Is That Him? Essay

“Did you hear?” Detective Jake Blevins said to his partner, William Benton.

“Hear what?” Benton grumbled. It was too early in the morning and the triple homicide from the night before was equally disturbing. He felt Blevins’ joke can wait.

“I think we got ‘em.” Blevins answered.

Benton swung around. He considered clocking his long-time partner for starting a joke. As far as he was concerned, the South Bay Monster was out there — and possibly responsible for last night’s triple homicide he had spent much of the night investigating. He didn’t need another false lead, and not from a prankster like his partner.

But, Benton had to pull back hissneer. The expression etched into Blevins’ indicated that his partner had no jokes to tell.

“We got ‘em?” Benton said, allowing a sense of excitement to escape from his stoic facial features.

“Damn right we did: picked up on a parking violation this morning. And get this: he confessed.”

The two rushed down the hall to the interrogation room. They were not alone.

Dumb luck had reeled its wonderful head. He was off the street. Benton sighed in relief.

“Where is he?” Benton asked.

“He’s here. In fact, Bud and Taylor are finishing up with him in the interrogation room.”

Something stirred in Benton: “Let’s go. Let’s see this monster up, close, and personal.”

The two rushed down the hall to the interrogation room. They were not alone. Word got out and every uniformed officer in the premise was just as anxious as Benton and Blevins to see him. They crowded the lobby, forcing the two detectives to push through the crowd.

Bud and Taylor exited the room. They guided a short, bifocal-wearing, fat slob in handcuffs out of the room..

He’s harmless looking, Benton thought. No wonder why they had problems finding this “monster;” he didn’t fit the part.

“That’s him?” Benton said, astonished.

“He’s here. In fact, Bud and Taylor are finishing up with him in the interrogation room.”

Something stirred in Benton: “Let’s go. Let’s see this monster up, close, and personal.”

“That’s him,” Bud answered. ” Melvin Sloopin: The South Bay Monster.” And with that response, Bud, Taylor and Melvin stopped and stood before Benton, Blevins and the rest of the awestruck and dumbfounded law enforcement officials who came to see the man that had terrified their neighborhood.

First came the long, torturous moment of silence. Then, somebody said: “That’s him! Oh my God! He’s a loser!”

Somebody chuckled. Then another, and another. Soon, the place erupted in laughter.

As this happened, Melvin’s pathetic head dropped to his chest to hide his tears. Benton thought to himself: this man wanted a name for himself in all the wrong ways.

Watching him, Benton could only guess what was going through this killer’s head:he couldn’t escape the name-calling and ridicules that marked his life before his killing spree.

All laughed, but one person: Detective Benton. He looked at the pathetic creature before him. He was no different from you and me, he thought. He simply lashed out at a cruel society in the most heinous way possible.

The Monster could’ve been anyone, he thought. This notion sent shivers down his spine.