Read Inspector O 02 - Hidden Moon for Free Online Page A

shut in my face, but there was no click of the lock. I decided to wait. A minute later it opened a crack; a hand stuck out, with a stocking dangling on the end of it. “You didn’t get this from me.”
    “Only one?”
    “That’s right.” The stocking was torn and had a considerable amount of blood on it. Still visible along the top and up one side were small designs. At first they were hard to read, but when I examined them more closely, I saw they were monograms, Western letters, CB.
    “You’d look pretty silly with this over your face, wouldn’t you?” I held up the stocking.
    He opened the door wider and peered around the corner. “No, because I wouldn’t put that thing over my face.”
    “What do you think the CB means? I’ve never seen stockings like that.”
    “You’re the inspector, not me.”
    “There’s a place in my sector, Club Blue.”
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    “No, I’ll bet you wouldn’t. You always have spare stockings lying around? Or only when they come in with corpses that were never here?”
    He began to look like he was thinking of closing the door.
    “You must have autopsy equipment in there, right?”
    “Of course.”
    “Little scalpels, tiny picks.”
    “Something like that.”
    “You can do fine work, delicate work?”
    He shook his head. “Forget it, Inspector, I can’t dissect a cell phone.”
    I patted my pocket. “Don’t jump to conclusions, it’s bad for your ankles. Just one thing more.”
    He waited.
    “You wouldn’t have any other suspicious deaths that you’ve been keeping to yourselves, would you?”
    “Meaning what?”
    “Meaning I’ll be seeing you around.”
7
     
    Two flights down, the door opened into a dark room. It wasn’t locked, or at least not very. This lock was cheaper than the one on the morgue, so it gave way after a little twist and a nudge. I stepped inside; the entryway was dark, and so was the hall, but at the end there was a faint light and the sound of music. I walked toward the music, feeling my way along the walls. A flashlight would have been good; mine was in the back of my desk drawer, with only one battery. There were none in the Ministry storeroom, and the supply clerk said none would show up until next year. He always said this with some satisfaction, as if informing us what we couldn’t have was part of his job description.
    The room at the end of the hall turned out to be a drinking club, with high stools along the bar, and on the back wall a long mirror and rows of classy bottles of champagne and whiskey and expensive-looking glasses. Against the other walls were tables, some of them surrounded by velvet curtains, the rest just empty. I sat on a stool and looked down the bar. The music got a little louder, by degrees. Not like anything they played in the karaoke bars for the foreigners; it sounded deeper, maybe African. This was a bad idea, following up. It broke all of my rules about staying out of swamps. But the stocking with the monograms made me curious. I pretty much kept away from these clubs. Some inspectors liked to keep close track of the ones in their sectors. They said it was important to follow the activity; it was also a good way to get free drinks. I was more inclined to noodle restaurants, but the girls in the noodle restaurants didn’t wear monogrammed stockings, I had to admit.
    “We’re not open, but what’s that to you?” From somewhere behind the bar, a voice emerged.
    “The door wasn’t exactly locked. I figured it meant you were serving.”
    “This is a night place, friend. We don’t serve drinks until the sun goes down. You got business here, breaking in?”
    I finally located the bartender in the dark, a short man with no neck wearing a black shirt. He had a broom, but he wasn’t sweeping.
    “What’s that music?” I always start with an easy question.
    “It’s from the Caribbean somewhere. Any creep would recognize it. You didn’t come to listen to records, that’s for sure, and