Sectia | 8 Politie

Munteanu sighed, the sound scraping his dry throat. He grabbed his flashlight and heavy keyring. The station was understaffed—as usual. His partner, a fresh-faced recruit named Popescu, was out chasing a ghost report of a stolen tractor from the agricultural cooperative.

He picked up the phone to call his captain, then stopped. Secuiu had friends. Powerful friends. The captain might be one of them. One wrong call and this report would vanish. Munteanu would be transferred to a rural outpost in the Delta, and the dead man with the soft hands would be cremated as an “unidentified vagrant.” sectia 8 politie

He looked back at the stopped clock. 3:17 AM. The hour of truth. Munteanu sighed, the sound scraping his dry throat

“The guys from the night patrol. I don’t know. The big one, the one with the scar.” His partner, a fresh-faced recruit named Popescu, was