1960: My Uncle is the Director of the FBI

The current residents identified themselves as the Freeman family.

Mrs. Freeman unleashed a torrent of profanity directed at the real estate agent who had rented them the house, cycling through English, Spanish, and what Theodore suspected might be Portuguese.

Her linguistic versatility in the art of cursing was genuinely impressive, even by the standards of someone who'd worked alongside Texas detectives.

She maintained her verbal assault while continuing to fold laundry, her hands working mechanically through the pile of bedsheets while her mouth delivered increasingly creative insults.

Theodore found Mrs. Freeman's reaction puzzling. "You had no idea what happened in your house? None of your neighbors mentioned the previous occupants?"

Mrs. Freeman's expression shifted subtly, a flicker of something that might have been recognition quickly suppressed.

A coworker approached cautiously, eyeing Theodore and his companions with obvious suspicion.

"You in some kind of trouble, Maria?"

Mrs. Freeman immediately launched into a detailed account of discovering she was living in a murder house, then pivoted to a broader discussion with her colleague about the ethical shortcomings of Southeast Washington's rental market.

Detective Ross cleared his throat repeatedly, but his attempts to regain control of the conversation went unnoticed.

Finally, he was forced to interrupt directly, asking Mrs. Freeman if they could inspect the residence.

Mrs. Freeman shook out a damp sheet with unnecessary vigor.

"I am leaving right now, I don't get paid today."

Bernie produced a ten-dollar bill and handed it over, while Detective Ross helpfully displayed the badge clipped to his belt.

Mrs. Freeman's demeanor shifted immediately upon seeing the police credentials.

She stopped manufacturing excuses, though she insisted on riding with Theodore and Bernie rather than climbing into Detective Ross's marked patrol car.

The drive back to the house passed in complete silence.

Upon arriving at the residence, Mrs. Freeman first collected her three children from a neighbor's house, then reluctantly produced her keys and invited the officials inside.

The layout was cramped but efficiently organized. The front door opened directly into a living room, with two bedrooms to the left and a kitchen to the right.

A dining table occupied the space immediately inside the entrance, followed by two sofas arranged in the center of the room. Three storage cabinets lined the far wall, with a tin heating stove positioned at the very back, making the already small space feel claustrophobic.

Theodore pulled out the crime scene photographs for comparison. The room's basic configuration remained unchanged from six months earlier.

The Freeman family had arranged their furniture in the same pattern as their predecessors.

The Earls' parents' bodies had been discovered between the two sofas, with Hattie Earl found behind the perpendicular sofa, positioned between the two bedroom doorways.

Theodore walked the perimeter of the room twice, trying to visualize the sequence of violence that had occurred here. The physical space revealed little beyond what the photographs had already shown.

Bernie proved more productive, obtaining contact information for the allegedly "unethical" real estate agent from Mrs. Freeman during their conversation.

By the time they finished their inspection, regular business hours had ended. After arranging to meet the rental agent the following day, Theodore and Bernie drove back toward FBI headquarters through the gathering dusk.

"What's your initial assessment?" Bernie asked as they navigated the evening traffic.

Theodore examined one of the crime scene photographs, an image showing Hattie Earl's body with her clothing disheveled and partially torn.

"The killer demonstrated a specific obsession with controlling Hattie Earl."

He passed the photograph to Bernie.

"Strangulation requires sustained physical contact, intimate violence. This suggests attempted sexual assault."

Theodore's analysis continued with clinical detachment.

"The perpetrator probably intended to rape Hattie Earl, but accidentally killed her when she fought back more effectively than anticipated."

He selected another photograph showing the adult victims.

"Family massacres typically stem from revenge motives. Clarence Earl's criminal background, theft, robbery, and prison time suggest he accumulated enemies during his incarceration."

Bernie nodded thoughtfully.

"Prison creates the most dangerous kind of grudges. We should investigate Earl's cellmates and anyone he might have crossed during his sentence."

Theodore agreed, then selected a side-angle photograph that captured both Mabel Earl's body and the surrounding furniture.

Bernie studied the image with growing understanding.

"Mabel Earl was lying face-down when discovered, but her fatal wound was a bullet entry beneath the left collarbone."

He demonstrated with his hand shaped like a pistol, angling the barrel downward.

"She must have been sitting on the sofa when shot. The killer stood directly in front of her, firing from above."

Theodore finally examined Clarence Earl's photograph.

The image showed only the back of the victim's head, a dark, indistinct blur that revealed nothing about the nature of his injuries.

Despite repeated studies, Theodore couldn't determine how Clarence had died.

The police report mentioned gunshot wounds but provided no details about the number of shots fired or their precise locations.

He gathered the photographs with obvious frustration.

"Remember to ask Detective Ross who took these pictures. Maybe the photographer recalls details that didn't make it into the official reports."

Theodore's voice carried unmistakable contempt for the Fifth Precinct's forensic capabilities.

"At least he might remember how many times Clarence Earl was shot, which is more than this autopsy report tells us. I've seen more detailed descriptions on toe tags."

Bernie thought about the three autopsy reports that barely qualified as complete sentences, combined with police documentation that seemed deliberately vague.

The entire investigation reeked of bureaucratic indifference.

"Are all D.C. police case files this inadequate?" he asked. "Or is this treatment reserved for colored victims?"

While Felton had certainly demonstrated different levels of investigative effort depending on victims' race, it had never approached this level of systematic neglect.

Theodore admitted he didn't know enough about Washington police procedures to make comparisons.

Bernie looked at him hopefully. "At least this is probably an isolated incident."

Theodore shook his head grimly. "For some reason, I'm getting the We're going to be handling cases exactly like this on a regular basis."

Bernie initially assumed Theodore was joking, but his partner's serious expression quickly dispelled that notion.

The prospect of repeatedly investigating months-old crimes with missing autopsy reports, destroyed evidence, and possibly unidentified victims made Bernie's scalp crawl with anticipated frustration.

The following day brought an end to the snowfall but introduced even more brutal cold.

The temperature drop left Bernie, accustomed to southern climates, sneezing constantly throughout the morning.

Their first stop was FBI headquarters, followed by an emergency shopping expedition to purchase Bernie a proper winter coat.

Bureau dress codes prohibited most casual winter clothing, and the two light jackets Bernie had brought from Texas provided utterly inadequate protection against Washington's harsh weather.

Theodore required no additional clothing.

When he'd moved into the apartment, someone had already stocked the walk-in closet with a complete wardrobe, undergarments through overcoats, coordinated outfits arranged by season and occasion.

After addressing Bernie's immediate hypothermia concerns, they met Detective Ross and drove to locate the real estate agent.

They found him in a small office in Southeast Washington, a colored man in his thirties wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a meticulously maintained business suit.

His professional appearance stood out dramatically in the surrounding neighborhood.

Such attention to personal presentation was unusual in Southeast Washington, where most residents lived paycheck to paycheck when they had legitimate employment at all.

Even more remarkable was the agent's reaction to their arrival. He showed no nervousness upon seeing the patrol car, remaining perfectly composed even after Detective Ross and Bernie introduced themselves and explained their purpose.

In Theodore's experience, such calm in the face of police scrutiny was virtually unprecedented in this part of the city.

Southeast Washington served as the District's primary repository for poverty and crime, predominantly colored and Latino residents living in substandard housing while struggling with limited economic opportunities.

Most inhabitants had some history with law enforcement and instinctively reacted to police presence with wariness, hostility, or outright flight.

The neighborhood was Washington's equivalent of Felton's West District, a place where society's problems accumulated like sediment.

Against this backdrop, the real estate agent seemed almost impossibly out of place.

Bernie explained their interest in the Earl family murders, and the agent expressed immediate willingness to cooperate, inviting them into his office for a detailed discussion.

Theodore wondered whether they'd stumbled across their first genuine lead, or someone with enough intelligence to recognise that cooperation served his interests better than resistance.

[End of Chapter]

__________________

Check out more than 65+ chapters right now! 🔥

👉 patreon.com/cw/Mr_UmU

https://www.patreon.com/Mr_UmU