh.

           “Oh my goodness, I’ve gotten on your last nerve haven’t I? I can’t say I’m sorry enough. Maybe something to drink will lift your spirits.” Chris turned to the one-way mirror and said loudly, “Can we get a drink for Mr. William here…preferably from…Cheers!” Then Chris bent over and burst into uncontrollable laughter.

           After, what seemed to be an eternity of chortling, William began to tap his fingers on the table rhythmically.

           Chris jerked back up into an exaggerated straight pose and spoke in a pretentious manner, “Ok, sorry for that, back to the case then. William, can you explain how you got your wife into the bathtub, because there were not bruises on her body?”

           William finally spoke, answering while holding his palms up, “What are you talking about? She wasn’t found in the bathtub you idiot, she was found dead in her bed, by the police.”

           Chris raised his right hand with his index finger pointing to the ceiling, which was his agreed-upon signal he had made with the officers on the other side of the mirror. This gesture indicated that Chris wanted to continue the examination, even though the suspect had just implicated himself.

           “Oh…so she was in bed with a policeman. No wonder you killed her. I would have too.”

           “No! you idiot! Don’t you know anything about this case. I had called the police to do a welfare check on her because I was out of town on business, and she wasn’t answering my calls. It was the police who found her in her bed.”

           “No, no I read the details of the case. It’s all coming back to me now. Oh, that must have been a gruesome thing, to find this poor woman all covered in blood after she slit her wrist.”

          “Oh…my…God!” William drooled while again rubbing his temples with his fingers. “She didn’t cut herself dummy. She died from carbon monoxide poisoning from that stupid heater in our bedroom! I’ve had all I can take,” he said while waving toward the mirror. “I’m done, I can’t take any more of this lunacy.”

           “Well, I’ve got good news for you my friend,” Chris said with a large grin. “This is over, because you just gave yourself away. William Fredrickson, you are under arrest for the murder of your wife. You will now be taken into custody. You have the right to remain silent…”

           William shot to his feet just as the officers from outside the room entered through the door. “What…what are you talking about? I didn’t do anything! My wife died by an accident, from carbon monoxide.”

           “Well, that is true Mr. Fredrickson, but the officers only told you that they found her dead body, they did not disclose the cause of death. Nor did they say where they found her. But you, somehow, even though you were out of town that night, knew where she was and what killed her. “Wait!” Chris raised his hand and turned his head slightly, “are you a psychic? That’s it isn’t it, you’re a psychic!” After which Chris burst into an uproarious laugh.

           “I want a lawyer!”

           “You’re going to need one,” Chris continued to smile, “Get a good one Bill.”