Sectia 8 Politie Instant

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.

He made a different call. Not to the captain. To the parchet – the prosecutor’s office. To a woman named Procuror Ionescu, who hated Secuiu with a quiet, burning passion. She answered on the second ring. sectia 8 politie

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. Munteanu shone the light on the prone figure

“What happened, Ghiță?” Munteanu asked, his voice calm. He clicked the heavy lock and stepped inside