Wynn made a list of Eldridge's varied and prodigious studies: introduction to business; introduction to philosophy; public speaking; introduction to world literature; general chemistry; Western civilization; social psychology; principles of government and politics; accounting; marketing principles and organization; auditing theory; income tax accounting; business statistics; and civil rights law.
The Army drafted him the year he graduated, 1968, but he was spared Vietnam and sent to train for a year at Fort Bragg in North Carolina and the Redstone Arsenal in Alabama, where he earned a marksman's badge for the M-16 before heading off to Japan. While on duty there, he had a security clearance, studied the Japanese language, attended a law enforcement program and rose to the rank of sergeant.
Wynn found Eldridge's honorable discharge papers, dated June 14, 1971, along with two letters of appreciation signed by President Richard M. Nixon and Army Gen. William C. Westmoreland.
He returned to Baltimore, bought a house on Homestead Street in Better Waverly and joined the police force.
Eight years ago, he moved back to Daywalt Avenue to take care of his sick mother. Neighbors said they rarely saw him and that he kept his windows covered. Wynn found piles of books, Western movies and boxes filled with documents that shed some light on Eldridge's personality, and how he kept meticulous records of the most mundane chores.
There was a log of "every gallon of gas he ever bought," Wynn said. Curiously, it appears that Eldridge kept the records for records' sake and not to track mileage. He kept a similar list of visits for Halloween and how much money he spent on the small candy bars he handed out.
In 2000, 52 kids came to his door; in 2001 it was 18, a year later 31 and a year after that 52. It topped 61 in 2005 and dropped to "only eight children" last year. He spent between $94 and $159 on candy each year.
Why he compiled these lists might remain as mysterious as why he took his life. In a suicide note found at the foot of his bed, neatly written in cursive and taking up a full page of notebook paper, Eldridge went on at length about his surgery, scheduled for that day at 2 p.m. at Franklin Square Hospital Center. He had saved the doctor's instructions reminding him not to eat that day, and had written notes to himself about what time to call a taxi to take him to the hospital.
He had later made arrangements with officers at the Northeastern District to give him a ride to and from Franklin Square, but he had nobody to stay with him during the procedure, a requirement. He wrote that he was afraid he would be sent home, and that doctors might learn his backup plan was suicide. He was afraid of being committed.
Eldridge, fully clothed, lay on his back on his bed and called 911.
The final sound on the tape is a gunshot followed by the operator's scream.
Wynn said Eldridge actually shot himself twice, the first time through his right jaw, then in a split second he turned his head and shot himself above the left ear. His Glock was still in his right hand when police arrived.
The detective has played the tape for his colleagues.
"Everyone up here who has heard it has never heard anything like that," he said. "Ever."
