Who Is Hank Donaghue?

You're standing outside the yellow crime scene tape. Something has happened, but you're not sure what. Some of the people around you have been there for quite a while, watching. Someone was shot, a man says. Maybe drug-related. Another man right in front of you shakes his head. It was a drive-by, he says. Maybe gang-related. The guy was parking his car and they got him as he was standing there, feeding the meter.

As you watch, a tall, well-dressed man in his mid-forties walks toward the yellow tape, says something to the uniformed cop, and then begins to question the people in front of you. The guy who thought it was drug-related admits, embarrassed, he just got here a short while ago and doesn't know what happened. As he slinks away the tall man catches your eye. When you tell him you also just arrived he nods and looks at the man right in front of you. When this guy says he was down the block when it happened, heard the shots, and heard a car squealing away right afterward, the tall man suddenly looks very interested. He takes out a notebook and pen.

"What's your name, sir?" He listens and writes it down. "I'm Lieutenant Donaghue, GPD. Tell me what you heard and saw."

You've just been introduced to Lieutenant Hank Donaghue, leading homicide investigator with the Glendale, Maryland Police Department. You realize you've heard of him before, that he's been in the news from time to time. You remember that he comes from a well-off family, which explains the nice suit, expensive-looking watch, the shoes. His mother, Anna Haynes Donaghue, was the State's Attorney for Glendale before she retired and is still some kind of backroom political power broker in the state. His grandfather, Charles Goodwin Haynes, served a term as governor, and his great-grandfather, Edward Willis Haynes, distinguished himself as a judge in the state court of appeals.

The first time you heard of him was when he was a young patrol officer, quite a few years ago. He single-handedly rescued the son of former mayor Adolphus Post when the boy had been kidnapped and held for ransom. The press immediately started calling him the Hero Cop, and after that, his career took off. He helped break up a car theft ring as a young detective, was promoted to sergeant and worked an assignment in Juvenile Crime, then did a stint in the chief's office as spokesperson after being promoted again, this time to lieutenant.

After that he seemed to fall off the map for quite a few years as city politics changed and the department took on a different face. You read something about an investigation for excessive use of force, a charge that turned out to be phony. Then there were rumors of possible ties to organized crime in Chinatown that seemed to come to a head when he was shot last year in an alley while investigating some kind of a cold case involving the local Triad. Some other cop got nailed for corruption in that case, but for some reason the talk about Donaghue seems to persist.

You listen to Donaghue question the man in front of you with a calm, easy-going manner. He smiles reassuringly and nods as the witness tells his story, but his heavy brow gives his large brown eyes a brooding look, and this witness has his full and complete attention, as though the guy has suddenly become the most important person in the world.

You find it hard to believe he's just another crooked cop. Why would someone from that kind of background have his hand out for graft? Why would he bother becoming a cop at all? You remember reading something after he was shot, a column in Glendale Today Magazine, it might have been, in which he'd been asked that question. Why would Hank Donaghue turn his back on a promising career in the courtroom to become a simple street cop?

"Someone has to do it," he'd replied. "Might as well be me."

You're not an idiot. You can tell just by watching Donaghue handle the guy in front of you that he takes his job a lot more seriously than that. There's a quiet intensity just below his polite, calm surface that's impossible to miss. Now that you think about it, you remember that the magazine columnist hadn't been satisfied, either, and had pressed Donaghue for more.

When someone is murdered, Donaghue finally said, the victim's loved ones expect someone to do something about it. They expect someone to go out there, find the person who did it, and bring that person to justice. They might not know exactly what justice means, but they know something has to be done and someone has to be out there doing it. I'm that someone.

You wonder what kind of man he must be. You've read about the pressures of being a cop, the stress that follows them home and can ruin their marriages, their friendships, their families. You glance at the hand holding the notebook and don't see a wedding band, and you try to remember if you read somewhere that he's divorced.

You get the impression he'd be the kind of person who keeps his private life very separate from his public duty. Wouldn't you have to, in order to stay sane walking into horrific murder scenes every day? How does he do it?

You wish you could find out what makes him tick. You can't help but be curious.

To learn more about Lieutenant Hank Donaghue, read Blood Passage and Marcie's Murder, the first two books in the Donaghue and Stainer Crime Novel series.

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