The Beast of 1977 (Book 1)

Chapter 34

There was a small, off to the side office that was located on the fourth floor of police headquarters.

With his left arm wrapped in a sling, Detective Linus Bruin despondently sulked in his chair behind a clean and orderly desk. The clothes that he was wearing just happened to be the same torn and bloody garments he wore from the night before. Not one detail on his entire body had been rearranged; from his unkempt hair, all the way down to his blood stained Thom Mcan's His drooping face was a blank canvas from cheek to cheek.

No sort of emotion whatsoever bothered to appear. Inside of him dwelt a teetering calm, like a cease fire in the midst of a hellacious battle.

All night long the man had endured question after probing question, cameras flashing in his face and officers frantically rushing him to one end of the police station to the other as if he were a time bomb inside of a box.

His hands rested motionless in his lap while his face stayed poised on the desk in front of him. There was an itch on the bridge of his nose that the man didn't have the strength or will to scratch at.

A knock at the door disturbed the silence in the small office. From behind the door appeared Officer Donaldson who came in with a steaming cup of coffee. The woman quietly placed the cup down onto the desk before handing Linus a sympathetic smile.

"Thank you, officer." Inspector O'Dea delicately stated before blowing lightly on the rim of the hot mug. "That will be all for now."

The average looking man that was sitting across from Linus with his thin lips pressed tightly together was around the same age as the detective. He wanted to appear smart in his oversized, blue stripped tie and white shirt.

The man's pepper-tinted hair was trimmed to perfection, with not one hint of an out of place sliver. His dubious looking white face supported a thick, grey mustache that was groomed to where a person could only see his bottom lip move up and down whenever he spoke.

O'Dea meticulously sipped on the edge of the cup before looking up at Linus and saying, "You must forgive me. I did not have the opportunity to savor my wife's delectable cooking this morning. The woman makes the best homemade sausage this side of the Ohio River. Jimmy Dean be dammed."

Linus sat and watched as the inspector placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands before glancing around the room and asking, "Are you cold?"

Linus only slightly shook his head from side to side. For him, and at that point, words were as hard to grasp as air in his hands.

"It's funny how thin the walls are in this building. Shows you just how old the place really is." O'Dea affectionately sighed. "My grandfather was an officer here back around the turn of the century. According to him, this place was falling apart back then, too."

Linus looked on as O'Dea turned his attention to the window to his immediate left. Both men could hear the protestors outside on the ground chant loud and clear.

"Boisterous, aren't they?" O'Dea looked back at Linus. "Jesus, you look like you haven't slept in days, Detective," the man pointed. "Are you feeling alright? Well, that's a pretty stupid question." He flippantly grinned. "Look, I know you think I'm here to nail you to the wall, but that's not the case. I just want to know what took place last night."

All of the sudden, colors began appearing right before Linus' eyes as he sat there in his chair. It was a psychological disorder that seemed to occur at the perfect moment and in the perfect place.

"Now, you've been silent about the entire ordeal for the past few hours, Detective. Don't you think it's time to open up? I mean, you're gonna have to do a helluva lot better than domestic abuse with that mob out there, my friend." The inspector empathetically explained.

Linus batted his eyelashes in a rapid sequence before looking up at the man. He waited for O'Dea to ask even more questions.

O'Dea looked down and studied the papers that were lying in front of him. "How's your family?" He inquired with a straight face that never bothered to look Linus in the eye.

Linus sat for a moment or two before replying in a dry tone, "They're fine."

"How's Elizabeth?"

contemptuously eyeballed

good." O'Dea casually remarked with his eyes still staring at the papers. "I'm serious, that's very good." He adamantly reiterated. "Detective, in your statement, you mentioned that you went over to Ms. Glover's residence last evening to secure Mr. Mercer for more questioning. But

Linus exhaled a long breath before muttering, "I was following up on

"A hunch," O'Dea spoke up. "What sort of

"There were some loose ends that I had

yourself, was spotted running from one end of town to the other yesterday. From Ms. Glover's home, to his

visited

"The young lady that was kidnapped and

Taken off guard, Linus caught his breath

"Why

"I wanted to

with his arms folded in a sanctimonious fashion. "Well, I guess we could call you a nice detective, if nothing else. But that still doesn't explain this so called

feeling well." Linus

"Oh, I see, so you decided." O'Dea strongly emphasized at Linus. "So, not only are you a nice detective, but

sat and stared daggers at the inspector. The man was far from surprised at what was taking place before him; he expected

"So last night you decided to pay a visit to Ms. Cohen in the hospital, to which afterwards, you decided to make your way over to Ms. Glover's residence to pick up Mercer. Now, when you arrived

directed them down at the desk. Right then, his body began to tremble

"Dammit, man!" O'Dea snapped, pounding his fists onto the

"I never

be shed! You shot a naked, weaponless, colored man with a twelve gage shotgun, a shotgun that was left in a cruiser by one Detective Fitzpatrick, whom we will be investigating next, and all you can do is just sit there and keep

inspector's tirade, Linus remained still

you first busted your way into the house?" O'Dea anxiously inquired. "These

from out of his seat and began to pace the room from front to

keep a relationship together longer than a one night stand. But the guy didn't have a single weapon on him, and somehow, Ms. Glover's finger was sliced

wrecked and bloody body

"There was a gun, but Mercer's fingerprints weren't found on the weapon. And yet, you decide to rampage into this house and blow this man away in a bathroom of all places. Jesus, I know you're fifty-three years old, Bruin, but do you mean to sit there and tell me

Crossing behind Linus every other second, O'Dea would stop to stare down

"I wish we could work together on this one, Linus." The inspector rationally articulated. "I realize that you and I haven't gotten along too well over the years. I mean, we won't be exchanging Christmas cards anytime in the near future, but I've got both the D.A. and the Mayor breathing down my neck, and an entire town of

O'Dea ceased his outburst momentarily while facing the caged window. It was all the

a pig, then it's the fuzz.' The inspector sniggered, sounding tickled by the phrase. "They even

while listening to the man endlessly drill on and on. It was all melting inwards, just not through the

sit there." O'Dea then turned to the door and pointed, "Look out there, Linus. All those kids just waiting for

his head back up and opened his mouth. At first, no words came out, but after seconds of silence, with a shaky voice he murmured, "I...I

O'Dea spun around in amazement and listened

"What I did...last night was, was all

have to be all your fault, Linus. All you have to do is tell me what happened inside that house and we can go from there. What the hell makes you think I want to see an officer like yourself go down? Linus, you broke into a house and shot and killed an unarmed man. Something like this doesn't just up and go away overnight. Hell, it'll be on the CBS Evening News before you know it. This is all Cronkite needs to add yet another award to his already cluttered trophy chest. Unarmed black man shot dead in the buff, for no apparent reason other than he was beating his fiancée. Oh what a tragedy," O'Dea zealously satirized before nearing closer

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