Munteanu stood up slowly. He looked at Ghiță. “Who brought him in?”
Munteanu shone the light on the prone figure. The man’s back was still. No rhythmic rise and fall. He clicked the heavy lock and stepped inside. He knelt, ignoring the smell of cheap wine and sweat, and pressed two fingers to the man’s thick neck. sectia 8 politie
“I have a body,” he said, his voice low. “Cell 3. Apparent homicide. The arresting officer is Secuiu.” Munteanu stood up slowly
Munteanu walked back to the main office. The logbook was open. He ran his finger down the list of arrests for the night. There it was: “John Doe, public intoxication, 02:15 AM. Arresting officer: Secuiu, V.” No other details. No ID. No witnesses. The man’s back was still
This wasn’t a drunk who’d had too much. This was a body dump.