Moonlight Sonata by Vincent Zandri

Author:Vincent Zandri
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books

The interior of the Albany Police Department is like the inside of a mortuary and just as pleasant. I know the place like the back of my callused hands. Even the smell that hits you in the face the second you walk through the front doors brings you back to a time when your brothers in arms were closer to you than your wife. So close in fact, that your jealous wife felt the need to find comfort in another man who happened to be one of those brothers in arms I just mentioned. My partner, and best friend at that time.

As I walk the narrow corridor to the reception window, I have no choice but to inhale the combination disinfectant and body odor, and I begin to feel a sick queasiness in my stomach. A nausea that has little to do with the drinking I’ve been doing or the cocaine I snorted or even the sickening smell of this concrete block and glass building. Instead, it has everything to do with a suicidal past I would rather forget. I hand my ID and .38 to the guard sergeant who is manning the window.

She buzzes me in.

“Welcome home, Dick,” she says, not without a snort. Most of the Albany cops aren’t very happy with me, not since I brought down half their house some years ago when I uncovered an illegal organ harvesting operation some of the head cops were running. Everyone knows cops watch one another’s backsides, even when their frontsides are up to no good.

Detective Miller is standing at the far end of the wide-open booking room as I enter. He’s not necessarily a tall guy, but he is taller than my five foot nine, which is nothing unusual. He’s maybe two or three years younger than me but ten years older around the eyes and, no doubt, in the liver, since most detectives in Albany tend to become prolific drinkers by the end of their first few months on the job. Clean-shaven, dirty blond-gray buzzed hair, and a necktie that’s still raised up past his buttoned collar tells me he’s all spit and polish, even at two thirty in the morning.

The fact that he doesn’t bother to shake my hand tells me he’s in no mood for small talk.

“Mr. Moonlight,” he says, “please follow me.”

“Gladly, Detective,” I say. “I’m familiar with the layout of this fine establishment of law and odor…oops, I mean order.” Moonlight the Jokester.

He leads me to a small interview room located to the right of the booking room. He opens the door for me, and together we sit down directly across from one another at a metal table under the bright light that spills down from an overhead fixture. His manila file is already sitting out on the table.

“Get you any coffee, Moonlight?” he asks, opening the folder, laying out some glossy eight-by-ten color photographs. “That beer breath can stop a freight train.”

“I had a couple just before you called. In the safety of my own home.

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