It was quiet the day after Dolby Sinclair’s murder. Apparently, the law-abiding people in Devonshire Division sensed the police were in mourning and didn’t want to be bothered. The criminals were more subdued, afraid the cops might be out for revenge.
Even in the station, the weird vibe had everyone speaking in reverent tones. The detective squad room, normally a hive of activity in the early afternoon, had cubicles filled with detectives going through the motions of catching up on paperwork. No one worked more than the absolute minimum.
Tony took the stairs two at a time. He knew the night watch officers would soon start straggling in to get ready for their tour of duty.
He didn’t carry his water bottle. He just wanted a quick hit to hold him through the final hour and a half of his shift.
After a decade of being sober, he’d poured himself a drink last night. The fifth of vodka that sat in his kitchen cabinet for those ten years had been an icon of his willpower to remain clean. But he’d thrown it all away, and drank the whole thing. He was filled with disgust.
But the murder of his first training officer, Dolby Sinclair, carried too much weight for him to bear. He never could have achieved anything during his career, if not for Dolby.
Now, he was sneaking around again. Hitting the all-night market on his way to work. Hating himself for the weakness that made him climb the stairs.
The locker room was empty, so he got in a couple of quick swigs from the pint in his metal cubby, brushed his teeth, then headed out the door to go back downstairs.
In the hallway, he ran into Lolo Paloma.
“Hey Lieutenant,” she said. “You doing okay?”
He shrugged. “About as well as can be expected. Sinclair was my training officer at 77th, and after I got off probation, we worked together as P-2s down in Newton. We were known as the clean-up crew.”
She smiled and nodded. “I’ve heard a few stories about the two of you working the south end.” A puzzled look filled her face. “If he was your P-3 at 77th, how is it you were both P-2s at Shootin’ Newton?
He grimaced. The pain of the truth burned like a red-hot branding iron to the heart. “Um, he got into a bit of trouble at 77th. Cost the city a good chunk of change. They black-balled him the rest of his career.”
She shook her head. “It’s such a shame. There were rumors he planned to retire next year.”
He sighed. “Yeah, he’d talked to me a few weeks ago about retiring. He was thinking about going to Tennessee.”
Lolo sighed. “Terrible situation. I just hope we catch the SOB who did it.”