Justice Hurts. Igor Yevtishenkov

inner surface of the door. Michael’s smartphone was the latest model, but the psychiatrist didn’t set up a face recognition input on it. Unlike Carol’s, his screen was unlocked immediately, so he disabled all passwords at once. When everything was finished, glasses wrapped in a handkerchief appeared from the backpack, while napkins returned to their place along with a bottle of water. This was difficult to do, as the backpack was packed tightly. Having wiped the dark glasses with a cloth, he put the handkerchief back on, and before putting them on he carefully looked out the window. There was no one around, so he could go out. Holding the door with the last napkin, he sharply pushed it back, trying not to touch it. In the darkness it was not visible how a small handkerchief fell out of his full backpack, slipping from a seat onto a rubber mat. The road to a McDonald’s with free Wi-Fi was ahead. Yes, his life really was getting interesting, and the coincidences in it did not seem to be accidental.

      CHAPTER 4

      There was silence at first but something was in its way. The distant, insistent ringing of the phone broke through the fog of sleep and reached the depths of his desolate consciousness. His eyes slowly opened, and his hand reached for a bright spot on the nightstand.

      «Lieutenant Lindstone?» it sounded somewhere far, far away, as in space, but his brain has already begun to work. His first thought was about the voice – who has such a sharp, creaky voice in their department? «Lieutenant Lindstone?» was repeated.

      «Yes, I’m listening,» he said, quietly gurgling and wheezing at the same time.

      «This is Sergeant Huston. We have an incident. The corpse of a woman was discovered in a house. There’s a suspicion that it’s your wife.»

      «What?» for a few seconds he could hear only a thumping heart beat in his head and nothing more. In his mouth, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his throat was blocked up from the disgusting bitter aftertaste of alcohol. «Repeat,» he asked, in a barely audible tone.

      «Sir, we have an incident…» followed the repetition of the same words.

      «Address?» he got up and sat on the bed.

      «I’m texting it to you now, sir.»

      «Thank you… Oh, shit!» his attempt to get out of bed was unsuccessful. A sharp pain hit his head, right in the middle of his brain, before spreading from his forehead to his temples and sank down the back of his head to his shoulders. He obviously has to take something urgently. Last month, the psychiatrist prescribed him a new antidepressant, but it was unclear whether he was allowed to take them in the morning, and in particular, after alcohol. Would it be better to take aspirin? Hell, it was necessary to call the doctor and ask him what to do.

      Suddenly, his thoughts returned to the call, and his whole body strengthened, as before jumping over the abyss. Even the pain hid in the back of his head, frightened by the tension of the brain. A huge ball of fire was approaching him, gradually filling the entire space around with bright light, and Carol stood still in the middle of it, looking at him. His head seemed to burst from this feeling, and, clutching his temples with his hands, he moaned. He knew he had to urgently put his head under cold water. A chair, a wall, a door, a faucet, water, goosebumps – all these existed, but he was not able to get rid of the vision. Only the headache subsided a little. William quickly changed clothes, drank some water, which made him feel even worse, and yet he swallowed one capsule of the new medication. His thoughts were revolving around a luminous ball, not daring to get inside. He was watching it from the side, blocking his emotions inside and tried to restore the course of events of last night in his head. Taking a bottle of water, he called a taxi and went out onto the porch. The cool spring air touched his face pleasantly. It was only six in the morning. His gaze lingered on the SMS with the address, and for a few moments the letters were dancing before his eyes, as if they didn’t specifically want to connect together. He had already read them and realised that it was him who was trembling along with the phone, and a wet layer appeared on his eyes – either from tears or from the light wind. The rustling sound of rubber on asphalt made him tear himself away from the screen. He had to go and now the light ball in his head turned black, and Carol’s figure turned into a white outline. The world in his head turned upside down.

      «Eleven Walnut Street,» he said in a hoarse voice to the taxi driver, sitting in the back seat. The car slowly moved forward. Outside the window, yellow maple leaves were dancing in his eyes. He closed his eyes and there was an unpleasant feeling of slight nausea in his stomach. It was better not to look out the window. So, what happened? How did Carol end up in Doctor Woodruff’s house? It was clear that this happened by chance, but then what the hell could get her there the night before?

      CHAPTER 5

      «Stop at the yellow ribbon!» he said to the driver. The taxi drove up to the fence, a few meters from the policeman on duty. The man took several steps, but when he saw who got out of the car, he stopped.

      «Good morning, sir!

      «Hi Douglas. How are you? It’s meant to be your day off, isn’t it?»

      «Yes, it is, but we were told to come here urgently. Sorry, sir, but Inspector Wilson asked me to call him when you arrive.»

      «Tom? Is he here?» That was unexpected, although, if he thought about it, it was quite predictable. William raised his collar and put his hands deep in his pockets, and he turned to the house. There was a familiar lawn, a yellow mailbox at the gate, steps made of dark stone and a wooden door without glass – soundproof and thick. He almost imagined opening it and entering inside. He seemed to recall having been here just recently, maybe a couple of weeks ago.

      «Bill! Hi! How are you? Sorry, bad question. Anyways…,» Thomas Wilson’s usually good-natured face grimaced unpleasantly. «Follow me, let’s talk inside.»

      «Who called you?» asked William, climbing the stairs. The door was ajar.

      «The guard, Mike Rith, you know him. I worked with him in the investigation department. When he saw that it was your wife in the house, he decided to call me. Was that okay?»

      «Not really,» he had to report to anyone on duty in the department. «Okay, what is it?» he thought it wouldn’t matter but everything happened by itself – his nose and eyes started stinging after which everything disappeared into a translucent film of tears. Quickly brushing them with his sleeve, William took a deep breath and held it there, closing his eyes and freezing for a few moments. Suddenly, he composed himself, the tears stopped and now he had to pull himself together.

      «Put these on!» Tom handed him shoe covers. «There are still so many questions. The guys will need to work with prints. Don’t touch anything!»

      «What happened?» William asked sharply, feeling that the inspector was hiding something.

      «I think it was a homicide – either intentional or accidental. Calm down, let me tell you something. At five thirteen a 911 call was received from her mobile: no-one spoke. The operator registered the call, but did not hang up. Something seemed strange to her. She requested a geolocation of the place, received confirmation and transmitted the request to the patrol for a routine check. When they arrived, the door was open, everything was silent, and then everything was as it is now. Look!»

      They walked through the narrow corridor to Doctor Woodruff’s office, and Tom gestured him forward. A cuff from a white shirt appeared from under the sleeve of his jacket. It stood out sharply against the dark skin of his hand, appearing as a strip between the past and the future – before and after.

      William nodded and stepped inside. A table, an armchair, two wide semi-circular sofas, a low table with a glass were in their places. There was something like whiskey inside the glass. Carol reclined, leaning her head back, her knees were shifted to one side, to the armrest, one hand lying limp on her stomach, the other on the couch. The phone was nearby. The face in the dim set of the gray morning looked even paler than usual. How many