THIRTY-FOURJim was dazed as he walked out of the house into the black, starless night. He didn’t know what to feel, how to sort out the mixture of anger, sadness, total puzzlement and loss. He just stood there, between Trick’s car and his own, trying to collect himself enough to report what he had to report.
He was a friend. And he was a cop. A good one. He knew what he was going to have to do and it wasn’t going to be easy.
Then he heard something. The sound was faint, but he’d definitely heard it. He listened. It was coming from the trunk of Trick’s car. A muffled voice, a weak scratching against metal. He ran over to the car, to the locked trunk and could hear the sounds coming from inside. A female voice. He ran to his car and removed a crowbar from his own trunk and returned, pushin
