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First Edition Design Publishing - Mike Smitley

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205 pages

English

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Description

A close-knit squad of midnight shift police officers faces a series of puzzling murders. A young officer is forced to learn the cold, hard truths about his profession while trying to capture the heart of the woman he loves and deal with sinister forces that few police officers have ever dealt with before.

Informations

Publié par	First Edition Design Publishing
Date de parution	05 décembre 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781937520458
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0300€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

DEAD FILES

By
Mike Smitley
Thanks to my wife, Jana, for her patience and support.
ISBN 978-1-937520-45-8
Published by First Edition Design eBook Publishing
December 2011
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com

Copyright, 2011 by Mike Smitley

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other – except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without prior written permission of the publisher and author.

The author, Mike Smitley, can be contacted at: www.fatherspress.com. or mike@fatherspress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Other books by Mike Smitley are:
GHOST HUNT is a sequel to Mike Smitley’s first novel,
IMPLIED CONTRACT, (ISBN: 978-0-9779407-2-1).
For more mystery and suspense, read Mike’s other novels:
PREY , (ISBN: 978-0-9779407-5-2),
OUR MISSING, (ISBN: 978-0-9795394-4-2) and
THE ENGLISH MAN (ISBN: 97809833739-1-9)

Father’s Press, LLC
Lee’s Summit, MO
(816) 600-6288
www.fatherspress.com

First printing, September 2006
© August, 2004 Mike Smitley
Chapter - One

GABE KINNETT’S studio apartment was dark, with only the dim light from the street to illuminate the drab, dated interior. He rolled over on his well-abused sofa and stared at the lighted face of the alarm clock. It was set to go off in a few minutes. He thought, 10:00. Time to go to work already? I’ll never make it through the night.
He reached over to the orange crate that he used as an end table and pushed the alarm stem down. He was already awake, so there was no need to listen to the irritating buzz. Midnight shifts were murder, especially with no sleep.
Midnight shift was his assignment, but his internal clock couldn’t adjust. He had lain awake most of the day, napping only intermittently. He couldn’t sleep now, but his body would start shutting down about 3:00 a.m.
The hours between 3:00 a.m. and 7:00 a.m. were torturous. He would fight hard, but could not fend off sleep. His eyelids would fall shut no matter how hard he resisted. He spent those hours trying to avoid Sergeant Shelley. He would not tolerate sleeping on duty.
When Gabe was that tired, he prayed that the dispatcher wouldn’t give him calls. He didn’t trust his judgment while suffering the effects of sleep deprivation. He certainly didn’t want to make any critical decisions.
The guys on the shift understood what he was going through. They’d all experienced the same problem at one time or another. They were a close-knit group, mostly rogues and rebels, but they stuck together like glue. That cohesiveness was a lifesaver. Gabe was going to need someone to cover for him tonight.
He looked at the clock again. Ten minutes had passed while he’d contemplated his problems. His divorce was final two months ago. He had no money, furniture or food in the apartment. His car was worn out. He had no girlfriend, and his bitterness had placed his job in jeopardy. His only friends were the guys on his shift, guys who had lived through the same emotional torture that he was going through.
He slowly rolled off the sofa and staggered across the bare wood floor to the bathroom. He deliberately picked up his feet so he wouldn’t pick up a splinter.
Once in the bathroom, he leaned over the rusty sink as he stared at himself in the cracked mirror. He shook his head in disgust and lowered his stare to the sink. He wondered, How could my life have fallen apart so quickly? What did I do wrong? How am I ever going to get myself back on track again?
The self-pity was hard to shake off. These questions had haunted him ever since his wife had announced that she was leaving three months before the divorce was final. Serious soul-searching had only brought him a headache and more bitterness. He didn’t need either right now. He’d been late for work four times last month. If that pattern continued, Sergeant Shelley would send him home and dock his pay.
He hurriedly groomed and dressed for duty. There were no drapes on the windows, so he pulled the dilapidated shade aside and looked out to check the weather. It was foggy and drizzling rain.
He pulled the chain and turned off the only light bulb in the room, which hung from the ceiling on a frayed wire. He walked down to the street and pondered if he should drive or walk.
As he stared at his car and assessed its condition, he kicked the front right tire, which was almost flat. He thought, The body is rusted out; the valve covers leak; the exhaust system is shot; the tires are bald; it needs new ball joints and tie-rods; the battery is weak; the starter is shot; the radiator leaks; the transmission slips and the windshield is cracked. Other than that, she’s cherry.
There was time to walk to work if he hurried. He didn’t like to drive unless he absolutely had to. He couldn’t afford another car, and he couldn’t afford to fix this one. As he hurried off to work he couldn’t decide who he was angrier with, his ex-wife or the police department. He had been on the department only two years, but burnout was wreaking havoc on his morale.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy Ryan closed himself in his room behind the locked door. He sat on his bed with his legs crossed and stared despondently at the pistol in his lap. Tears dripped from his eyes as he searched for another solution. He laid the pistol on the nightstand and walked to the door.
He stepped to the stair railing and looked sadly down at his father seated in his recliner watching television. His father had no idea of the pain and anguish that Tommy was suffering. He thought how hurt his father would be afterwards that he was so close and approachable, but Tommy couldn’t come to him in his darkest hour of need.
As much as Tommy loved his father and didn’t want to hurt him, there were things going through his mind that he couldn’t share with anyone. At one time, he and his father had been as close as two people could possibly be. Now at the tender age of fifteen, he thought that no one on Earth could understand what he was going through.
Grief overwhelmed him as he turned back toward his room and wept openly. He quietly closed his door so no one could hear him cry. The thought of the grief that he was about to cause his parents broke his heart, but he could think of no other alternative.
He sat back on the bed and stared at the pistol. His hand trembled as he picked it up and pulled the hammer back. He put the muzzle under his chin and cried as he pictured the grief that would consume his parents.
He applied gentle pressure on the trigger and held his breath, waiting for the quiet darkness. At the last second he relaxed his trigger finger. He put the gun back on the nightstand and took a few deep breaths. He would have to go through with it, but he didn’t have the courage to do it tonight.
With trembling fingers, Tommy picked up the phone and dialed his therapist. She was the one person who could help him pull out of this emotional tailspin. After the fifth ring, he hung up and put his face in his hands. He cried harder as he realized that there was no one in the world who could save him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gabe hurried into shift briefing. Shelley looked at the clock on the wall as he slid into a chair barely in time. Shelley looked sternly at Gabe over the top of his bifocals and yelled, “Okay! Okay! Quiet everyone, let’s get started!” There were fourteen officers seated in front of Shelley’s podium.
Len Shelley was one of the few blacks who had made rank in the department. Aside from being extremely capable, he’d never forgotten his roots and was well-liked by his officers. He expected excellence from them, and in turn would go to hell and back for them. If they performed well and didn’t get him in trouble with the brass, he overlooked minor policy violations and harmless horseplay.
He continued. “Listen up, you deviants! Here are the district assignments. Carlos is 131. Bigelow is 132. Gapky is 133. Lyzett is 134. Green is 135. Kinnett, you’re the roving car, 136. Hallos, Ellis, Throckmorton and Schumacher, you guys partner up in two-man cars and work the projects. Reaves, Smith and Blackman are the traffic cars. Blauw, you’re riding the wagon tonight.”
The officers jotted down the district assignments so they could communicate car-to-car throughout the night. Shelley opened the pass-on book and read the intelligence information from the previous two shifts.
There was nothing unusual in the pass-on book tonight, just the usual warrants, house watches and department business. There was a general chastising from the Major about a policy violation that he had observed. His shotgun approached to discipline always irritated the officers. Rather than deal with the individual who had caused the problem, he would chew out the whole department.
Shelley closed the book and asked if anyone had anything for the good of the cause. With no response, he said, “Kinnett, I need to see you and Blauw after inspection.”
The other officers jeered at Gabe and Blauw, warning them that they had the right to an attorney. Blauw was unshaken by the teasing, but Gabe was worried.
Shelley walked into the garage and started down the line, inspecting everyone’s uniforms and weapons. When finished, he dismissed the troops and had them stand beside their cars with the doors and trunk lids open.
After a thorough vehicle inspection, the officers left the lot and drove to their districts. Gabe lingered in the lot to talk to Blauw before going to Shelley’s office. He didn’t want Shelley to see them conspiring, so he waited for Shelley to disappear into the building before approaching Blauw.
Angus Blauw was the olde