Friday, I had to give my final investigative report on a double murder case.  The report almost guarantees the man accused will get the death penalty.  In my line of work, this is not uncommon.  However, when the accused is a best friend from childhood, the emotional hangover is terrible.  

   Charlie and I met in 1st grade.  We rode the same bus.  We grew up on the poor, industrial side of the railroad tracks.  We learned quickly to stick together or get bullied by the older kids.  Charlie's parents were very seldom at home.  When they were at home, they made his life a nightmare.  His mom slung dope and had boyfriends on the side.  His old man was a drunk and was usually passed out when he was home; usually waking up just long enough to beat up his wife and any kids that were crazy enough to stick around.  Usually Charlie was smart enough to get out of dodge.  I can remember a few times he came to school with a black eye, after sticking around too long.    

   My parents, on the other hand, were decent people.  They never showed me or my siblings much emotional love, but they gave us what we needed and gave us a safe place to grow up.  My parents didn't really like me having friends over to our house.  They were private people, but they made exceptions for Charlie.  They felt sorry for him I suppose.    

    Charlie and I remained friends all through school.  We always squeaked by with passing grades, but were never scholars by any stretch.  One time, on the bus ride home, we were looking at a library book I had checked out.  It was a book about the military.  We were in the 5th grade I think.  Charlie and I started talking about that being our future.  Charlie grabbed the book from me and accidentally ripped the binding.  I said, "You fag!  You are gonna have to pay for that...they won't let me return it that way."  Charlie's face turned ashen and pained. He grimaced, "I don't have any money and my old man will kill me."  I felt sorry for him and I knew my folks wouldn't make a big stink about it.  So I told him I would take care of and not to worry.  I told Charlie that a lot because he got worked up easy.    

   As graduation loomed closer, our dreams of the military became more real.  The day after we got our diplomas, we headed to the recruiting office.  I made it through all the tests and was off to the Army.  Charlie had problems and didn't make it through the first phase.  He was devastated.  I tried to console him, but he was lost.  I went on to the Army, came out after 8 years, and became a police officer.  Charlie got into construction.  He did well for awhile, but ended up going to jail for stealing some tools.  I lost touch with him, until a couple of years ago.  By then I was a lead investigator for the department.  I heard he got out of jail and was living with his parents again.  I went by his old house and picked him up.  We had a beer, talked about old times, and he drank way more than he should have.  He was really depressed and didn't know where to turn.  I gave him my number and told him to call me and I would try and help him get on his feet.  I took him back home and told him to take care.  When he shut the car door, I realized how different the world had really treated us.    

   Three days later I was called back to the same house to investigate a murder scene.  Charlie's parents had been murdered in a very macabre fashion.  The scene pointed to a kid who had enough of being treated like shit and was looking for revenge from a bad childhood.  I searched for months for any clue that would point to someone else.  I never found anything.  When I went to question him soon after his arrest, he pleaded with me to believe him; that he had nothing to do with it.  I wanted to believe him.  I wanted to say, "I'll take care of it Charlie...don't worry about it."  I couldn't say it this time.  

   Friday, I gave the final report to the prosecutor and the defense attorney.  The defense attorney said, "They won't take a plea with this evidence."  I just nodded and walked out.  I stopped by the jail and asked to see Charlie.  He came into the questioning room and I told him about the report.  I told him I had done everything I could.  He asked, "How can there be so much evidence against me when I didn't do it?"  I said, "Oh because I planted all of the evidence you son of a bitch.  Think about that the next time you rip somebody's library book, ASSHOLE!"  I walked out of the room and whistled the tune from the old Andy Griffith Show.