The Crime
"A young black male was found dead in an abandoned house on the eastside of Detroit early this morning. It is believed that the man had been dead for at least three days. Found in an abandoned house on Omira Street, a street abandoned, forgotten, riddled with drugs. The majority of people in this area are either using crack or selling crack. It wasn't like this all the time; over the past few years it has gotten worse. Tyrone Diles was twenty-three years old. Thriving at Wayne State University studying to become a defense attorney. Tyrone had planned to marry his then pregnant girlfriend and work at Frank Murphy Hall of Justice, downtown Detroit, as a defense attorney, defending the people in his city of Detroit. Tyrone Diles was shot in the chest, A young life ended in an unnecessary tragedy".
Tyrone Diles born, raised and murdered in Detroit. Born an only child, his dad always taught him to get educated and leave Detroit, "There's a whole new world outside of Detroit," he would say. Tyrone wanted to do the right thing, he did not sell drugs or use drugs, didn't even drink. Though his father wanted him to leave Detroit, explore the world, Tyrone wanted to stay in Detroit and try and make a difference. Nadine, Tyrone's mother, a native Detroiter, a nurse at Detroit Receiving Hospital for the last twenty-five years is in a state of disbelief. The neighbors that are close to the family cannot understand why someone would want to hurt Tyrone. He was said to not have any enemies and did not cause trouble. While Nadine does the right thing and lets the Detectives and other officers do their job, Tyrone's father, David has other ideas. David wants to find out for himself who killed his son.
Tyrone's body was found by transients at around 2:30am. There were no witnesses, no one heard a gunshot, no one has anything to say to police. It is well known the Detroit police has no respect for its citizens, everyone in Detroit is a criminal as far as the police are concerned. The whole neighborhood was chit-chatting with each other, no one talked to police. Rika, Raymond and Tamika are sitting on front porch chatting when Joe walks by. "What up doh", Tamika says. "Hey y'all" says Joe, "y'all heard Ronna got took in for questioning about Tyrone." Tamika asks Joe, "Do you think she did it." Joe responds, "or either she know who did it," and continues to walk by.
I got the call at 2:45am during a ride through the neighborhood. I called my assistant and had them meet me at the scene. I reached the house in five minutes. Out of the one hundred houses on the three-block street more than half were abandoned. Used for a numerous variety of crime; prostitution, rape, smoking crack, shooting up, selling crack or heroin. It was a quiet night but you can feel the eyes on you, the illegal tech nine pointed at your head, but you keep walking because it's your job. All the street lights were busted leaving the whole area dark as death, feeling like death, my death. I have lived in Detroit all my life and I have to say that the city was a beautiful place to live and work about fifty years ago. Now it's like you slipped into the pits of hell. Uniforms are there already with police tape cordoned off around the house. I walk up to officer Peters, "whatcha got." Looking around at the peepers looking out widows or cracked doors. "Black male Sir, seems to have been shot in the chest, no one wants to talk. M.E. on the way." "Of course," I said. I see my assistant pulling up as I approach the house. I walk through the front door which is hanging from one hinge. My assistant, Fredricks following close behind. The smell of death hits your nose immediately. The smell of old mildew, old dirty clothes, or a wet dog, I couldn't tell. I look to my left in a room that would be the front room, a worn- out sofa with no cushions. Trash and what looks like human feces on floor. Widow frame that holds no glass, "FUCK THE POLICE" written on the wall, along with phone numbers, little drawings of crack pipes or people having sex. The drawings were actually very good just to be wasted on these nasty, dingy walls. To the right a small bedroom, a nasty looking bed with stains that could be blood, piss, vomit, sperm or any other number of things. I can almost see crackheads sitting there, sleeping there, turning tricks. "Start in here I'm going to the next bedroom." I walk down a short hall, a second bedroom on my left, empty other than trash everywhere, rats congregating, the ever-present smell of decay. Bathroom on my right, a hole where the toilet used to be, and smells as if it is still be used, god, the smell. The sink, amazingly still standing and the tub filled with clothes, old food and rats, vomit, and who knows what else.
