Worst day ever

Worst Day Ever

So I had just witnessed two acquaintances who had died from gunshot wounds to the head. What an awful way to start a day. I had jumped in my truck and sped away from the house hoping that I could run away from the chaos in my life. I wanted to forget what I had seen, but there is no way to erase the memory of blood and brain matter splattered across a headboard. It took the police a few days to discover the bodies. When they did it did not take long for me to receive a phone call from the Mississippi Bureau of Investigations. A Master Sergeant gave me a call and asked if I was Thomas's Handler. A handler is the agent in charge of all dealings with a confidential informant. I told the Sergeant that I was and he asked if we could meet so he could ask me a few questions about Thomas. I met with him later that evening at a local gas station. As I pulled up I saw the stereotypical cop car parked to the side of the gas station. I jumped out of my truck and got into his unmarked Crown Victoria with tinted windows.

It has always piqued my curiosity as to why many agencies use the tinted Crown Victoria as their unmarked car. Do they think criminals won't know it is a plain clothes officer? Perhaps they believe folks won't flag them down when they need help. Who knows. Now don't get me wrong. Most undercover cars are nothing like you would imagine. Everything from beat up Chevy trucks to lowered Black BMWs are used for undercover cars. Mine was a 4 door Dodge Charger with chrome rims, but I am veering off course now.

I spoke with the Sergeant and he thanked me for my info. I truly thought I was in the clear. In my mind I just knew that they had no idea that I had found the bodies. The next night the Sergeant calls me again. He said there were a few more questions he had about Thomas. He asked to meet at the old jailhouse in my town. As I pulled up I saw his car out front. I opened the front door and walked down a long hallway to the main room. As soon as I walked in I knew that things were not ok. To my right were 2 Mississippi Bureau of Narcotics Agents and to my left was the Sergeant and an FBI agent. My heart sank. I tried to play it off as best I could like I had no idea what they were there for, but I did know. They first frisked me down to make sure I didn't have any weapons. Then the questions started. It did not take but a few minutes before a manila envelope with photos were produced. Inside the envelope was a photo of Thomas's phone where I had asked him for some dope through a text message. I tried my best to blame it on someone else. Maybe a friend used my phone. Then they pulled out the phone tolls. Police are able to get a list of all calls to and from a number and the frequency of those calls with minimal effort. This is called a phone toll. This particular phone toll had my cell phone number as the number one caller to Thomas's phone. Talk about feeling like a junky. I again said that people use my phone all the time. They knew everything, but let me lie so they could really stick it to me in the end. I knew this because I had used this same tactic many many times on people in the exact same place I was in at this moment.

Point blank they asked me did I kill Thomas and his wife to which I replied no. They asked me was I at his house to which I said no. They continued grilling me until the early morning hours. I was so tired, all I wanted to do was sleep. They finally said they were getting warrants to search my truck, my house, my girlfriends house, and take my firearms. I had items in my truck that I would have preferred not be found by police, but by this time it was too late. I just signed a consent form to search since I knew there was no chance of being proven to have murdered anyone and no chance of getting out of a search. They found syringes, suboxone, and empty heroin foils. They told me they were taking my truck to process it at the crime lab. At this point, tired of the lies, and tired of the fear, I told them everything. I told them how I had been shooting heroin, buying heroin from Thomas, and how I found the bodies already dead. They threatened me with all kinds of things hoping I would say I killed them, but I couldn't. Thomas and his wife weren't exactly friends, but they were nice people. Sure they had a drug problem, but that didn't mean they didn't deserve better than what they got. It hurt me that they were murdered because of me. If I would have never gotten Thomas to snitch he would possibly still be alive. The interview ended and they took me to my apartment to search it. They tore it to pieces. They took all my ammunition, my boots, the jeans I was wearing, shirts, dirty clothes, and searched my house for drugs (which honestly was a little beyond the scope of the warrant). These were the same guys I served warrants with, the same guys I kicked in doors with, and the same guys I made Federal cases with. People I once called friends. Now they looked at me like the scum of the earth and were searching my house like I was a criminal. I guess at this point I was a criminal. I was a drug addict who bought dope to support a big habit. Being in the possession of the dope I did was definitely a felony. The worst was yet to come. I had left my girlfriend's house earlier that night to meet with the Sergeant and told her I would only be an hour. Now it had been 5 hours and she had called and texted numerous times to look for me. I look back and I hate the person that I was. I caused her so much pain and heartache. I caused her to lose any sense of peace she may have had. She was so worried I was dead. She finally saw me as I walked in the house as the state and fed boys walked out with my gun. I tried to explain everything to her, but it fell on deaf ears. I lied next to her in bed trying to go to sleep. All I could hear was the quiet sobbing of someone who saw her best friend and lover slowly slipping into oblivion. I had no idea what I was going to do. I was so afraid, but I was still trying to stick to the idea I was not a drug addict.

“No one told me you can love someone and still be miserable. How is that possible?”
― Krista Ritchie, Addicted to You