A few weeks ago I thought I was really completing my share of community service when I called the local police dispatch about a couple bags/packs we found in the park across the street. I stood at attention, proudly answering all the questions the CSI guy delivered standing in our apartment. I even took some housing advice from him after I explained a bit of what we were looking for. I waved at him again as the dogs and I crossed the street once he left–he and his partner were still scouting the general area.
I gave myself an even bigger back-pat when I pulled up from a run, pulled out my phone and reported a crashed truck in the creek down the road a bit. I nervously explained the location as best I was able and reported it didn’t appear as if anyone was still in it or in the creek–but I couldn’t really tell. I felt a slight bit of disappointment when I returned to the scene some time later and it was undisturbed—apparently this type of thing is routine or detectives are so busy they get to it when they can unless a body is clearly involved.
Somewhat disenchanted I rummaged through the latest stolen bag I retrieved looking for ID to call the owner directly. A day later I felt a sense of satisfaction when the relieved owner met me down the road to claim it. She confirmed what I knew–that it was taken from a car break-in a couple days earlier. Since that day I’ve run across at least four more bags or packs in roughly the same locations. I’ve not picked up any of them–feeling slightly less bad each time.
By the time I headed outside with the dogs in the pre-dawn of Sunday I figured I’d seen the worst of what the immediate neighborhood could offer. Endless stream of empties and wrappers around doorways and park benches, scattered articles of clothing and the perpetual issues with stolen bags being ditched. Not to be outdone, the element delivered big: at least five fully smashed windows decorated cars parked along our street. Throughout Sunday owners and law-enforcement could be seen viewing the damage. As of a day later this episode of smash-n-grabs has not made the local news—odd considering one of the news stations is on the very street of the crimes. In fact, I’d make a guess the security camera over the public entrance door likely caught the perps. Maybe not so surprising considering a weekend murder was committed just a few blocks away and this morning in the pre-dawn hours I saw a squad car with lights on parked in front of a white CSI van directly across the street. At least three officers with flashlights on were searching in and around Brush Creek. Every time I think I’ve witnessed the end….something else steps into play.
Here in town mere weeks and I’m not only not shocked but almost numb to it. I could about make a career out of reporting apparent crimes in an area just a few square blocks from our apartment. Originally under the impression we were moving to an upscale, safe area I’ve come to learn that’s not exactly the case. In late 2010 the documentary Kansas City Murder Factory was released. While I’ve not yet seen it~~it’s likely not much different from several episodes of the local news strung together. I also learned we are mere blocks away from murder central in the area. Zip Code 64130 could almost be reached with a strong golf shot from the park outside. Zip 64130 is the KC Murder Factory in the film of the same name. And I live mere blocks from it.For now I’ll continue to carry my phone and headlamp after dark on my walks, refrain from running in a couple directions after dark and taking quick scans at the inevitable variety of stolen bags that’ll continue to end up in the park–hoping some of them have some form of ID still in tact. That is until we move to our new north side neighborhood in a few weeks and this becomes yet another distant memory.