I was six blocks away, grabbing coffee from a convenience store known more for the hours than their quality beverages, when I got the call. Midnight on the beat is murder.
Which is what we had: white male, 30s, in a track suit, dumped in a hedge next to his squalid apartment block. Unsavoury place. Smells like my coffee tastes.
I dumped it. In a different hedge.
Witness saw a car drive off: westbound, blue Honda, no plate.
Sergeant showed up; man’s got more stripes than sense. Who’ll take the blame for his bungled investigation today? Hope it ain’t me.
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