Chapter 1
Detective Michael Casoni awoke to the sound of his cell.
"Yeah," he mouthed sleepily. He'd arrived home from the graveyard shift only three hours ago, and he'd immediately fallen into a deep slumber.
"Rudy here, Mike," Lieutenant Reichmann said. "Sorry to wake you. I know you've been pushing it of late, but we really need your expertise on this one."
"Which one?"
"Case we just caught. McGarry was catching and caught the squeal. A homicide."
Casoni waited for further information, knowing there was more to come.
"The vic' is ex-military. Did two tours in Vietnam. We could use your insights on this one."
"What's the location? I'll eighty five you there in thirty minutes, give or take. You might reach out to Santino for me."
Casoni listened to the instructions and began throwing on his clothes before he hung up.
Vietnam? Again?
He remembered the case he had caught last year that had thrown up all the horrors of the Vietnamese conflict. It seemed at times that he couldn't get away from the conflict or the role he had played in it. Identifying the blackmailer had been key in that case and Casoni had succeeded where Sinnott had failed not because he was a better cop, even if he was, but by the sheer fact that he was able to call upon the resources of his contacts and in particular, Inspector Yannick of the Swiss police.
Vietnam was about to rear its ugly head again. Cole, a balding fifty-something, gripped his Budweiser and drank the cold beer from the neck. The lights in the bar flickered off the bottle as he replaced it carefully in the centre of his beermat. He gave a satisfied sigh. He winked at the barmaid. "Good beer," he commented.
She smiled at her only customer. It was a bit early in the day for drinking, but she knew Harry Cole worked funny hours at the nearby armoury. Most of her clientele were army in one way or another, and the bar was set up to cater for their needs. Two pool tables at the back, a darts board, a giant television screen that beamed the latest sports, and the usual jukebox that was currently blasting out Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA.
"Were you working today Harry?" Molly asked him, her flame hair catching the same light that had illuminated the Budweiser bottle seconds earlier.
"Yeah," he confirmed, lifting his bottle again. "Only got a pass at the last minute. One of the other boys must have screwed up." It was the start of a long weekend.
"Any plans?" she queried with a smile. She had an open smile in a somewhat oval face, full lips and a long nose and a slightly freckled face. She had first arrived in New York two years ago to visit friends and she had never gone back. Start writing here…
