Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine, Volume 21 by Arthur Conan Doyle & Meg Opperman & Jacqueline Seewald & Laird Long

Author:Arthur Conan Doyle & Meg Opperman & Jacqueline Seewald & Laird Long
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, detective, magazine, crime, sleuth
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2016-11-07T00:00:00+00:00

CONDUCT UNBECOMING, by Robert Knightly

He sat across the desk from the other man, but whose face he could not see because it was in the shadows. The only light came from a desk lamp, and the shade on the single window was drawn. The other wore a business suit and tie, while he was in uniform: the regulation summer blouse, his insignia of sergeant’s rank properly affixed to the sleeves, as were his service stripes, the five black bands signifying twenty-five years of service in the city’s police department. He didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten there, but he wore no gun belt under the blouse, nor did he have his holstered off-duty revolver tucked inside his belt, riding in the comfortable pocket made by his right hip where it met his waist. He was weaponless.

“Smoke if you got ’em, Sergeant,” the other said, remaining motionless in his chair. It was positioned aslant so he could not see the other’s face at all. The suggestion startled him; he had not thought to want a cigarette till the other mentioned it, although he’d been a smoker for most of his life.

“What the hell is this? Where am I?” he demanded. Voicing his anger kept at bay the dread building within him.

“You’re here for adjudication of charges and specifications, Sergeant,” the other stated matter-of-factly. “For reconciliation,” he added after a pause.

“For what? I’ve got twenty-eight years in the job and never a complaint, never a reprimand!”

“Specification One: Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and Prejudicial to the Good Order and Discipline of the Department,” the other droned. “Specification Two: Negligent Failure to Be Fit for Duty.”

“That’s bullshit! Where’s my lawyer? Aren’t I entitled to a lawyer, like the worst skel in the street?”

“This is an informal procedure, Sergeant. Those rules don’t apply here.”

Suddenly, the other reached out and depressed the button on an oblong silver-and-black cassette recorder that sat squarely on the desk between them. The sergeant recognized the machine, the kind he’d used himself, the kind that every detective used to record confessions in every interrogation room in every squad in the city.

“He wouldn’t leave, you know,” the woman’s voice said clearly, filling the room. “I begged him…for me, for the kids, for himself, before it was too late, before there was nothing left to save, but he wouldn’t listen. He just couldn’t leave now he’d say, not just yet but later he would, he’d say.”

“Gloria? That you?” He stared at the recorder as the disembodied voice of his wife continued.

“Twenty-eight years playing second fiddle to the damn job! The department always came first, before all of us, me, the kids, no matter what. He was a detective then, our youngest was graduating from high school and I wanted us to be there for her, I begged him. But no-o-o!” The voice broke, bitter. “He was on a case, couldn’t get away, twenty years and more he was on one case or another and could never get away…I just couldn’t live with it another day …” The other man stopped the tape.

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