Blake Freeman

English 1100
Jamie McBeth-Smith
December 1, 2014
E-Portfolio Reflection Essay
This course has been a nice surprise for me. I have been dreading taking a
diversity/humanities course for couple of years now. I came into the class with some skepticism,
but I have been pleasantly surprised by how much I have learned, and even enjoyed the class.
The course revolves around exploring social, racial, economic, and cultural difficulties and
differences through the popular detective fiction genre.
Through reading several short stories written by popular, award-winning authors of the
genre, we have studied the different aspects of the genre whether it be the amateur detective who
is unwillingly thrown into the role of crime solver, to the professional teamwork of the police
procedural, all of them have in common the authors views and opinions on diverse topics from
homosexuality, racism, sexism, abortion, drug abuse, and just about any other topic the author
has an opinion on. The class gave us the opportunity to explore issues in our own lives by
providing the framework to write our own detective fiction short story.
Writing the short story proved to be a lot harder to do than I thought it would be. I found
it difficult to put into the story all the elements I had in mind in the confines of a short story.
Time was the biggest issue in writing the story, but it was not the only one. After critiquing

other stories written by professional, award-winning authors, I found it was more difficult than I
thought it would be and gained a new appreciation for the work these authors have done.
My story took place in Chicago during the mid- nineties. I chose to implement a kind of
combination of the police detective, amateur detective and police procedural all in one. This
proved to be quite challenging and I chose to limit the police procedural part of it because it is
the most difficult genre to write because of the intimate knowledge of actual police procedures
needed to make the story credible. My story uses an ex-police detective who is confronted with
solving the unsolved murder of his wife. The game of cat and mouse between the detective and
the murder implements the characteristics of the classic amateur detective similar to Sherlock
Holmes. The story is written through the perspective of the sidekick murder profiler which is
common in the amateur detective genre. The elements of the police detective uses team work to
help solve the crime. I used this element in the end to catch the murderer and solve the case.
The social issues were not real evident, but the issues were still there. The murderer and
the detective were to be mirror images of each other. Both were confronted with the reality of
our justice system where the bad guys commonly get off on the technicalities of the justice
system. Each chose different ways to deal with it, the murderer taking justice into his own hands
and the ex-detective choosing to work outside the system. Each had his own way of coping with
a system where the good guys often lose and the system is sometimes fails. There are allusions
of the common problem of gangs in the poor neighborhoods. It touches on the overwhelming
job that inner-city police departments have and the struggle of those involved to work in a
system that often fails the innocent and rewards the criminal.

Blake Freeman
English 1100
Jamie McBeth-Smith
October 15, 20141
Mirrors
The game begins Jacob thought to himself as he walked up the steps to the dingy rundown building that currently houses the city police department. He had walked these steps quite
a number of times in the last couple of weeks since he had asked to be transferred back from
Atlanta. It had been what, almost ten years since he left this forsaken hole called Chicago. The
police department was always a busy place, people bouncing around in a hurry to and fro made
the place look like a stirred up anthill. He walked down a thirty foot hallway lined with offices
of various detectives, police officers, and people in general who were looking for help with this
or that. That is one thing you could always count on in Chicago, there was never an end to the
crime and filth of people filling the gutters of society. It often became intolerable to see the filth
day after day.
At the end of the corridor the hallway took a right for another twenty feet which ended at
an office door with a name tag hanging askew which read Sergeant David Thomas. As Jacob
approached, the sounds of shouting could be heard from inside. It seemed the Sergeant was in a
foul mood. After hearing a few less- than- flattering remarks of what the person on the other end
of the phone could do with their head, the sound of the phone slamming down on the receiver
provided the opportunity to knock on the office door.

Come in.
The office was not remarkable in the least. There was an old metal desk that seemed oversized
for the small office. Stacks of police reports and file folders were strewn across the desk. The
walls were lined with cork boards with various notes pinned to and fro. The Sergeant was a
black man in his early forties with very short hair and receding hairline. Without looking up from
the desk What do you want?
I am Dr. Jacob Rollins. I was supposed to meet you this morning for a 10 am
appointment.
Oh right, the shrink Thomas looked up from his work and motioned for Jacob to have a
seat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk.
I prefer profiler Jacob replied as he took his seat.
I dont give a damn what you prefer. I have little patience for pretty boys like you but
the lieutenant is making me involve you in this investigation against my better judgment, but
orders are orders. Last night there was a homicide of a twenty year old man named, lets see oh
here it is Tayvone Willis. I am going to pair you up with a good friend of mine and a damn
good ex-detective John Ambrose
Wait a minute Sergeant. What do you mean ex-detective? I remember Ambrose from when I
was stationed here before. He was a regular Sherlock Holmes if I remember correctly. Are you
telling me he no longer works for the department?
Ten years ago his wife was murdered. He took it pretty hard. The son of a bitch who did it was
never caught. It was the only case Ambrose was never able to break. Whoever it was, he was

smart, very smart. He left clues which were all aimed to convince everyone Ambrose did it,
almost worked too. After that, Ambrose quit the force and shut himself up in his apartment. He
helps with cases now and then when we need help or the case interests him.
So what does this have to do with the current homicide with this man Willis?
We believe it is the same person that murdered Mrs. Ambrose. There was a note left behind at
the murder scene. Handwriting matches the note left at the murder scene of his wife ten years
ago. I dont believe we could possibly keep Ambrose off this case even if we wanted to, so
instead we have decided to let him have a crack at it; on condition that we send someone along to
keep an eye on him as well as possibly give him some help. Thomas threw his pen down on the
desk and walked over to the old grey metal filing cabinet in the corner of the office, opened the
second drawer down and pulled out a file and threw it on the desk.
Everything we have on Mrs. Ambroses case is in that file.
Jacob picked up the file, stood and headed towards the door. Hey shrink, dont take too long,
the murderer did not stop at just Mrs. Ambrose last time.
The drive to detective Ambroses home was not eventful. He lived on what the locals
called the West Side, which consisted of run-down dirty shops that lined the street. Housing
projects sprawled over several blocks of the West Side. There was no such thing as grass in the
poor neighborhood, just flat dirt so heavily trampled on; weeds had a hard time growing.
Occasionally a pair of tennis shoes hung on the phone and power lines above the street. These
make-shift memorials were markers where gang members had shot someone from a rival gang.
He turned off the main road to the alley behind the store fronts where the living areas above the

storefront shops usually had parking. The apartment was located above a filthy shop selling
knockoff designer clothing that gang bangers loved to wear.
There was a rickety wooden staircase that had seen better days. The stairway sagged to
the left where the support beam had broken from years of neglect. On the second floor above the
clothing shop the stairs led to a wooden, splintering screen door. The metal screen over the dirty
window was tattered and shredded with gaping holes exposing the dirty window beneath. After
knocking for several moments with no response Jacob decided to go in.
Detective Ambrose? Hello?
There was no response so he walked into what appeared to be a kitchen. To say the room was in
disarray was an understatement. Papers and books were scattered across every table, counter and
even the stove. To the left there was a doorway that led to the living room. The untidy condition
of the kitchen continued into the living room. There was a large white board on wheels pushed
into one corner with what appeared to be mathematical computations written on it. The disarray
did not surprise Jacob. A common flaw among brilliant men was the constant need to keep the
mind occupied. To the left of the board on an end table was a book on psychology. Jacob
walked over and thumbed through the book and stopped at a chapter titled Dissociative Identity
Disorder. Quite an interesting subject Jacob thought to himself. How a person could possibly be
essentially two people at the same time was fascinating. A disorder thought to be brought on by
some traumatic event. The dissociation is a coping mechanism for something too painful of
traumatic for the victim to come to terms with. He read from the opening paragraph on the
subject. He closed the book and placed it back on the table. There was a bedroom visible from
the living room down the hall about four feet and to the left. The room was quite a contrast to the

rest of the apartment. Instead of the unorganized chaos this room looked completely tidy and
organized in every detail even to the pen placed just so on the desk.
So youre my new baby sitter
Ambrose stood in the door way leading what appeared to be the bedroom directly across from
the tidy room. He was a tall man six feet four inches tall. He had ice blue eyes with a five
oclock shadow that was a couple of days old. By the looks of him, he had not bathed in twice
that. His black hair was curly and unkempt, he had dark circles under his eyes which gave him
the look of exhaustion, and he smelled of stale whiskey.
Forgive me, my name is Jacob Rollins and you must be detective Ambrose
I know who you are and why you are here Ambrose interrupted. You keep quiet and stay out
of the way and I might decide not to shoot you here and now
Ambrose pushed past Jacob and plopped down into a tattered old sofa on the left side of the
room.
The murderer was left handed Ambrose mumbled.
Yes from the cut across the neck it looks like the murderer was left handed Jacob replied.
What did the note say?
I believe the note said THE GAME BEGINS.
We dont have much time before he strikes again. Our murder wants me to play this twisted
game with him. There will be another victim soon.

The murder scene was not unlike many Jacob had seen before. Yellow caution tape was
placed around the scene in an attempt to preserve whatever clues might have been left behind.
The chalk outline of the body lay between a late model BMW sedan and a black Lexus SUV.
The driver window of the BMW had been smashed. The only thing out of place about the scene
was that it was located in the downtown area of Chicago, locals called it the loop. No housing
projects here. The loop was upscale, only the very wealthy parked cars here. Not that it was
unusual to have smash and grab thefts, but certainly murder in upscale places like this was
unusual.
It appears our victim Willis was a thief Jacobs said, though Ambrose appeared to completely
ignore the statement. Ambrose did a quick walk around the scene pausing only a second to look
at the chalk outline. He then headed towards Jacobs car and got into the passenger side.
We are not going to leave already are we? Are you sure you dont want to see if the police
missed anything?
There is nothing else here to find. There are no clues here because he did not intend to leave
any. Unfortunately the clues will begin with the next one.
After spending the rest of the day checking security cameras and interviewing people who might
have seen anything without turning up a single lead, Ambrose insisted to be taken home.
Something is not adding up here, Jacob thought to himself as he sat in his car outside Ambroses
apartment. For a man who is trying to catch his own wifes murderer Ambrose sure seemed
indifferent. He had been sitting here for over two hours which seemed like twelve. He hated
stakeouts but Jacob had a feeling that Ambrose was either trying to ditch him, or was hiding
something. Either way there was something not adding up. Ambrose was certainly not the

formidable genius he had been before. At about midnight Ambrose emerged from his apartment
building. He looked completely different than the shell of a man he had been with most of the
day. He was dressed in a white shirt and a nice tie. He had even shaved and combed his hair.
After navigating the rickety staircase, Ambrose got into his beat up white early ninetys Chevy
cavalier and sped off.
Finally, Jacob thought as he got out of his car and walked up the stairs to the door. The fool did
not even bother to lock his door Jacob thought to himself as he walked into the cluttered
apartment. He could not get the image of the tidy room which was such a contrast to the rest of
the apartment out of his thoughts. As before the room was tidy, everything in its proper place.
Jacob almost felt at home, he preferred order, everything according to plan. But one could not
control everything so occasionally one had to adapt. Everything in nature had to adapt, and so,
sometimes one had to be flexible.
He opened the top desk drawer and finding nothing of interest there, opened the next one down.
Inside he found an old photo album with pictures of Ambrose and his wife inside. Beneath the
album was a black leather-bound journal. Inside there were various entries dating back to the
time of his wifes death. All of it was pretty mundane and pathetic, but as the entries progressed
forward in time the handwriting seemed different, less erratic and more precise. One of the more
recent passages read:
September 24
The guy that we caught last month, the one who shot those two teenaged boys, he was let out
today. Despite all the evidence I gathered, the DA decided that a slap on the wrist and some
counseling would be sufficient. Now the scum is back on the streets. I can hardly stand this job.

The next entry was back to the precise, slightly slanted writing common of a left-handed person
read:
September 25, 1997
Felix Jones, the one who shot Sam Jones age 14, and Stephen Dabney age 15 while in a drunken
stupor and was released on a technicality, paid for his crimes today. Justice served.
After placing everything back in its proper place, Jacob quietly exited the apartment and
carefully shut the door. Yes, one had to adapt and he needed time to process this new
information. Sergeant Thomas would want an update on the case in the morning.
Shouting could be heard outside the office door again.
Damn it you have to give me more than that to go on than that John. I know you know more
than you are telling me!
It seemed the Sergeant was still in a foul mood. Did the man ever have a good day? Jacob
thought to himself. After knocking briskly on the door Jacob entered the office.
Well good morning sunshine, nice of you to drag your sorry ass out of bed to meet with us
pretty-boy!
The office had not changed since he was here yesterday morning. Ambrose sat in the chair to his
right. Gone was the man he had seen last night. It seemed Ambrose had found his dirty clothes
he was dressed in yesterday.
Please tell me you have more to add than Ambrose here has.

Well actually I have a good idea some of the traits of this mans personality. He obviously is
intelligent, and like some genius level people, has an uncontrollable need to occupy his mind. In
this case, to match wits with someone he considers a challenge. He has a disdain for the filth of
society, and he is left handed.
Yeah were all real impressed. Please tell me this is leading to something productive. What the
hell am I supposed to tell the lieutenant? I put my ass on the line for you on this Ambrose I had
better not regret it. With that Thomas went back to his paper work, stopped, glanced up over
his half- moon reading glasses, and said What the hell you still here for? You think this guy is
going to turn himself in on his own?
One could always find the filth of society at night in Chicago. You did not have to look long to
find some injustice going on, Jacob thought to himself. Ambrose had been tailing him for the
last ten minutes. The note he had left to bait Ambrose had worked. He did have to hand it to
Ambrose he was good at his job, always staying a discrete distance, turning now and then down
a different street then seemingly back on his tail a couple minutes later. Ambrose did not like
him, that was clear, but it looked like Ambrose suspected him. No matter, this game was going
to end soon.
Jacobs destination was little street on Chicagos North side. The neighborhood was like any of
hundreds of residential streets in North Chicago. The narrow street was lined with cars and
trucks on both sides of the road. This made very little room for an automobile to squeeze through
on the center of the street. The residences were all the same, like they were cut out with a cookie
cutter, red brick bungalows that were shaped like a rectangular cube, narrow and deep. There
was very little room between the homes usually wide enough for a walkway between them. He

had to hurry, for his plan to work he had to time this perfectly, Jacob thought to himself. He
turned off his headlights and turned down the narrow road that lead to the small ally between the
rear of the homes, he quickly found the house he was looking for and pulled past it about 3
houses down. Jacob opened the car door and made his way to the correct house and hid so
Ambrose would walk past him. The man he had killed a half hour ago still lay in the ally. Soon
Ambrose came just like he had intended, running down the alley.
Damn it Ambrose swore under his breath. He was too late. He quickly bent down and
checked the pulse of the victim.
Jacob stepped out of his hiding place and shouted Freeze, ordered Ambrose to stand and turn
around, then shot him, careful not to kill him. He had to make sure Ambrose knew who it was
that had beaten him. Carefully Jacob inched towards the still breathing Ambrose and planted the
evidence. He pulled out the knife he had used to kill his last two victims and placed it near
Ambroses hand and placed a small note written in Ambroses jacket pocket. Jacob then tugged
out a small clump of hair off of Ambroses head and planted the hair in the victims hand. Jacob
knew that there would be a search of Ambroses apartment. He knew they would find the
journal which was clear evidence of his diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder. He would
eventually be tied to the murder of his wife and the others. It was pure luck that Ambrose was
dressed in a nice suit coat, shirt and tie. That would help prove to the police that his diagnosis
was correct. What a glorious game. There was only one thing left to do.
I have always hated the smell of hospitals Jacob said out loud to himself as he walked down
the hallway. He needed to see his friend one more time. There was a nurse station at the end of
the hall which ended in a locked door. I am Dr. Jacob Rollins here to see John Ambrose.

Good morning doctor answered the young nurse sitting on the other side of the counter.
There was a buzz sound and a distinct click as the door was unlocked. Beyond the door was
another hallway, different from the last because it was carpeted with a dark blue carpet. There
were two uniformed police officers standing vigil outside another door. After showing him his
identification, the officers let him in. Inside Ambrose lay in a hospital bed, his face pale and his
torso wrapped in bandages. The bullet had missed all the major organs so Ambrose would live a
long life knowing who had beaten him.
Ambroses eyes fluttered open and he looked at Jacob.
You killed that man just to get to me?
Of course not, he was a sex offender who liked little kids. He was released a couple of days ago
on some technicality. The walking filth and deserved it
Ambrose nodded as if he had suspected something like that.
Why then did you kill my wife if all the people you hunt are scum?
Jacobs lips twitched upward into a condescending smile and said My dear man, your wife died
because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You see, she saw my face at a crime
scene. That was quite regrettable. However it did ultimately start our little game of wits.
The police found your journal and they also found the note I planted in your jacket pocket and
they found you with the knife in your hand as well. I told them that I suspected you so I
followed you to the murder scene. Of course I was too late to stop you from murdering that man.
I had to shoot you in self- defense. Unfortunately for you Ambrose, no one will ever believe you
because of the unfortunate condition you are currently suffering from.

Ambrose looked up at Jacob with total hate smoldering in those ice blue eyes. He then slowly
reached up and pulled down the covers revealing the small microphone underneath.
They may not believe me, but they will believe you. Checkmate you son of a bitch!
Jacobs face turned ashen as it dawned on him what had just happened. Ambrose continued,
I have been planning this all along Dr. Rollins. I knew eventually you would come back here. I
suspected it was you ten years ago but could not prove it. So I planned and waited. I knew that
if I could appear broken it would cause you to make mistakes. I knew you could not resist the
new twist in your game. I faked the entries of the journal, I saw you on your little stake-out. I
dressed the part and left the apartment so you could find the clues I had left. My only regret is
that I could not save that last victim. I knew it was a trap but I could not in good conscience let
another man die.
Just then the door burst open two officers with weapons drawn flooded into the hospital room.
Put your hands where I can see them the taller of the two officers said, while the other walked
forward and placed Jacobs hands in handcuffs. He then began to read him his rights as they led
him out of the room.
This is not over Ambrose. You hear me!
Just then Sergeant Thomas walked into the room. You are one crazy son of a bitch. Youre the
only one that would take a bullet to catch your man. I had my doubts about letting you crack this
one but you did not disappoint. Are you sure you wont come back to the force? We could use
you.

No my friend, I am more effective when I can bend a few rules here and there. There are too
many rules and regulations, too many bad guys that get off on technicalities. No, Rollins might
have been my mirror image, but if I had to work under those conditions, I am afraid I might
become the image.