Ramesh Nyberg
Honoring 40 Years
One of the coldest nights I can remember in South Florida was also one of the warmest – in my heart, that is. It was January 17th, 1985, and I was working uniform in our South District. Now, many of you Northerners will laugh when I tell you how “cold” it was, but let me tell you, when you grow up in Miami and that’s all the weather you know, 26 degrees is pretty damned chilly. I was wearing my county issued winter jacket, but I had forgotten about the cold earlier that day – I’d been told that morning that my days in uniform were numbered: I had gotten my long awaited transfer to homicide.
My request for transfer was almost two years old and I had been called back to reinterview after a year. That was an encouraging sign, but it would still be another three months before this chilly January day when the news arrived. One of the many things I was looking forward to was to work with my old uniform sergeant, Jack Remmen. Jack and I shared a strangely coincidental history. Back in 1981, I worked for a small municipality, North Miami, and met Jack at a murder scene. He was the lead investigator and we stood there by the yellow crime scene tape and spoke about the scene and the leads which he and his team members would be working to find the killers of an innocent robbery victim. That was the very conversation which made me decide that I wanted to be a homicide investigator. North Miami, however, didn’t have homicide detectives, so I left that agency and went to the County, a sprawling agency of 3,000+ sworn officers and a wide variety of investigative and specialized units in which to work. When I got to the County, I was soon working for a young sergeant who looked familiar: it was Jack Remmen, who had gotten promoted and assigned to uniform. That’s how our department did things – when you got promoted, you went to back to your roots, no matter where you were working, and those roots were in uniform patrol. Only then could you work your way back – in your new supervisory status – to your previous assignment, if you chose to do so. We had a good squad and I enjoyed working for Jack until, one day, he bid me farewell.
“Goin’ back to homicide, buddy. I know you want to go there, so I’ll put in a good word for you.”
I was sorry to see Jack go, but happy for him. He was a homicide supervisor now. If I ever got to homicide, would I be lucky enough to work for him? I would get my answer on that cold January night when I got a message from the dispatcher: Call homicide. Jack was on the other end.
“Good news, buddy. You’re coming to homicide – and you’re working for me.”
It was one of the most thrilling phone calls I’ve ever received.
Later on that midnight shift, one of the guys on our squad got a homicide way out in the Redland, the rural region of our large county. I was handling other calls when Remmen contacted me again, this time to tell me that, if I had a chance, to swing by the homicide scene and meet John King. Jack’s squad was handling the case and King was the lead. Jack wasn’t there, but it gave me a chance to meet the senior detective on the squad I’d soon be joining. It was about 10:00 p.m. when I got there and the female victim, shot multiple times, lay in the doorway of the single family home. John King came out and greeted me.
“Good to meet you…glad you’re coming to work with us. Hey, you got an extra pen? Mine just froze!” he laughed.
I happily gave John two extra pens I had and, later that frigid midnight shift, when the temperature dipped down to 24º, I went to a 24 hour Walgreens and bought a pair of gloves. Despite the cold, I had to focus on keeping my excitement in check.
Eleven days later, I was no longer wearing a uniform; I was stepping into the homicide office for the first time in a long-sleeve dress shirt and tie. The place had an undeniable mystique – its own legendary status in police work. It was the kind of assignment you either dreamed of or swore you’d avoid, but, regardless, the very name of the office commanded respect and awe. So, when I walked into that office and felt the eyes on me, it was a little intimidating. I had been a police officer for six years, but it didn’t matter how long you had been in law enforcement: If you were new in homicide, you were a rookie detective. One of the veterans greeted me and shook my hand.
“Oh, you’re the FNG on Remmen’s squad, right? Welcome.”
Being the FNG afforded with it all the rites of passage you might imagine and some you may not. Our squad would get called out to a murder scene at 2:00 a.m. and Remmen would turn to me:
“Nyberg, go hunt down some coffee for everybody.”
Of course, I hated it. I wanted to be out there with everyone else and every minute spent away from the work I’d waited so long to do felt agonizing. But, such is the place of the FNG, right? Regardless, I had made it and John King was my assigned mentor.
The other rite of passage in homicide was being assigned all the stinkers – the decomposed bodies – and all the suicide and accidental cases, until I had proven myself enough to start being assigned as the lead investigator in a homicide. The flood of dead bodies in South Florida in 1985 was nonstop. We had led the nation in per capita homicides in 1980-81 and, by 1985, those numbers hadn’t backed off much. Our office was getting 30-32 homicides a month and that’s not including the steady stream of accidentals, suicides and unattended naturals (the work of the FNG). Finally, after about five months, I got my first homicide. The first case they assign you is usually an “in-custody” case (“grounders,” Jack called them) where the subject is already on scene and held by uniform. The rest is mop-up work, witness statements, scene work, and so on. It wasn’t until late August of that year that I got my first “whodunit,” or unsolved case, which was listed as an “open-pending” on our large wall of cases.
Jack was an excellent supervisor – calm, patient and knowledgeable. The unit in general was well stocked with great cops and veteran supervisors who were always willing to help a new detective (not without a little razzing, of course) and answer your questions. I knew that my decision to come to homicide was the right one. The blitz of cases, the exhausting hours and the intense nature of the work would wear me down quickly today, but I was a mere 27 years old when I got to the unit and I loved the work. There was nothing like it.
Jack eventually made a move again – he had enough of the long hours – and, by that time, we had become good friends, going fishing together, having barbecues at his house, and watching each other’s kids grow up. He was off to a quieter life as a supervisor in auto theft. That was the great thing about working in a big agency – when you got tired of working a certain assignment, there was always another place to go, be it an investigative unit or back to uniform.
Homicide had become my home, so much so that I never pursued a supervisory promotion because I didn’t want to leave. It wouldn’t be until November 30th, 2006, that I finally left homicide – and police work – forever. That was 21 years and nine months in homicide. That’s a lot of long nights; callouts; decomposed bodies; grueling interrogations and witness interviews in cramped, dirty rooms; murder trials; and some of the greatest friendships I’ve ever made.
I wouldn’t trade a second of it.
Ramesh Nyberg retired from law enforcement in November 2006 after 27 years of police work. He lives in Miami and teaches criminal justice at a local high school. He also teaches regional law enforcement courses through Training Force, USA. He enjoys getting feedback from readers and can be reached at ramesh.nyberg@gmail.com. Also, Ram has written a new book, Badge, Tie and Gun: Life and Death Journeys of a Miami Detective, which is available on Amazon in both Kindle eBook and paperback. You can find it by visiting amazon.com/dp/B0CTQQKQTV