Free The Devil and the Detective by John Goldbach

the room the horrifying atmosphere of a darkroom, where negatives, negatives of unspeakable acts, bloom into being. ‘Open the fucking door, Rick!’ And the pounding and buzzing continued. I tried to speak but couldn’t. I tried to say, ‘My fucking hands are cuffed!’

13
    I woke up, fully clothed, on my couch. My doorbell buzzed loud and hurt my head. My mouth was dry and tasted bitter so I grabbed the glass beside the couch and took a big sip and then spat warm whisky on my floor. The buzzing didn’t stop. ‘I’m coming!’ I yelled. Still, the buzzing continued. I stood up and went and opened the door. O’Meara and another detective stood there, still, and I said, ‘ Benvenuto . I was just dreaming about you.’
    â€˜Don’t play cute, asshole,’ said O’Meara, and they pushed their way into my apartment.
    â€˜Why are you here?’ I said.
    â€˜You tell me,’ said O’Meara.
    â€˜I was sleeping. I have no idea.’
    â€˜Where is she?’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Who the fuck do you think?’
    â€˜Elaine.’
    â€˜Good guess.’
    â€˜I have no idea.’
    â€˜Yes you do.’
    â€˜No, really, I have no idea. I woke up and she was gone. I called you.’
    â€˜In her bed.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜You woke up in her bed.’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜You said you woke up and she was gone.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜So you’re saying you were sleeping in a guest room and woke up and then went and checked in on her and she was gone.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜You’re full of shit. You’re a piece of shit.’
    â€˜Fuck you,’ I said, and the other detective punched me in the stomach. I fell to my knees.
    O’Meara said, ‘Where is she?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜Cuff him and let’s take him in.’
    Sitting in the back of an unmarked car, I tried to reason with O’Meara. I said, ‘How could I have possibly killed her, disposed of the body and returned to call the police? The officer out front didn’t see me leave.’
    â€˜He didn’t see Elaine leave, either,’ O’Meara added.
    Still, though, I think he was taking my point. Why would I want to murder my client? Why would I want to hurt her, in any way, shape or form?
    â€˜I was duped, too. I’m as interested in solving the case as the police,’ I said, and O’Meara made some disparaging remarks about my abilities as a detective. Then we stopped talking and his lackey drove us to the station in silence. We passed familiar buildings and I became lost in the rambling, nonsensical, relentless thoughts of someone who’s nervous and exhausted. Nothing was coming together.
    Then I said, ‘She gave us the slip, O’Meara. She’s disappeared. I don’t know why but that’s what’s happened.’
    O’Meara scoffed and said, ‘Thanks, Rick, for your in-depth analysis of the case.’
    I stared at the backs of their heads. My goddamn gaolers, I thought, two stupid assholes. They knew I had nothing to do with Elaine’s disappearance, but O’Meara was keeping me captive out of spite; he resented me for innumerable reasons, all having to do with his deep sense of inadequacy, I thought. He was trying to teach me a lesson for sleeping with my client, I thought, a woman he would’ve killed to sleep with, given the chance, which he never would be that is to say, be given the chance despite being a real police detective . I had to say something, as we drove on pointlessly in silence.
    â€˜O’Meara, instead of wasting your time with me, you should be trying to figure out what’s happened to Elaine. She’s probably being held hostage right now being abused and you’re wasting time fucking with me. It’s ridiculous. Let’s just find her!’ I said and kicked the back of his seat.
    â€˜Pull over,’ said