Detective Burkely

The telephone rings, disturbing the peace of the quiet office, jerking me up from a dreamless sleep as I throw my two hundred and seventy-eight pounds of body weight around the recliner chair to find balance.

Reports and files are scattered everywhere and are on every available surface of the cheap mahogany table.

Even my name plate sits inside one of the drawers collecting dust in line with how many years I've been sitting on this case.

I flip on the desk light and it blares into my blood-rimmed eyes, shooting straight for my brain and giving me an instant headache.

The telephone continues ringing, contributing to the throbbing effect in my head and I pick up the damn thing.

“What?!” I snap into the phone while reaching for the half-empty bottle of bourbon on top of a stack of old files.

“Burky, did I wake ya?” My partner, Steve Robertson, and old friend teases into the telephone.

He's never in a good mood whenever he resorts to teasing.

“This had better be good, Steve. What'