Where the Sun Sets  
                                  
                                        Chapter 9 
 
     New Haven was a quiet, New England community; home to approximately fifty

thousand households.  Less than two percent of the average yearly crimes dealt

with murder or the attempt of a murder.  The story of the Dal Santo shooting was

front page news.  Lieutenant Barsky had her morning paper in hand as she entered

the police station, as always, at nine A.M. The paper, however, had landed on the

top of her desk without much forethought, when she was beckoned to the holding

cell on the lower level of the building. 

     Grabbing a hot cup of coffee, Taylor Barsky headed to the basement of her

building with an exhausted attitude.  She did not get too much sleep the previous

evening. Seasonal allergies always took over her sleep patterns.  Somehow she

always managed to get a sinus infection in the fall.  And once the infection

showed up, sleep all but left the county.  Her throat was sore, and she could not

swallow without pain.  Talking was tricky. 

       Down in the holding cell was the local town drunk.  Taylor thought how sad
 
it was that every town just had to have one.  Charlie Daniels was his real name. 

His parents must have had it in for him from the get go.  With a name like that,
 
Taylor was surprised more on the days he wasn't occupying her cell than on the

days that he was.  Charlie wasn't a bad person.  He just never had anyone to take
 
care of him.  And he was never very good at it alone.  He was a lonely man who

sought company in bars.  He never hurt anyone or stole anything.  He wasn't really
 
all that good at being a drunk either.  He usually passed out before he left the

bar stool. 

     "Lieutenant?" Taylor hadn't realized she had stopped in front of the cage and
 
had been staring at the sleeping Charlie.  She was brought out of her daze and

into the basement. 

     "Patrick, good morning.  What was it you needed from me?" 

     "Simmers, down at the pub, he mentioned a stranger coming in last night." 

     "And..." 

     "Well, he felt as if he knew the man.  He mentioned the guy made him feel

uncomfortable." 

     "Patrick, Simmers is what, about eighty five or so?  If a midnight blue

seventies Cadillac cruises past his place, he feels uncomfortable.  Why is it that
 
you feel I should be concerned?" Taylor wasn't using a reprimanding tone, just a

parental, please explain tone. 

     "I don't know, Lieutenant, it's just with the Ferrero thing and all..." 

     "Ferrero, ah, I see.  Okay, well did you take down any details?  Did you get

a composite?"
 
     "No ma`am, I had to bring Charlie back before he puked all over the back

seat." 

     Taylor had to chuckle, in spite of herself.  "All right Patrick, why don't

you call Jed upstairs and send him over to pick up Simmers.  Bring him down here

and see what the top artist from the graduating class of 2002 can come up with.

Anything else?" 

     Charlie moaned in the cage.  He was about another thirty minutes from

standard awake zone. "On his way back, have him stop by McCluscky's and grab

Charlie a breakfast sandwich." 

    
 
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