Free Detective D. Case by Neal Goldy Page A

blackened so the color was
as thick as tar and disguised well so they looked like air fresheners. But the people
who ran the place must’ve thought their prisoners as kidnapped victims because the
bigoted idiots didn’t know the difference between their left and right shoes. Gladly
he hadn’t been one of them, but he knew – or predicted, that seemed the ideal word
– the thoughts and viewpoints of others when seeing the security enforcements they
had put up.
              Hold
on, he thought, temporarily removing the slacked off personality that everyone who
knew him attributed to him. Now, with this on his hands, he became a silent mute
who did not even speak when spoken to. Breaking that mutism wasn’t a grudge of childhood
but something much worse. Returning to his thoughts: just who were “they” anyway?
Lincoln flashed backwards to when he last saw the outside world, when everything
appeared normal. He remembered investigating the apartment for the fifth anniversary
of the case for what felt like forever. He wasn’t sure, though, if it was five years
since the case started. He mulled it over a little, taking mind of the chair in
which he was sitting. Lincoln found it peculiar that nobody thought of strapping
him in to prevent his escape, but it could be a ploy, too, so he stayed put. Light,
from where he was, was dimmed too low to see anything more than two feet away. The
lights were placed on the ceiling in two far corners, making no sense to Lincoln.
He tried to move, but he decided that they’d do worse to him if he got out.
              “Officer
Lincoln,” said a baritone voice.
              “W-what
happened?”
              The
dimmed lights hid the man’s face, but Lincoln didn’t need that to know that his
face wasn’t pleasant. “You were taken,” said Baritone Man. “Luckily we found you
so you wouldn’t have died in the fire.”
              “Died,
died where?” All of this was new to him.
              Baritone
Man sounded annoyed. “In the fire, don’t you understand? When the building collapsed,
you were there with the rest of the officers. Apparently you were searching for
something, but we’re not quite sure what it was.”
              “So
there’s more than one of you?”
              “You
only ask questions when needed,” said Baritone Man. “For now you will be quiet and
provide information when asked like a lawful student deep in their academics.” Baritone
Man’s chair screeched when he pulled it closer to Lincoln; however, the shadow blacking
his face stayed the same. “Allow me to introduce myself, since I have forgotten
to mention it before. I believe I’ve been, shall I say, rude in my introduction.”
              Lincoln
wanted to speak – even opened his mouth – but quickly shut it. He wasn’t sure if
it was going to be a question or not, but the hidden man probably wouldn’t like
it if he spoke anyway, question or not.
              Shaking
hands the man said, “Hello. My name is Baritone.”
              So
maybe Lincoln was right all along.
              “Nice
to see you, uh, Baritone,” said Lincoln. He hoped the man didn’t notice the awkward
way he spoke his name. “I’m –”
              “No
need for your name. You must have forgotten the part when I first said, ‘Officer
Lincoln,’ and scared you a great deal.”
              If
only he could roll his eyes now. “Of course you were.”
              “I
did, truthfully,” said Baritone. “I wish to continue, however.”
              The
chair got closer, its screeching sounding like screaming victims.
              “Have
you heard of the Davidson family? They’re wealthy and skillful in various projects
with many talents.”
              Lincoln
shook his head. “Did Forbes ever mention them?”
              “They
are a private family,