was that guy, he didn't know how to let go - especially when he knew there was a man out there, walking free, who had committed such a heinous murder.
He parked his old white Chevy truck in a secured parking area adjacent the station and took a small cardboard box from the bench seat, the box that contained what few items he found comfort in, little trinkets he'd collected over the years that were special to him. He started toward the tall, concrete building that housed Police Headquarters, the Homicide Unit and the Cold Case Homicide Team. He went in through the front, not quite feeling a part of it all enough yet to use his key card at the side entrance. He went through the TSA-like security checkpoint showing his badge and building identification to avoid having to unholster his SIG P226 then headed up to the third floor.
When Sutton stepped out of the elevator he was immediately cognizant of the heavy weight that the air seems to burden a man in his position with. Sutton had been a detective long enough to know that evil truly does exist, and that even the good guys can't rid the world of it entirely. There is a thickness, a putrid smell and an energy that lives within that air, and it sucks in all who dwell within it for too long. It's a force that has the ability to draw a man in and hold him there, simply by baiting him with the false sense of hope that he can restore good. It hooks him permanently by making him believe that he can actually destroy evil. Few souls will ever get caught in the trap of that air, and that's a good thing.
"Hey old man, how the hell have you been?"
Detective Paul Sutton, or Sutton as most people referred to him, looked in the direction of the voice and saw his old partner, Ryan. Detective Ryan Bradley was one of the best homicide detectives the department had on staff and one of the few people in the squad who could get away with not addressing him as Detective. Ryan had moved over to the Cold Case squad three months before Sutton had come out of retirement and Sutton was happy to have a familiar face to work cases with.
"Ryan, you dog, I heard you couldn't handle things down here anymore so I decided to come back and show you how it's done." Sutton smiled showing off the wide gap in the front of his top row of teeth. What remained of his smile was yellowed from years of long hours on cases spent staying up all night smoking Marlboro Reds and pacing crime scenes. All those long hours had cost him the white color of his teeth, wrinkled lines to his forehead, permanent dark circles under his pale blue eyes and the majority of his belief in good. He was the first to admit that his nature leaned towards the cynical side.
"Sutton, you will never change. I knew you couldn't stay away forever. Glad to have you back, partner."
Sutton looked around and made his way to an empty, metal desk next to Ryan's. He placed the cardboard box from his truck down on top of the desk and sat in the worn blue office chair in front of it.
"Did you hear what case they are going to put you on?" Ryan asked.
"I figured they would give me some old whodunit that nobody else wanted just to see if I still had it in me to solve something."
"No partner, they are giving you a second chance, they put you back on the Carmichael case," Ryan said pointing across the room in the direction of the main case board.
Sutton looked across the large room but couldn't read the board from his desk. He slowly eased out of his chair and walked over to the white board hanging on the dingy wall at the far side of the unit room. Standing in front of the case board he found his name and followed across to the victims name column. CARMICHAEL.
"Holy shit," he said to himself and walked back to his desk and began unpacking the box, displaying the trinkets randomly about the top of his desk.
Sutton put the last of the boxed items away. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Running his hand through his thick gray hair
He parked his old white Chevy truck in a secured parking area adjacent the station and took a small cardboard box from the bench seat, the box that contained what few items he found comfort in, little trinkets he'd collected over the years that were special to him. He started toward the tall, concrete building that housed Police Headquarters, the Homicide Unit and the Cold Case Homicide Team. He went in through the front, not quite feeling a part of it all enough yet to use his key card at the side entrance. He went through the TSA-like security checkpoint showing his badge and building identification to avoid having to unholster his SIG P226 then headed up to the third floor.
When Sutton stepped out of the elevator he was immediately cognizant of the heavy weight that the air seems to burden a man in his position with. Sutton had been a detective long enough to know that evil truly does exist, and that even the good guys can't rid the world of it entirely. There is a thickness, a putrid smell and an energy that lives within that air, and it sucks in all who dwell within it for too long. It's a force that has the ability to draw a man in and hold him there, simply by baiting him with the false sense of hope that he can restore good. It hooks him permanently by making him believe that he can actually destroy evil. Few souls will ever get caught in the trap of that air, and that's a good thing.
"Hey old man, how the hell have you been?"
Detective Paul Sutton, or Sutton as most people referred to him, looked in the direction of the voice and saw his old partner, Ryan. Detective Ryan Bradley was one of the best homicide detectives the department had on staff and one of the few people in the squad who could get away with not addressing him as Detective. Ryan had moved over to the Cold Case squad three months before Sutton had come out of retirement and Sutton was happy to have a familiar face to work cases with.
"Ryan, you dog, I heard you couldn't handle things down here anymore so I decided to come back and show you how it's done." Sutton smiled showing off the wide gap in the front of his top row of teeth. What remained of his smile was yellowed from years of long hours on cases spent staying up all night smoking Marlboro Reds and pacing crime scenes. All those long hours had cost him the white color of his teeth, wrinkled lines to his forehead, permanent dark circles under his pale blue eyes and the majority of his belief in good. He was the first to admit that his nature leaned towards the cynical side.
"Sutton, you will never change. I knew you couldn't stay away forever. Glad to have you back, partner."
Sutton looked around and made his way to an empty, metal desk next to Ryan's. He placed the cardboard box from his truck down on top of the desk and sat in the worn blue office chair in front of it.
"Did you hear what case they are going to put you on?" Ryan asked.
"I figured they would give me some old whodunit that nobody else wanted just to see if I still had it in me to solve something."
"No partner, they are giving you a second chance, they put you back on the Carmichael case," Ryan said pointing across the room in the direction of the main case board.
Sutton looked across the large room but couldn't read the board from his desk. He slowly eased out of his chair and walked over to the white board hanging on the dingy wall at the far side of the unit room. Standing in front of the case board he found his name and followed across to the victims name column. CARMICHAEL.
"Holy shit," he said to himself and walked back to his desk and began unpacking the box, displaying the trinkets randomly about the top of his desk.
Sutton put the last of the boxed items away. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Running his hand through his thick gray hair
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