Spirit Of The Badge Read online

  The hallway was empty. It then occurred to me that whoever opened the door must be hiding in the storage room. Using the before-mentioned police maneuvers, I opened the storage room door. No one.

  I carefully looked around the assorted boxes and racks, satisfied that I was, in fact, alone. Somewhat relieved, I stepped back into the hallway and secured my weapon. I opened and closed the door several times, performing the “this can’t be happening” test. Each time the door securely latched and held.

  I even tried leaving the door shut and unlatched, and discovered that it would stay resting against the casing. Then, shutting the door with a forceful push, I pulled the knob as hard as I dared, making sure it was properly latched. I returned to my desk feeling confident all was in order. As I settled into my chair, the door screeched. This time, I was scared. My previous search had confirmed that no living being was stalking City Hall, which left only one possible explanation. Since the door could not have opened by itself, some thing had caused this to happen.

  Ever so slowly, I walked toward the hallway, with my gun secured. Whatever was opening the door would not be stopped by bullets. The door was, of course, closed and securely latched. I stood in the hallway for awhile, carefully listening and watching for signs of movement. Nothing happened.

  Completing the report was the last thing on my mind, but I decided to finish the task. All was quiet as I returned to my desk. I sat stiffly in the chair, determined not to be chased from the building. Minutes ticked by as I waited for the next occurrence. All right, I thought, if some sort of supernatural phenomenon is going on here, it will have to deal with me. I will not be run off by some annoying spirit held over from the Klondike era. Not Alan White, no sir!

  You might say my sitting and listening while encamped behind the desk was admirable; after awhile, though, it became boring. I was about to write the whole episode off to midnight shifts, when the door screeched shut. Once again, I got the familiar feeling of hair leaping to attention on my neck; however not as bad this time.

  Is that the best you can do? I smugly thought. What’s to closing a door? Any old spirit can handle that, you two-bit piece of suspended animation! As I considered additional insults, a two-bit something began to walk across the creaky wooden floor of the museum above me. I was familiar with the sound. I thought this new noise might be a result of my over-active imagination, but the footsteps were, well, hauntingly real.

  When my heartbeat slowed to a reasonable level, I studied the new sound. Definite footsteps could be heard crossing the floor from east to west. They would stop for a time, and then return to where they had begun. Having no intention of going up to the museum, I chose to remain at my desk, in a cold sweat.

  The door screeched again. I threw up my hands in disgust. Great, this is all I need! Everyone thought I was nuts for coming to Alaska in the first place, and now I find myself in a haunted department. I sat in my chair for another half hour, listening to the supernatural activities. Then anger set in. I didn’t need this. What had I done to deserve this phenomenon? I was now totally disgusted.

  The door shut again. I jumped from my chair, just as whatever was walking around upstairs bumped into something. I began my first attempt at ghost-busting. “Now, knock it off!” I yelled as loudly as I could. The sound of my voice startled me and, apparently, the spirits moving about. There was absolute silence. Ha! They’re intimidated by me! I thought.

  Then continuing my tirade, I strutted around the room. “I did not travel over three thousand miles to be haunted! Why don’t you guys, or girls, or whatever, find some other building to run amuck in? Hey you, upstairs! You bump into something? Good! I hope you stubbed your, ah … thing! Now, go back to wherever you go during the day and leave me alone! You’re really starting to tick me off!”

  Returning to my chair, I enjoyed the new peace and quiet. My fit seemed to have worked.

  Later in my shift, I went back out on patrol, feeling rather good about myself. Told them a thing or two, I smugly thought as I drove down Broadway and checked out a few buildings.

  Larry relieved me at the shift change, but I said nothing about ghostly wanderings. A bright sunny day had dawned and now it all seemed like a dream. Besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted to share an experience like this. I had no idea how common it was for someone who carried a weapon for a living to experience strange night moves.

  Luckily, the City Hall spirits left me alone—most of the time. Every few weeks though, the midnight shift would get weird. After listening for awhile, I would yell, “Knock it off!” and all would be quiet for the rest of the night. I became so used to this procedure that I started to be rather matter-of-fact about it.

  On one of the few days Larry and I had off together, we were sitting in his living room. “Hey Larry,” I asked, “you ever hear anything, you know, strange, working in the office late at night?”

  The look on his face was telling. “What do you mean when you say strange?” Larry asked, choosing his words carefully.

  “Ah, you know, doors closing, footsteps overhead in the museum, that sort of thing.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Larry sighed. “I thought I was going insane or something.”

  Larry and I discussed the situation for some time. “Just yell ‘Knock it off!’” I said, feeling like an old pro. “They hate that.”

  Excerpt from the book Alaska Behind Blue Eyes by Alan L. White. For more information, visit www.alanlwhite.com.

  Her Voice

  When I first heard the woman’s voice, I had been involved in the thirty-five-year-old investigation for eight years. This particular cold case involved the murder of a twenty-three-year-old college student in 1969. Like so many others, this one had been shelved time after time over the years due to a lack of investigative leads. It was the kind of case that every police department has—the one referred to as the case—and everyone knows which one you are talking about.

  Finally, after years of dead-ends, science might come to our rescue. Breakthrough DNA-extraction technology had just become available and evidence from the case had been delivered to the lab for analysis. There was nothing left for us to do at this point but to wait patiently for the results. We desperately hoped for a break in the case.

  During this time I traveled to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to attend an FBI-sponsored violent crimes seminar. While there, I spoke to several of my counterparts at length, explaining what our scientists were attempting to do with the evidence while fishing for any investigative ideas they might have.

  After many hours of exchanging tall-tales and war stories, I found myself back in my hotel room in the early morning hours and quickly fell asleep—or so I thought. After what seemed like only minutes, I distinctly heard a female voice softly calling my name. As I hovered in that familiar valley between sleep and conscious thought, the voice continued to slowly call my name: “Eric, wake up. I need you.” The voice seemed to be getting closer, increasing in volume and clarity, until I knew I was fully awake. As I lay there, trying to understand what I thought was a strange dream, I once again heard her voice urgently calling my name and telling me to wake up. I was needed.

  The voice was so clear and so close—it was right next to me! I could feel her breath on my neck! This realization startled me and I instantly jumped out of bed and fumbled for the light switch. Maybe someone was playing a trick on me and was hiding in the room. Upon turning on the lights I saw no one. I searched the entire room, including the closet, bathroom, and behind the TV. I even opened the door to check the hallway for stragglers—all to no avail. I was alone.

  Needless to say it took me quite awhile to fall asleep after this scare. Eventually I chalked it up to being a bad dream from sleeping in a strange bed . . . until I returned home.

  On the following Monday, as I sat in a meeting sipping c
offee and listening half-heartedly to the speaker, I received a 911 page from the lab. Could this be what we’ve been waiting for all these years? I excused myself from the room and immediately called the lab. They had a positive CODIS notification! Score one for the scientists! They had done what no one else had—identify the person responsible for this crime.

  By analyzing the DNA that was embedded into the weave of the victim’s clothing by the offender, and matching that DNA profile to a list of known felons, the lab was able to give us a name. We could now move the investigation forward and bring it to a successful conclusion.

  Although I have never believed in ghosts or the paranormal, I am unable to provide any earthly explanation for what I experienced in that hotel room. I believe it was the victim calling to me and telling me I was needed. Her message of “Eric, wake up—I need you” is etched firmly in my mind. I can still hear her voice and feel her breath on my neck. She knew it was time for me to wake up; that things were happening that needed my attention.

  She was right.

  Wake Up!

  About five or six years ago, I was driving home alone, towards Adrian, Michigan. It was close to midnight and I was tired after working the afternoon shift. I was driving about sixty-five miles an hour along a highway with farming fields on both sides when I fell asleep at the wheel of my small pick-up truck.

  Just as my vehicle hit the gravel on the shoulder, I heard a loud voice shouting, “WAKE UP! WAKE UP!” I opened my eyes and realized I was headed straight for the north shoulder of the road. My head was tilted forward; I knew I had been sound asleep.

  Awake now, I looked toward the passenger seat and saw a man sitting there. He was staring me in the face, leaning toward me, and yelling at me to wake up. I could only see his outline because a bright glow seemed to come from within and around him. We were looking at each other eye-to-eye; but the brightness was so great, I could only see the contours of his face and body. I’ll never forget his intent stare.

  I immediately looked forward and realized I was approaching the top edge of the ditch. I didn’t panic. I took my foot off the gas and steered back towards the roadway. Once I had the truck under control, I looked toward my passenger—but no one was there. A dim light was still glowing, but it soon faded away.

  It was not a dream. I saw a man, and I felt his presence in my truck. This is an experience I will never forget. If I had driven off the roadway at the speed I was going, chances are my truck would have flipped and death or serious injury would have been the consequence.

  I truly believe a guardian angel saved my life that night.

  The Bower’s Harbor Inn

  My partner and I were working the midnight shift. It was a cloudy, windy night. He was telling me about an encounter that he and another officer had with our local haunted restaurant, the Bower’s Harbor Inn. The fact that we were driving on a stretch of road on a peninsula that was directly across from the restaurant reminded him of the story.

  In the middle of his monologue, Central Dispatch called for available units to respond to an alarm—at the Bower’s Harbor Inn! Of course, we were the closest unit, so we responded.

  When we arrived at the restaurant, my partner went around one side of the building and I went around the other. I noticed a stairway leading up to a door on the second floor. I climbed the stairs to check the door. When I turned the handle, the door opened. I gently pulled the door closed so that it rested on the casing—but it wasn’t completely shut. I notified my partner that I had discovered an open door.

  When the key holder arrived, he let us into the building. My partner and I cleared the first floor of the restaurant and then proceeded to the second floor. When we reached the door I had left open, it was completely shut and locked! In order to open the door again, we had to use the key.

  There was nobody in the building.

  This Time, I Was the Victim

  It was the beginning of the 2003 holiday season when my wife and I were invited to a holiday fundraiser at a posh restaurant in Detroit’s Indian Village area. The purpose was to raise money for less fortunate inner-city kids so they could be supplied with shoes for the upcoming winter.

  I did my homework on the event. The mayor and some federal judges were also invited, so I trusted that their security details would have things well in hand. Thus, I did not fear for my wife’s and my safety or that of the other guests, including a police lieutenant from my department and his wife.

  The entertainment, food, and drinks were fantastic. A very nice evening, even though the mayor never showed nor did any of the federal judges or other celebrities as promised.

  Things were winding down for the evening. The valet girl found me and gave me the keys to my vehicle, saying she was going off duty and would no longer be responsible for my truck. Then, she ran out the door. I went to the door to look for my truck, saw it, and was returning to the restaurant when two gunmen broke in, rushed me with a gun pointed directly at my face, grabbed me by the necktie, and forced me into the dining room. One of them fired a shot next to my head and announced the hold-up. I went to the ground and a second shot was fired, fragmenting when it hit a $40,000 grand piano. A fragment of the slug struck a lady.

  I was not armed, as I believed the mayor’s security detail would be present. It’s a good thing I wasn’t because if my weapon were seen I am positive I would have become another Detroit homicide statistic.

  I believed I was going to be shot in the head as I lay face down on the floor. I threw my cash on the floor, as the gunman demanded everybody’s wallets. My wallet had a badge and police ID in it. If that were revealed, I most assuredly would have been shot.

  For some unknown reason, I envisioned a crime scene photo with me lying face down on the floor with my brains spilling out of my skull. I was not about to allow that to happen. My wife was only a few feet away, hiding underneath a table. She appeared to be okay.

  I began to pray, and I felt the presence of a guardian angel. The fear left me and I was able to focus on the criminals’ actions so that I might become the best witness and see them led off to prison in handcuffs.

  I threw my wallet under a table and it landed face open with the badge in full sight. I flipped it closed. How they never saw this had to be the work of an angel.

  I was kicked in the groin as the number two gunman gathered up the cash and wallets. They went to a second dining room and I heard screaming and another gunshot. Then all was silent. I immediately called 911 to report the armed robbery with shots fired. I was still on the phone when the first patrol officer arrived, calming everyone and checking for injuries. Before I knew it, there were uniformed officers all over.

  Suspects were being picked up in the neighborhood and brought back to the scene, but I couldn’t identify any of them. My wife and I were thankful to go home alive that night with only relatively minor injuries.

  About a week later, we were sitting in our kitchen having our Saturday morning coffee, watching the local Detroit news program when I saw a story about a major arrest having been made by the Violent Crimes Task Force, a team comprised of FBI Agents, Michigan State Police Troopers, Detroit Police Officers, and some suburban Detroit officers. The number one gunman’s mug shot was displayed and I immediately recognized him as the one responsible for the armed robbery where we were victims.

  All weekend I telephoned the investigator assigned to our case, with no reply. Monday morning, I was able to contact a member of the Task Force and told him our story. The bad guy had been arrested with four others responsible for murder, armed robberies, and carjacking. A fifth suspect, a juvenile, had fled to Alabama, and the FBI was after him. Their specialty was robbing patrons at fundraisers.

  Weeks later, I was able to pick him out in a line-up at the Wayne County Jail. Although I never saw the case go to trial, as the number one suspect had already been convicted of f
irst degree murder and sentenced to life without parole, I believe it was the intervention of an angel that saved my life that night. And also some Divine Intervention that led me to watch the local news channel and see the scumbag’s mug shot.

  Ghost Alarm

  Some police officers can never turn off their “light switch,” even while on vacation. They always notice peculiar things!

  In 1997, my wife and I rented an old one-bedroom cottage for a month on the island of Boca Grande, which lies on the Gulf Coast north of Ft. Myers. My wife had written to the Chamber of Commerce on the island and learned about this cottage. The owner was contacted, and she explained that at one time it had been a fisherman’s cottage and later the caretaker’s cottage for a much larger home next door. The name of the cottage was Journey’s End.

  When we arrived, the lessor greeted us and entertained us with some of the local lore. One story she told was of a murder that had occurred either in the cottage we rented or in the large house next door. I do not remember which, but it was rumored both of the houses were haunted.

  The cottage was old but clean and the view of the Gulf was magnificent. We saw dolphins in the water in front of the cottage each morning. It was exactly the type of vacation we wanted.

  After we had been there about a week, my wife and I went to bed one evening about eleven o’clock. Shortly after turning out the lights, the fire alarm above our bed rang very loudly! We nearly jumped out of our skins. It continued for a significant period of time, perhaps thirty seconds, then quit.

  I quickly turned on the lights and looked for smoke. There was none. My wife and I are nonsmokers. I checked the house thoroughly for some sign of smoke or combustion, but there was none. I then decided to remove the battery so that the alarm would not sound again, as the noise was deafening.