Read Online A Far Gone Night by John Carenen - Free Book Online Page B

was dark. I swept my open left hand against the wall, searching and finding a switch. I flipped it up and light flooded the office.
    There were papers all over the floor, desk drawers wrenched open and bent or broken, and broken picture frames strewn about. The two file cabinets were tipped over onto their twisted metal drawers, and the computer that I had seen just a couple of days before was gone.
    I decided to take a look into the lab. Its door was slightly ajar as well, and there was no light shining from within. I crossed the office, crunching broken glass underfoot and nearly slipping on papers. There was enough light in the office projecting into the lab for me to find the light switch. I turned on the lights. More of the same.
    The first thing I noticed was the metal examination table in the middle of the room, but then I saw to my left the wall of compartments where bodies were kept in refrigeration until their disposition to families, or friends, or the State. Three of the doors were open and the compartments empty. The other two were closed.
    I’ve been around plenty of dead bodies, so I was not fearful of peeking inside the closed compartments. They were empty, too. The body of the murdered girl was gone. It was enough to make me think maybe something was amiss. Hard to fool an astute observer like me. I walked deeper into the examination room to see what else I might discover before the sound of glass crunching underfoot behind me disrupted my thinking.
    “Stop right there, don’t move, and raise your hands high over your head!”
    I recognized the booming voice of Deputy Stephen Doltch . Still, I obeyed. Sometimes I can follow instructions. I turned around. Halfway in my rotation to greet The Face of the Law, Doltch shouted, “Don’t turn around!”
    Then he recognized me at the same time I recognized the Glock pointed squarely at my chest. Upon seeing who I was, I had hoped he would lower his weapon. He did not. A twisted smile crossed his handsome face.
    “It’s the curious Thomas O’Shea, is it now?” he said with a decent attempt at an Irish brogue.
    “As I live and breathe, Deputy.”
    “What are you doing here, in the middle of an obvious crime scene?”
    “Would you please lower your gun? You make me nervous. I have no idea if you’re proficient in firearms or not, and I’d hate to have it go off in order to learn that you are not.”
    “Always with the attitude,” he muttered. He did not lower the weapon. “Turn around. I’m going to cuff you.”
    “Is that really necessary?” I lowered my arms.
    “Hands back up! And don’t move!”
    I complied and Doltch came over, holstered his weapon, spun me around in a rather rude manner, pulled down my hands and jerked them behind me, shooting pain through my shoulders. I grimaced but he didn’t see. What a relief that was. Then he handcuffed me. I have an irrational fear of having my hands immobilized behind my back because just about every time it’s happened, something bad follows. But not always, so I tried to mask my nervousness.
    “You’re under arrest for breaking and entering, trespassing on government property, and interfering in a police investigation.” Then he read me my rights.
    “I didn’t break and enter. The door was already open.”
    “Let’s go, dickhead.”
    Doltch put his hand on my shoulder and shoved me, but I shoved back in protest of his unnecessary use of muscle.
    “Oh, boy,” he said, “you thinking about resisting arrest? I wish you’d give it a shot.”
    “Even in my restricted condition and advanced age, you don’t want that,” I said.
    Doltch chuckled, not realizing that in five seconds I could have him on the floor. A knee to the groin, another knee to the face when he bent over in pain, and a sudden half-turn and stomping on his right instep, collapsing the arch, would do it. Tempting though it was, I resisted the impulse. He was just doing his job, albeit a bit overboard.
    Doltch turned out the