Transcript

164:

Crime Scene
Transcript

Originally aired 07.07.2000

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Full audio: http://tal.fm/164

Prologue.

Ira Glass

I'm in the office of Dr. L.J. Drakovic, who examines dead bodies for the police in Pontiac, Michigan. And he's running through this carousel of slides, all of them murder victims. They are close-ups of body parts.

Ira Glass

To say, as you just flip through these things, this is the grisliest slide show I've ever seen. It's just like every slide is some--

L.j. Drakovic

--is another story, yes. Every crime scene is a story of its own, is a novel. And it opens up in every direction.

Ira Glass

To illustrate, he tells me this story. When he worked for the Wayne County coroner's office back in Detroit, there was a young woman-- this story, by the way, might not be suitable for younger children-- Anyway, there's this young woman who apparently killed herself by taking her boyfriend's gun, putting it in her mouth, and firing. The police, the other medical examiners, everybody thought it was a suicide. But something about the case bothered Dr. Drakovic. The woman didn't have a history of depression. There was no note.

L.j. Drakovic

My colleagues teased me as being paranoid and seeing things where they were not. I did the examination. And I did the examination of the oral cavity. And in this particular case, the tongue showed two holes.

Ira Glass

This is very strange, Dr. Drakovic explained, because usually-- again, this gets a little explicit-- usually, when people shoot themselves in the mouth, they kind of point the gun upward, toward the brain. Their tongue does not get injured at all. But here, the tongue must have been all bunched up, pushing hard against the muzzle of the gun.

L.j. Drakovic

Now, who in this world, trying to end life, will inflict additional pain and discomfort by shoving the muzzle of the gun against the tongue? Unless it's another person. In my assessment of this, this was a homicide.

So I told the detectives that that was my finding. They went back to interview the boyfriend. And they said, "We know that you shot her." He said, "No, I didn't." They said, "Yes, we know. The doctor told us." He said, "What doctor?" They said, "The doctor that did the autopsy." He said, "What autopsy? I called the coroner's office two weeks ago. And they told me they never did autopsies on suicides."

Ira Glass

Of course, why call the coroner's office to ask that question if you're not planning on killing anybody? It did not take very long for the police to get a confession out of this guy. As Dr. Drakovic says, every crime scene is a novel.

Today in our radio program, crime scenes and the stories behind them. From WBEZ Chicago and Public Radio International, it's This American Life. I'm Ira Glass.

Act One of our show today, How Do We Know? A forensic criminologist explains exactly what it is that we can learn from evidence at a crime scene. Act Two, Grime Scene. Nancy Updike reports on how watching the movie Pulp Fiction let one man to a life coming in after the police and the investigators are done. Act Three-- In the second half of our show, I have to say, everything gets a little less grisly. Act Three, A Criminal Returns to the Scene of the Crime, a story of a thief, who returns to the neighborhood where he robbed and conned people, to coach Little League. Act Four, What Police Cannot Do. We have this completely beautiful, haunting story by Aimee Bender about a little boy who can find any lost object, any stolen object, from any crime scene. Stay with us.

Act One. How Do We Know?

Ira Glass

Act One, How Do We Know? Well, we thought we would start this hour with a quick primer on some of the kinds of evidence that investigators find at crime scenes and what it tells them. Enrico Togneri is a former forensic criminologist in Nevada. He says there's a lot of information contained in something as simple as the shape of a blood stain. He talks about high velocity blood stains and low velocity blood stains.

Enrico Togneri

Well, the blood spatter-- When you have a low velocity, something like an arterial cut, where somebody is cut in the artery, and it's actually spurting out of the body, you get fairly large stains because you have quite a bit of blood coming off at the fairly low velocity. Higher velocity, like somebody being hit with a baseball bat, you're going to get a teardrop shape. The lower the angle, the more the teardrop. If it's straight on, it's going to be a nice, round droplet. And then, if you have high velocity, which is a gunshot, you almost get a mist because of the impact of the gunshot causing an explosion of the blood. So you get a very fine mist.

Ira Glass

And I understand that from the shape of the droplets, you can tell where the person was standing?

Enrico Togneri

Yeah, it's basic trigonometry. What you do is, you take the width of the blood stain and the length of the blood stain, and you find the angle. And from the angle, you can actually string it. You can actually run a string back, away from the wall of the angle you've determined it to have impacted at. And if you do this from several little droplets, you eventually come to a point where they bunch up. And that would be where the blood impact actually originated.

There was a case where an individual had said that he got into a fight with his roommate. And the fight occurred as they were standing up. And he hit the guy, and the guy finally dropped dead. But in reality, when we constructed the blood spatter by stringing it, we could show that it all came from a fairly low place on the floor, from a few inches up from the floor. And you could show that most of the impacts happened when the individual was already down, so therefore, taking away the self-defense issue.

Ira Glass

In other words, he was kicking him while he was literally on the ground.

Enrico Togneri

That's correct.

Ira Glass

Could I just get you to list briefly all the things that you can learn from all the types of evidence that are there on a scene?

Enrico Togneri

Yeah, there's certain routine things that you would look for. And let's say you get into a scene where there's still some food on the table. You want to see if it's still warm. You want to see what the food is. You want to see where the placing of the utensils might be. That might give you a clue whether it's a right-handed or left-handed person that was last there.

You want to actually observe everything that's there as far as, do you see any blood, any hair, any fibers? If the police officer who was there at the crime scene, who got there first, or even one of the witnesses who got there first, if you can get them to describe was there any unique smells. A smell could be important, a cigar smoke. You never know.

Ira Glass

If you can remember, can you think of a case where an utterly ordinary object ended up being the piece of evidence that clinched it?

Enrico Togneri

Well, as a matter of fact, there was a burglary with a piece of cheese that had a tooth mark in it. And we were able to match the bite mark to the individual that did the burglary.

Ira Glass

What?

Enrico Togneri

Just a piece of cheese left in the refrigerator. The individual decided to help himself to some food. And he took a bite out of a piece of cheese. And he had a unique enough bite mark that we were able to identify it.

Ira Glass

When the police are done with a crime scene, who actually cleans up the crime scene?

Enrico Togneri

Usually, the person who owns the property. We would mark it as a possible biohazard. And then, the individual would hire whoever he wanted to hire to have it cleaned up.

Act Two. Grime Scene.

Nancy Updike

Other drivers stare at Neal Smither's truck and sometimes take pictures. On the sides and back of it, in big, red letters, is the company name, "Crime Scene Cleaners, specializing in homicides, suicides, and accidental deaths."

Ira Glass

Well, this is Nancy Updike. And this is Act Two of our show. Act Two, Grime Scene. Nancy went to the San Francisco Bay area to see Neal Smither, who cleans up crime scenes for a living. A quick warning, some of this might not be suitable for younger listeners, the squeamish, and wussies.

Nancy Updike

After spending two days with Neal Smither, I was this close to signing up to open his Los Angeles franchise. I'm not joking. Neal spends all day, every day speeding around in a huge, white pickup truck, with a cell phone glued to his ear, making sure his company gets to dispose of every drop of blood within driving distance of Orinda, California, and his franchises in Utah, Kansas, Texas, Las Vegas, and Alabama. Mostly, he doesn't leave the truck. He's had this one for about a year, and it's got 90,000 miles on it. Neal is absolutely blunt about his job, to the point of crassness.

Neal Smither

I did a job one time. An old guy dropped dead, decomposed on his kitchen floor. So when we got there, we had about a 10-by-5-foot square pool of just gore. No power in the house, so it's dark. It's very quiet. I'm in there with a respirator because it was just humming. It smelled.

I'm hearing this noise. And I shouldn't be hearing a noise. There's no power in this house, nothing. I get a flashlight. I'm hearing this funky noise, man. What the [BLEEP] is that? So I get closer to the gore with my light. And it's just a bowling ball-sized thing of maggots. And they're writhing around in the blood and the gore. And it sounds like when you knead hamburger.

Nancy Updike

The maggots were making a sound that you could hear?

Neal Smither

There were so many of them, just so many of them writhing around in this pool of gore, that yeah, you could hear them.

Nancy Updike

The only time he speaks gently about what he does is on sales calls.

[PHONE RINGING]

Neal Smither

Hi there. This is Neal. May I help you? Yes, sir. Yes, sir. All righty. That's all you need to tell me. Let me kind of walk you through how we work. We'd have a crew to you within the hour. They'd write you up a free estimate. If you like the estimate, they'd rock 'n' roll on that job right then and there. Our services are all-inclusive--

Nancy Updike

By the way, have you noticed Neal's Southern accent? He made it up. He borrowed it from his Arkansas grandparents so he could play Steel Magnolia during business negotiations. He grew up in Santa Cruz. He has no problem admitting the accent is cultivated.

Neal Smither

Something about a Southern voice that just kind of opens up a trusting vein, you know? Which is great. That's what I want.

Nancy Updike

Neal has that tightly wound energy like Jim Carrey. He's 5'5" with short brown hair under a baseball cap and sunglasses. He smokes Kools, does not stop for lunch, and drives way too fast. The directness, the crassness, is all deliberate. It's his marketing strategy.

Neal Smither

Gore sells. Look at the truck. We're pretty up front. I hope I don't offend too many people. I just try to be honest with them. We're dealing with death. How do you sugarcoat death? You can't.

Nancy Updike

Neal describes for me the outline left on a pleather couch by a body that has decomposed into it over the course of 60 days. And I want to stop here and acknowledge that this is gross. It is. It's gross. But it's interesting. And to me, it's much more interesting than it is gross. I mean, think of it-- a melted person.

Four years ago, Neal had never seen a dead body. He was a laid-off mortgage broker, for god's sake. Then he saw Pulp Fiction. Remember that scene where John Travolta blows the guy's head off in the back of the car by mistake, and they have to call in Mr. Wolf to fix everything?

Mr. Wolf

Good. I need you two folks to do is take those cleaning products and clean the inside of the car. You need to go in the backseat. Scoop up all those little pieces of brain and skull. Get it out of there.

Nancy Updike

Neal is possibly the only person in America who saw that scene and thought, Wow, I want that job. And it turns out it is a real job. If someone dies in your house, it's up to you to get it clean. But doing it yourself, even if you wanted to, raises all sorts of problems. Are you complying with the state and federal laws governing the disposal of bodies and bodily fluids? Do you have the proper permits and liability coverage? No, you don't. So you call Neal. Here's how his job breaks down. Murders are the least of his business. Most of the cleanups are either decomps-- bodies that have sat for a while and started to decompose--

Neal Smither

I did a decomp on the very end unit upstairs there. It was bad.

Nancy Updike

How long had it been going?

Neal Smither

He sat for a good long while. He was all humming, maggots everywhere. It was a typical decomp.

Nancy Updike

--or suicides. Suicides and attempted suicides are a surprisingly big part of his job. The rest of Neal's business consists of meth labs and kitty houses. Kitty houses are those places, usually full of old newspapers and other garbage, that have dozens of cats everywhere, eating and peeing and crapping. Meth labs are usually hotel accounts. Neal has a few national chains on contract. Hotel rooms get used all the time to cook methamphetamine, Neal says. He does a lot of business with hotels. He claims, hyperbolically, that there's no hotel in the country that hasn't had a murder or suicide in one of its rooms.

The second day I spend with Neal, he gets called out to a jail to clean up after a woman who tried to kill herself in the bathroom off the prisoners' waiting room. I'm not allowed to record anything. I have to just watch. I hold open the bathroom door with my foot while Neal sets up his stuff. Next to the sink are several thick, dark red drops of blood. And there are a few streaks of blood on the wall. Inside the sink is more blood. It isn't a lot, maybe a third of a cup overall. But clearly, she did some damage.

Then, while Neal is getting into his protective suit, a woman in the waiting behind us-- a tweaker, Neal confided to me later, meaning a meth user-- reads the back of Neal's shirt out loud. "Crime Scene Cleaners," she says. "You cleaned my mother's house." Neal turns around. "Yeah? Which one was that?" Without any emotion, the woman says her mother and cousin were murdered by her mother's boyfriend a while ago. "You guys cleaned the house," she repeats. "Oh, yeah. I remember that one. That was on the news," Neal says. The woman nods and doesn't say anything, so Neal goes back to cleaning.

He whips through it in about 10 minutes, like it's spilt milk. In fact, it's exactly like cleaning up a mess at home, except with industrial strength cleansers and equipment. He snaps on some rubber gloves, sprays the whole area with a special enzyme to neutralize the blood and kill any bacteria or viruses, scrubs any tough spots with a little brush, and then wipes everything clean with heavy-duty paper towels. It isn't hard, just depressing.

Neal Smither

Bottom line, I'm a business man. I'm an entrepreneur. I want to make money and build my company.

Nancy Updike

Were you like this as a kid?

Neal Smither

Well, I was the kid in school who would buy boxes of Blow Pops and bring them to school, and sell them at lunch. I was the kid at school who ran a lunch ticket scam.

Nancy Updike

What was the lunch ticket scam?

Neal Smither

I had a girlfriend in the office, the head office in high school. And she'd kick me down with lunch tickets for a discounted price. And then, I'd sell them for an increased price. But it was still lower than what the Mexican kids or whoever could buy them from the school. So, figure I'd beat the school by $0.20 a ticket. [BLEEP] it. I bankrolled my whole high school career on Blow Pops and lunch tickets. It was a beautiful thing. I always had money. And I didn't break any laws, didn't sling dope, none of that [BLEEP]. Bought my own car, and I bankrolled it with Blow Pops and lunch tickets.

Nancy Updike

Neal's plan is to retire in seven years at 40 and be rich. But in the meantime, the job is changing him. Seeing so many crime scenes, seeing the way so many people die, he's also seen how they live, in houses filled with old newspapers, dirty dishes, and too many cats, never cleaning the bathroom.

Neal Smither

I think more than anything now, most people are just dirty mother [BLEEP]. We live like animals, man. You have no idea. I'm a clean freak. My place is spotless. So when I got into this, I was shocked by the way people live. It's amazing.

I went into a bathroom yesterday at a car wash. A guy in there, doing his business. And I walk into the thing. And this guy had thrown his garbage on the floor and didn't flush the toilet, just no common courtesy at all. And he was in a tie and a clean cut, nice looking guy. You know? Didn't your mom teach you anything, you 40-year-old dirt bag? Are you just a dirt bag? That's dirt bag, straight up. That is a dirt bag.

Nancy Updike

Did you think people were this big dirt bags before this job?

Neal Smither

No, I had no idea. I had no idea. I thought everyone was normal. Believe me, the normal is the dirt bag in this. [BLEEP].

Nancy Updike

But now, you see more dirt baggery everywhere?

Neal Smither

Oh, it's 80/20 dirt bag. You bet. I swear to god. It's shocking. So now, I'll go home and take a hot shower. Then I'll convert to bathtub, read my book. And I'll think about dirt bags, wait for my girl to get home, wait for death. Death or my girl, I love them both.

Nancy Updike

Neal's thought a lot about his own death in the last few years, not surprisingly. He says he wants to die slowly so he can say goodbye to everyone. He doesn't want to be found by a company like his and cleaned up, with his family off somewhere wondering what happened. He doesn't even care if it's a painful death, he says, as long as it's slow. Cancer would be fine, he says. He'd take cancer. When was the last time you heard someone say that?

Ira Glass

Nancy Updike is the KCRW Gracie Films Radio Arts Fellow in Santa Monica. We heard about Neal Smither from the book Gig, which is a kind of unofficial sequel/tribute to Studs Terkel's classic book about Americans and their jobs, Working.

[MUSIC - "PAPA DON'T TAKE NO MESS, PT. 1" BY JAMES BROWN.]

Coming up, no more grossness, promise. And what's it mean when you get out of prison, kick your drug habit, return to the scene of your crimes, and little kids make fun of you? Kindergarten con in a minute on Public Radio International when our program continues.

Act Three. A Criminal Returns To The Scene Of The Crime.

Ira Glass

It's This American Life. I'm Ira Glass. Each week, of course, we choose some theme, bring you a variety of different kinds of stories on that theme. Today's program, crime scenes and the stories they tell. We've arrived at Act Three of our show. Act Three, Return to the Scene of the Crime. There's a truism in detective fiction that a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime. But it turns out, in real life, that actually is not very common, except maybe among arsonists. Arsonists like to see the fires they've set, apparently. And some of them are caught when police look at pictures taken of the crowd at various fires.

And then-- maybe it's very rare, maybe not. Nobody really tracks this kind of thing-- there are the people who circle back to the scene of their crimes to undo, to erase something, or at least to promise it will never happen again. Katie Davis discovered that one of her own neighbors in Washington, D.C., an old friend, was trying to do just that.

Katie Davis

Bobby comes up my street one afternoon in March. I haven't seen him in a few months. And he's kind of gliding along, smoking a Marlboro. That's the way he's carried himself since sixth grade, when I first met him-- one of the bad boys from over on Calvert Street. Bobby tells me he's going to coach a Little League team with some neighborhood kids. "Great," I say from up on my porch. Inside I'm thinking, who's he kidding? He's rail-thin, he's sweating. It looks like he's been using all winter.

Bobby flicks his burning cigarette into the street and watches me, waiting for more reaction. This is the same Bobby I loved and tried to save for a whole year, Bobby who stole $60 from my house to buy heroin and swore to God, swore to his own dead daughter, that my dog Purdy ate the money. And this is his latest plan to get clean, coaching a bunch of 10, 11, and 12-year-olds, rounded up by the D.C. Department of Recreation. All I can say is, "That's great."

A week later, Bobby's back, this time on my machine.

Automated Voice

You have two messages. [BEEP] Message one.

Bobby

Hey, how're you doing? Just calling to say hi. When I get off, I'll probably walk Bailey. Maybe we'll run up and see if we can say hi to you. Katie, you've got to see this. These starts I've got are unbelievable. One of them tried to spit on me yesterday at practice. A couple of them, I don't think even I can handle. It's like they're too much of a disruption, you know-- [BEEP]

Katie Davis

My machine cuts him off. But now, I know Bobby's clean because if he were still using heroin, nothing could puncture his detached haze. He's sounding awake and rattled. Bobby, who spent two and a half years in Lorton prison on assault and possession charges, rattled by a bunch of kids at their first baseball practice.

Boy

The first day, he was just crazy.

Bobby

We went to Harrison playground between 13th and 14th on V Street. And that's a rough neighborhood. And as soon as we got on the field, my kids started to act up right away, right away. And I think they were afraid. I was a little afraid.

Boy

OK, he was picking who was going to be right field or whatever. But then, everybody was just yelling at each other and jonesin' on each other.

Bobby

I tried to get them to chill, to relax and play ball, focus on the game. They started cursing me-- a few of them-- cursing me and cursing each other. One kid spit at me.

Boy

And he got mad and said practice was over.

Bobby

And I cursed them. And I told them they didn't [BLEEP] impress me. Before they were born, I was in penitentiary. So if they're trying to act like they're bad, they're not impressing me. And right when I did that, I felt in my gut that I had just screwed up. I felt right then that, you know what, you just laid all of your cards on the table. You don't have a whole card anymore. Now, they know you.

Boy

Then Shannon said, maybe he got pumped in the butt by lots of men. That's why everybody was laughing.

Bobby

One kid says, "Well, while you were in prison, where you getting humped?" And then, I knew I had screwed up. I said, "No, that didn't happen to me." Another one said, "Oh, because you were the humper, right?"

Katie Davis

Three days later, they hold a second practice, this time at a field in our neighborhood. Bobby's back for more salvation through Little League.

Boy

Shut up before I smack the [BLEEP] out you.

Do it.

Katie Davis

What's your strategy? Or maybe you're formulating.

Bobby

I'm formulating it. But my strategy, short-term, is to remember I'm the adult. Good stick. Go, go, go, go. Run it out. He might fall. He might break his ankle. All right. Good stick, good hustle. Hey, every first baseman don't play as good as him.

Katie Davis

This second practice is going a lot better. The only tantrums being thrown are by the kids. Bobby stands by the backstop in our park, pushing away a locus sapling that's grown up through the fence. There are no bases and only a warped piece of rubber for the pitcher's mound. That's how it goes around here. Anyone with any money drives their kids to the wealthier neighborhoods to play, leaving this misshapen field for Bobby's team.

Bobby

Come on, man. I'm not going to tell you where it's going, but I want you to bring it home when it comes to you. Wake up. Wake up.

Boy

I thought you were talking about--

Bobby

That's what I'm saying, see? The guy in the game, the batter's not going to tell you where the ball's going, guys.

Talent level, bad news bears. They're horrible as far as talent. I think they're wonderful kids, and I'm not going to give up on them. But god, man, they can't throw a ball, they can't catch a ball, they can't hit a ball. And they've never learned. No one's ever taught them.

Bring it home. OK. You've got good stop, good throw. That's the way to play, fellas. That's the way to play. Think it's coming your way?

Boy

Yeah.

Katie Davis

The third practice starts around 5 o'clock on a humid April afternoon. Kids are scattered around the field, squatting down, twirling their gloves. Joey is throwing rocks at his brother. Joey is always throwing rocks. Benjamin thinks he should be pitching. Bobby tells him to stay right where he is and keep catching.

Bobby

That's what I'm talking about, right there. Come on, Benjamin, get that thing now.

Benjamin

Come on, now.

Bobby

Get that ball.

Benjamin

You know?

Bobby

Get in front of that ball.

Benjamin

Oh, you didn't know.

Bobby

Now, I do know. You need to learn. Get in front of that ball. Bring it home.

Katie Davis

After a half hour, things start to spin out of control. Benjamin, the most volatile of the kids, throws a rock at Joey. Bobby tells him to run a lap. "You must be trippin'," says Benjamin. "I might be trippin', but you need to be lappin'," says Bobby.

Benjamin

He gonna make me run a lap. And I didn't even throw nothin'.

Boy

Maybe you need exercise.

Bobby

Benjamin, he's my favorite because I just see me, more so than any other child on that team. I don't know what his home life is like. But from what I can see, he's emotional. And when he feels cheated or done wrong, he reacts exactly like I always reacted-- violently, verbally with the violence. And he just goes off and, "[BLEEP] you, and [BLEEP] the team."

Well, that's me. That was me. And in ways, it still is. When I get my feelings hurt, I don't always say, "You really hurt my feelings." I say, "[BLEEP] you, mother [BLEEP]" And you know what I do? What I've done for a lot of years is I would hurt myself because someone hurt me. Well, Benjamin does that at practice.

Benjamin

No, man. He always getting on somebody's nerves. Get on everybody's nerves.

Katie Davis

Bobby finally asked Benjamin to go home and come back next practice. Instead, Benjamin stands over my microphone and starts calling the game as he sees it.

Benjamin

He think he's right all the time.

Katie Davis

Who're you talking about?

Benjamin

The coach! He always-- he press, "Oh, I've been in the penitentiary. I know all this stuff." Man, bump all that, man.

Katie Davis

Bobby pauses as Benjamin mimics him, then throws the ball up and cracks it to the outfield.

Bobby

Bring it home, fellas, bring it home.

Katie Davis

A few minutes later, Benjamin finally does a lap. But he walks it.

Bobby

Watch the hop. You've still got him. Good throw now, Monty. Thank you. Thank you.

Katie Davis

When he was these kids' ages, Bobby ran wild at night, taking money, stealing bikes. Most kids were afraid of him. But he never messed with me and my brothers. I even remember Bobby and his sister eating with us a couple times because his mom never made dinner.

When Bobby was 13, his mother caught him stealing change out of her purse and kicked him out of the house. The only place Bobby knew to go was right here to this field, where he now coaches baseball. It used to be an abandoned lot, full of old cars and refrigerators. Here in the left outfield-- where Joey's pacing and muttering because Bobby told him to quit looking for a fight-- right here, there used to be a white '69 Ford Falcon. That's where Bobby went when his mother threw him out.

Bobby

I spray painted all the windows black so no one could see in. And I would shoplift food from the corner store, Matty's Delicatessen, neighborhood deli. Stuff like Vienna sausages and a bottle of wine to go to sleep with at night, and sardines. And that was dinner.

Katie Davis

Bobby says that alcohol helped him feel less afraid late at night in that old Ford. Soon, he found pot, then PCP. In his 20s, he started shooting heroin.

Boy

Sorry, that little big-headed little kid. Like a whole bunch of little leprechauns running around.

Katie Davis

Trash is talked at every practice. And Bobby is teased relentlessly for wearing Payless shoes, which the kids would never be caught dead in. Brandon, the eight-year-old, calls Bobby powdered doughnut because he's white. And he likes to lean into Bobby and whisper, "Punk." Mostly, Bobby laughs. Other times, though, especially when the kids start in on each other, it can get to him.

Bobby

Fellas, fellas, I can't talk if you're talking.

Boy

Coach, he needs some more gloves, man.

Bobby

I'm about ready to put the gloves in the bag and go home. Give me this stuff. Let me roll.

Boy

No, man. No, man.

Bobby

I'm serious. Well, shut up. Everybody, shut up, please.

Katie Davis

Bobby picks up the bat bag and slams it against a brick wall.

Bobby

Chill, OK? Chill. I can't talk if you're all talking. OK, look here.

What's up, fellas? What's happening?

Katie Davis

Somewhere around the third or fourth practice, without announcing it in any way, the boys start calling Bobby "Coach." "Coach, can you fix this glove?" "Coach, which bat should I use?"

Katie Davis

What's it like when the kids call you Coach?

Bobby

You know, it didn't really hit me at first, you know? I took them to a picnic a couple of weekends ago that some recovering alcoholic and addict friends of mine threw. And to hear people there, "Hey, Bobby. Hey, Bobby," and then to hear this group of kids that I came with, "Hey, Coach. Hey, Coach," that's when it sort of hit me. Hey, man, That's who you are. And these people now see me as Coach, not just Bobby the recovering dope fiend, you know? He's Coach. So that makes me feel good to have these kids call me Coach. So now, I have this little small part in shaping what their day's gonna be like, you know?

Boy

When he told me that he came from prison and got shot in his neck, I thought he was just another one of them people who like to talk about their life and then get over it. But I learned to understand him.

Katie Davis

How do you understand him?

Boy

He don't want no trouble. He just wants us to listen to him. But I guess as you grow into people, you start to have more patience.

Katie Davis

As you roll into people?

Boy

Grow. You start to have more patience. And I think that's what's happening.

Katie Davis

The Department of Recreation gives Bobby an ID badge, which he wears around his neck when he comes down to the neighborhood, like a sign. "I am no longer a dope fiend. I'm doing something good." Most people might keep it in their pocket. Bobby wears it right on his chest.

Bobby

I just walk around with my head high and feeling proud, for the most part, very proud of what I'm doing.

Katie Davis

The skeptics are everywhere, though. Neighbors who gave him advances for paint jobs he never did, people he stole bank cards from, people he actually spit on.

Katie Davis

What is that like for you to walk around in the neighborhood? And you might even walk by somebody that you owe money to or conned money out of.

Bobby

It's hard to explain, really. It's a roller coaster of emotions. There's times-- and right when I'm feeling like the world is wonderful, when everything is going my way, I'll see someone that I had conned out of a few hundred bucks. And the voice in my head will immediately say, "See there? You're still a scumbag. Remember when-- look, that's who you really are."

Katie Davis

So what do you do when you see that person?

Bobby

It depends. It depends on how I feel. And there's times when I might be feeling real insecure and I'll put that macho thing up. And I'll put the cocky thing up and hope they say something wrong to me so that I can go south with--

Katie Davis

Do you do that?

Bobby

No, but I want to. I want to. There's a part of me that still wants to be a thug. There's a part of me still very capable of being a thug. I just wouldn't be able to be a real good thug with my hands because I'm older. I'd have to get a weapon now.

Boy

I ain't wearing no girly thing.

Katie Davis

It's early May. And after 10 practices, the kids are finally stepping into their uniforms at the local recreation center. This is the first new thing they've seen all season. Their bats and gloves are splintered and old. But the uniforms are bright blue and gray, Texas Ranger uniforms with red caps.

Bobby is tanned and relaxed, dancing around, faking jabs, counting the kids to see if he can field the team-- never a sure thing. Today, there are exactly nine boys, the day of their first game against another team.

The recreation bus is an hour late to take the team to their game, so some of us go in a taxi, six kids and I all squished together. Bobby and the others are hailing a cab when the bus finally shows up. We all pile out at what is supposedly the best Little League field in the city. The grass is shin-high, there's a pile of dirt in the outfield. No fans, no parents, just Bobby and the team.

Boy

That means I have a feel, I can slap him.

Hey what time is it?

Katie Davis

About 5:06.

Boy

Dang, man.

Oh, the other team forfeited.

Katie Davis

The other team never shows, so Bobby's team wins by default. Some other kids are in the same boat, so there's an impromptu scrimmage. And official or not, this is the first baseball game that most of these kids have ever played.

Boy

This one is small, man. We would tear them up.

Uh huh, OK. What's up. Shut up. Uh huh. OK.

Katie Davis

The other team is small, but very fast. And they have three coaches who tell them when to steal bases. So a line drive becomes a run, then another run, and another run. And it's 5-0.

Bobby

He stole home on y'all.

Coach

Good play, good play, Carlos.

Bobby

So we'll see what we need to work on today instead of looking good in our uniforms. Come on, let's get out. We've got to force to second. Get the force to second.

Katie Davis

The season lurches forward with D.C. Recreation canceling games for no reason, never rescheduling rain-outs. The uniforms are not washed for three weeks. And one day, no one shows up to let the boys in to suit up for a game, so they have to forfeit. By June, Bobby's team has only played one real game, one game in four months.

In this inconsistent world, Bobby is someone the kids can count on. He never misses practice, coming in his painter's pants most days to hit the ball to them. And while it might seem like Bobby's keeping the kids in line, he'll tell you that's what they're doing for him.

Bobby

I don't want to have to avoid my neighborhood. I don't want to have to avoid my community playground because I let these kids down because I'm a drunken dope fiend [BLEEP] bum, which is what I'd become if I go have a beer right now or some dope right now. Tomorrow I'm a bum because all the good feelings are gone.

I don't want to feel the shame which I felt from relapses. And it's big time shame. It's shame. I won't be able to look these kids in their eyes, in their faces. I'll duck them. God, I'm 42 years old, and I would have to come in my own neighborhood and duck children because I'm ashamed. I don't want that.

Throw that smoke. Throw that smoke. Throw that smoke. You the man out there. You the man. By June, Bobby's team gets its first win with some great pitching from Donald and a catch by Ricardo in the third inning that looks more like a football interception.

[TEAM CHEERING]

Yeah! Oh, man. Boy, that was a Major League catch, man. I don't make catches like that. Whoo!

Katie Davis

And while they wait for their bus to take them back home, the boys start tussling with each other, rolling around on a grassy hill.

Bobby

They're enjoying-- they're celebrating their win.

Boy

They are celebrating their win by wrestling. I'm about to myself.

Katie Davis

This is easily the sweetest moment of the season, not only because of the win, but because it's amazing to see the boys so happy. And this is what Bobby will remember when Justin and Ricardo get in a real fight an hour later, when he has to suspend Benjamin not once, but twice, and when Joey threatens to beat up a kid from another team. Always that delicate balance. Fragile, like sobriety.

Boy

Time out, time out. I gotta tie my shoe.

Bobby

I always thought I was going to be a loser forever. First of all, being clean makes me feel like, OK, I've got a chance to be a winner. But the kids especially. And something about kids, you know? This is something I never thought, man, that I'd be able to do.

I was walking after a practice like a week or two ago. I swear to god, I walked across Duke Ellington bridge to the subway, and I started crying. I start crying because I was so [BLEEP] happy. So happy that, damn, this is probably going to work out. I'm probably going to be able to pull this off.

Katie Davis

By the end of the season, the kids have a record of two wins and no losses. Playoffs never get scheduled, so there's no reason to practice anymore. No one knows where Benjamin is these days. And just this week, I saw Joey stealing a soda from the corner store. And I made him take it back.

Bobby still comes around, though, and hangs out in the park, talks with the boys. And he sometimes shoots one-on-one with them. And he says, "Stick with me. I'm going to have tryouts for a 12 and under basketball team. I'm going to still be coming around here."

Boy

Oh, you're gonna get it now.

Ira Glass

Katie Davis throws that smoke in the neighborhood she grew up in, in Washington, D.C.

[MUSIC - "GET ON THE RIGHT TRACK" BY RAY CHARLES]

Act Four. What Police Cannot Do.

Ira Glass

Act Four, What Police Cannot Do. The clues at a crime scene are not always conclusive, of course. Lots of crimes are forever unsolved. People die and it's never explained why. Stuff disappears and is never found again, though we want it to be. We end our program today with this crime scene story from writer Aimee Bender, read for us by Matt Malloy.

Matt Malloy

Once there was an orphan who had a knack for finding lost things. Both his parents had been killed when he was eight years old. They were swimming in the ocean when it turned wild with waves, and each had tried to save the other from drowning. The boy woke up from a nap on the sand, alone.

After the tragedy, the community adopted and raised him, and a few years after the death of his parents, he began to have a sense of objects even when they weren't visible. This ability continued growing in power through these teens. And by his 20s, he was able to actually sniff out lost sunglasses, keys, contact lenses, and sweaters. The neighbors discovered his talent accidentally.

He was over at Jenny Sugar's house one evening, picking her up for a date, when Jenny's mother misplaced her hairbrush and was walking around complaining about this. The young man's nose twitched. And he turned slightly towards the kitchen and pointed to the drawer where the spoons and knives were kept. His date burst into laughter. "Now, that would be quite a silly place to put the brush," she said, "among all that silverware." And she opened the drawer to make her point, to wave with a knife or brush her hair with a spoon. But when she did-- boom-- there was the hairbrush, matted with gray curls, sitting on top of the fork pile.

Jenny's mother kissed the young man on the cheek, but Jenny herself looked at him suspiciously all night long. "You planned all that, didn't you?" she said over dinner. "You were trying to impress my mother. Well, you didn't impress me," she said. He tried to explain himself, but she would hear none of it. And when he drove his car up to her house, she fled before he could even finish saying he'd had a nice time, which was a lie, anyway. He went home to his tiny room and thought about the word lonely, and how it sounded and looked so lonely, with those two L's in it, each standing tall by itself.

As news spread around the neighborhood about the young man's skills, people reacted in two ways. There were the deeply appreciative and the skeptics. The appreciative ones called up the young man regularly. He'd stop by on his way to school, find their keys, and they'd give him a homemade muffin. The skeptics called him over, too, and watched him like a hawk. He'd still find their lost items, but they'd insist it was an elaborate scam and he was doing it all to get attention.

"Maybe," declared one woman, waving her index finger in the air, "maybe," she said, "he steals the thing so we think it's lost, moves the item, and then, comes over to save it. How do we know it was really lost in the first place? What is going on?"

The young man didn't know, himself. All he knew was the feeling of a tug, light but insistent, like a child at his sleeve. And that tug would turn him in the right direction and show him where to look. Each object had its own way of inhabiting space, and therefore, messaging its location. The young man could sense, could smell an object's presence. He did not need to see it to feel where it put its gravity down. As would be expected, items that turned out to be miles away took much harder concentration that the ones that were two feet to the left.

When Mrs. Allen's little boy didn't come home one afternoon, that was the most difficult of all. Leonard Allen was eight years old and usually arrived home from school at 3:05. He had allergies and needed a pill before he went back out to play. That day by 3:45, alone, Mrs. Allen was a wreck. Her boy rarely got lost. Only once had that happened in the supermarket. But he'd been found quite easily under the produce tables, crying. The walk home from school was a straight line. And Leonard was not the wandering kind.

Mrs. Allen was just a regular neighbor, except for one extraordinary fact. Through an inheritance, she was the owner of a gargantuan emerald she called the Green Star. It sat, glass-cased in her kitchen where everyone could see it because she insisted that it be seen. Sometimes, as a party trick, she'd even cut steak with its beveled edge.

On this day, she took the Green Star out of its case and stuck her palms on it. "Where is my boy?" she cried. The Green Star was cold and flat. She ran, weeping, to her neighbor, who calmly walked her back home. Together they gave the house a thorough search. And then, the neighbor, a believer, recommended calling the young man.

Although Mrs. Allen was a skeptic, she thought anything was a worthwhile idea. And when the phone answered, she said in a trembling voice, "You must find my boy." The young man had been just about to go play basketball with his friends. He'd located the basketball in the bathtub. "You lost him?" said the young man. Mrs. Allen began to explain, and then her phone clicked. "One moment, please," she said. And the young man held on.

When her voice returned, it was shaking with rage. "He's been kidnapped," she said. "They want the Green Star." The young man realized, then, that it was Mrs. Allen he was talking to, and nodded. "Oh," he said, "I see." Everyone in town was familiar with Mrs. Allen's Green Star. "I'll be right over," he said. The woman's voice was too run with tears to respond.

In his basketball shorts and shirt, the young man jogged over to Mrs. Allen's house. He was amazed at how the Green Star was all exactly the same shade of green. He had a desire to lick it. By then, Mrs. Allen was in hysterics. "They didn't tell me what to do," she sobbed. "Where do I bring my emerald? How do I get my boy back?"

The young man tried to feel the scent of the boy. He asked for a photograph and stared at it. A brown haired kid at his kindergarten graduation. But the young man had only found objects before, and lost objects at that. He'd never found anything or anybody stolen. He wasn't a policeman.

Mrs. Allen called the police, and one officer showed up at the door. "Oh, it's the finding guy," the officer said. The young man dipped his head modestly. He turned to his right, to his left, north, south. He got a glimmer of a feeling towards the north and walked out the back door, through the backyard. Night approached, and the sky seemed to grow and deepen in the darkness.

"What's his name again?" he called back to Mrs. Allen. "Leonard," she said. He heard the policeman pull out a pad and begin to ask basic questions. He couldn't quite feel him. He felt the air, and he felt the tug inside the Green Star, an object displaced from its original home in Asia. He felt the tug of a tree in the front yard, which had been uprooted from Virginia to be replanted here. And he felt the tug of his own watch, which was from his uncle. In an attempt to be fatherly, his uncle had insisted he take it. But they both knew the gesture was false. Maybe the boy was too far away by now.

He heard the policemen ask, "What is he wearing?" Mrs. Allen described a blue shirt, and the young man focused in on the blue shirt. He turned off his distractions, and the blue shirt came calling from the northwest, like a distant radio station. The young man went walking, and walking. And about 14 houses down, he felt the blue shirt shrieking at him.

And he walked right into the backyard, right through the back door. And sure enough, there were four people watching TV, including the tear-stained boy with a runny nose, eating a candy bar. The young man scooped up the boy while the others watched, so surprised, they did nothing. And one even muttered, "Sorry, man."

For 14 houses back, the young men held Leonard in his arms like a bride. Leonard stopped sneezing and looked up the stars. And the young man smelled Leonard's hair, rich with the memory of peanut butter. He hoped Leonard would ask him a question, any question. But Leonard was quiet. The young man answered in his head. "Son," he said to himself. And the word rolled around, a marble on a marble floor. "Son," he wanted to say.

When he reached Mrs. Allen's door, which was wide open, he walked in with quiet Leonard, and Mrs. Allen promptly burst into tears. And the policeman slunked out the door. She thanked the young man a thousand times, even offered him the Green Star, but he refused it.

Leonard turned on the TV and curled up on the sofa. The young man walked over and asked him about the program he was watching, but Leonard stuck his thumb in his mouth and didn't respond. "Feel better," he said softly.

Tucking the basketball beneath his arm, the young man walked home, shoulders low. In his tiny room, he undressed and lay in bed. Had it been a naked child with nothing on-- no shoes, no necklace, no hair bow, no watch-- he could not have found it.

He lay in bed that night with the trees from other places rustling, and he could feel their confusion. No snow here. Not a lot of rain. Where am I? What is wrong with this dirt? Crossing his hands in front of him, he held onto his shoulders. Concentrate hard, he thought. Where are you? Everything felt blank and quiet. He couldn't feel a tug.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let the question bubble up. Where did you go? Come find me. I'm over here. Come find me. If he listened hard enough, he thought he could hear the waves hitting.

Ira Glass

Aimee Bender's short story is called "Loser." It's from her collection of short fiction called The Girl in the Flammable Skirt. It was read for us by Matt Malloy.

Credits.

Ira Glass

Well, our program was produced today by Alex Blumberg and myself, with Susan Burton, Blue Chevigny, and Julie Snyder. Contributing editors, Paul Tough, Jack Hitt, Margy Rochlin, Alix Spiegel, Nancy Updike, and consigliere Sarah Vowell. Production help from Todd Bachmann and Mary Wiltenburg. Marketing help from Marijus Drousceau and the folks at PRI.

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[FUNDING CREDITS]

WBEZ management oversight by Torey Malatia. And who is Torey supporting in the upcoming presidential election?

Neal Smither

About a 10-by-5-foot square pool of just gore.

Ira Glass

I'm Ira Glass, back next week with more stories of This American Life.

Announcer

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