Perpetual Winter: The Deep Inn Read Online Free PDF Page A

from top to bottom and there were three enormous pieces of meat in a green basin. The old man who wasn’t old had put glasses on and, with latex gloves, grabbed one of them and diagnosed, “The heart is fine.” He grabbed another and said, “The lungs seem healthy,” and then the third, confirming, “The liver shows nothing special at first glance.”
                  Lucas gasped, perspiring. His temples pounded. He was going to die there.
     
                  “If it wasn’t because of these, then what would this young man’s boyfriend have died from?” one of the policemen asked in a falsely curious tone.
                  The baldheaded guy made a gesture to the cripple, who turned the trunk and head of what remained of Quiroga’s body.
                  “Could it be this?” The doctor, using a telescopic metal pointer that looked like an antique car antenna, pointed at a small orifice in the nape of the body’s neck—the entrance wound from a bullet in the head.
     
                  “So, did you have a good nap?”
                  He jumped from the hard bed. He’d slept covered in sweat. What a nightmare. But where was he? A man was sitting across from him. It was the inspector who had interrogated him the evening before, this time alone. The clock on the wall showed three-fifteen. Through the window, he could see it was nighttime. He took off Lucas’s handcuffs.
                  “Lucas, why did you kill your friend? I just want to understand why?”
                  “I didn’t kill him.”
                  “But he seemed awfully dead to you, didn’t he, boy? Where did you hide the pistol?”
                  “I don’t know.”
                  “Now, now, do you want me to believe that you forgot where you put it?”
                  “I don’t have a pistol. I didn’t kill him. I slapped him around.”
                  “You know, Lucas, I even understand what happened. You knocked him about. Instead of getting the message, he came after you with a bat.” The chief inspector opened his arms slightly and exclaimed, “It was legitimate self-defense on your part.”
                  “The guy was bad news, from what they tell me,” he continued. “We didn’t lose much of anything. If it wasn’t you, sooner or later, it would’ve been someone else. Let me tell you this. You did something stupid, but there’s still a way out. Nevertheless, you have to help me so I can help you. Where’s the pistol?”
                  “I already told you. There is no pistol. It wasn’t me.”
                  “I feel sorry for your mother. She’s desperate. All that money your folks will spend on lawyers is going to leave them completely broke. Son, tell me, why did you kill that lowlife? Tell me that it was in legitimate self-defense, and everything will be fine.”
                  “It wasn’t me.” Lucas’s tone changed as if that prison was some sort of ring, although he still didn’t know what a victory would be on this stage.
                  The inspector stood up and left without saying another word. Lucas stayed awake for the rest of the night. He barely even closed his eyes. After the inspector left, they’d put handcuffs on him again and his wrists hurt. Someone had taken the clock from the wall. He’d caught a cold and, after two times, when no one came to let him out so he could blow his nose, he quit calling for someone. He coughed lightly to clear his throat. His stuffy nose dripped on the small pillow, and he breathed through his dry mouth. He woke up without having slept. Lucas knew it was exactly seven in the morning that had not yet revealed itself because he unfailingly awoke at that time, and had for many years. After a while, two policemen he didn’t know appeared.