The Wrong Man
“Officer Francis Crespo was a ten-year veteran of the city police department. He was built like a brick house and had dark features and a mustache. He was one of the patrolmen in the area when reports came in of the shooting on Gehringer Street.
“We weren’t the first to arrive,” he explained. “But we got the nod when the call came through about a sighting of a homeless man running through Franzen Park with a gun.”
“You ‘got the nod’?” Wendy asked.
“We were dispatched by the detective-in-charge o...n the scene to investigate. My patrol and Officer Downing’s. Cars eighteen and twenty-three.”
“Go on, Officer.”
“My partner and I proceeded by vehicle to Franzen Park.”
“Why a vehicle?” Wendy asked. “Wasn’t Franzen Park just a block away?”
“That’s correct, ma’am, but it’s a city block wide and long. So the northeast end of the park was a quarter-mile away. It made sense to drive there and be mobile by vehicle once there.”
“Fair enough, Officer.MoreLess
“We weren’t the first to arrive,” he explained. “But we got the nod when the call came through about a sighting of a homeless man running through Franzen Park with a gun.”
“You ‘got the nod’?” Wendy asked.
“We were dispatched by the detective-in-charge o...n the scene to investigate. My patrol and Officer Downing’s. Cars eighteen and twenty-three.”
“Go on, Officer.”
“My partner and I proceeded by vehicle to Franzen Park.”
“Why a vehicle?” Wendy asked. “Wasn’t Franzen Park just a block away?”
“That’s correct, ma’am, but it’s a city block wide and long. So the northeast end of the park was a quarter-mile away. It made sense to drive there and be mobile by vehicle once there.”
“Fair enough, Officer.MoreLess
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