Officer Steve Turner of the Metropolitan Nashville Police Department had little trouble apprehending this tired, dumb criminal.
As homeowner Loretta Davin placed the last suitcase in the trunk of her car, she had no idea she was being watched. Twenty-six-year-old Fred “Junior” Williams, a small-time house burglar with a keen eye for opportunity, had been observing Davin for twenty minutes or so. Junior knew she was about to leave, and from the amount of luggage she was taking, he knew she would probably be gone for at least a couple days. Junior smiled as the car pulled out of the driveway, turned the corner at the end of the street, and disappeared.
Breaking in through a side door unnoticed was easy for our burglar. That’s what he did for a living. And with the homeowner safely out of the way, this promised to be a stress-free operation.
Ah, life is good, thought Junior as he shook a pillow from its case. He then began a leisurely stroll through the house, filling his pillowcase with whatever he decided to take. There was some jewelry, some cash hidden under the mattress, the VCR—yes, life was good. This job was a piece of cake.
Hmmm . . . piece of cake. That sounded pretty good to Junior. He hadn’t had lunch, and by now he had worked up quite an appetite rifling through the house. He decided to see what the kitchen had to offer.
Well, all right! The lady of the house hadn’t bothered to clean out the fridge before she left. Junior found some nice chicken salad and a loaf of bread, a few carrot sticks, some potato chips, and some chocolate milk. Hey, may as well put it on a tray, kick back, and catch a little TV.
So that’s just what Junior did. He carried the tray to the nightstand next to the bed, climbed in, clicked on the tube, and ate his lunch. But after all that hard work and that good meal, the bed was just too comfortable. The sandman came a-callin’ on Junior, and soon he was out like a light.
Meanwhile, Loretta Davin had arrived at her office and learned that her business trip had been postponed. After being gone only three hours instead of three days, she returned home to find her side door broken open. Gripped with fear, she phoned the police from her car phone.
Turner was one of the first officers to arrive on the scene. Here’s how he described it:
“As we entered the home, it was obvious that a burglary had occurred. Drawers were pulled out, closet doors stood wide open, and the place looked as if it had been ransacked. With weapons drawn, we cleared each room. As we got near the bedroom, I could hear voices, so we approached very cautiously. The television was still on. And there, all sprawled out, lay Junior, sleeping like he was in his own bed. The tray was there on the nightstand with some food still left on it, and the pillowcase of loot was sitting next to it.
“What a picture! We had had dealings with Junior before, so we all knew who he was. So we just kind of quietly encircled the bed and yelled, on cue, ‘Junior! Wake up!’ He did, and the look on his face was hysterical. We arrested him and took him to jail for breaking and entering, burglary, and sleeping on the job!”
Junior’s short nap turned into a long stretch.