Free Stormy Weather (Storm Donovan Book 1) by Steve Rollins Page B

roles here.”
    “Sorry to hear that. How are you holding up?” Donovan sounded genuinely concerned.
    “I'm hanging in there. Getting used to stomping around that apartment alone.” She forced a smile. “But if that's all, I'll be going, sir. Good evening, Mister Donovan, Mister Parker.”
    Albert waved and Donovan said goodbye.
    Albert's phone rang and he walked into the kitchen as he picked it up. Donovan could not hear a word he said and just looked out of the window. The office buildings were emptying. The workers were flooding into the streets from the doors and the car parks. From his bird’s eye view, he couldn’t make out faces. But he thought he recognized his secretary walking her bike from the building’s front entrance, getting on and cycling off toward Harlem where she lived.
    “Right. You'd better come with me , ” Albert threw back the coffee and winced as the hot liquid burned his throat. “You might find this interesting.”
    They were soon in his car driving toward one of the poorer parts of Brooklyn. Donovan did not venture into the ghettos often. He had been there previously, especially during his days in the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but he preferred to stick to the higher parts of society in Manhattan and Brooklyn these days. It was more comfortable and the smell was infinitely better. When he remarked on the latter, Albert immediately opened the windows of the car. Donovan punched him in the shoulder.
    Albert parked the car outside a rundown apartment block that looked as though it should be demolished. There was already another car with the FBI letters on it at the location. A coroner’s van raced past them and around the corner as they got out of the car. “This is where Quinn’s supposed to be living,” Albert said as he walked to the door. “Let's see if the parole officer was right.”
    Donovan followed him and retched almost as soon as he walked into the apartment. There was another one.
    “Do we know who it is?” Albert asked. The agent who had been sent to find Quinn Lang was already busy taking fingerprints. “Not yet,” she said. She held up the paper with the fingerprints. “I'll go down and scan these. Should have an answer for you soon.”
    The coroner came into the dingy apartment. He let out a low whistle when he saw the body and then sniffed. “Well, this one was the first to get the treatment.”
    Albert and Donovan both looked at him with questioning eyes.
    The coroner shook his head. “You FBI boys feeling slow today? I had hoped that maybe you would have learned something since you left the FBI, Donovan, but it seems not.” He waited for a protest and just as Donovan opened his mouth, he continued. “There's quite a distinct odor here. I'm guessing he's been lying in this warm apartment for at least a week.”
    Albert looked around the apartment. There was not much there. There was a bed and a cupboard. He went to the cupboard, pulled a glove onto his right hand and opened the drawers one by one. There was a wallet with Quinn Lang's driver license in one of the top drawers; the others contained some clothes and a few books. The top right drawer held a Bible.
    “So Quinn Lang found God in jail.” he mumbled. He thumbed through the Bible, but there was nothing to suggest any passage he had been particularly interested in.
    Donovan stood on the spot, waiting for someone to tell him it was alright to move. He did not want to disturb the scene. He was no longer an agent and he knew from experience how easy it was for a judge to overturn evidence if there was any reason to think the crime scene had been contaminated.
    Albert went into the small kitchen and found nothing worthwhile. There were some eggs in the fridge and some used knives and pans. He checked the small bathroom and found a single toothbrush, a travel-size tube of toothpaste and a bar of soap. It was depressing, really. There was nothing here. Nothing to show a person had really lived a life.