SLAVE TO THE TRADE (currently on Amazon.com)

CHAPTER 1

After an hour of sitting back and relaxing in his office, Detective George Pratt instinctively knew that the man walking towards him would break the mood. Pratt took a couple of deep breaths and prepared himself for the mental jousting he knew was ahead.

“So,” the man asked in a sarcastic tone, “is today the day you finally let everyone in on the big secret, or do the rest of us just have to figure it out as the day goes along?”

Pratt calmly looked up from his desk and smiled at his young partner. The kid’s name was Jeremy Stevens, and he was a twenty-four-year-old transfer fresh from the patrol division. He was a tall, handsome young white kid with high cheekbones, over-gelled hair, and a confident, cocky posture that made him look the part of an aspiring actor. He was still trying hard to carve out his place within the Prostitute and Sex Crimes Squad, but sometimes it seemed he was using force when he should have been using finesse.

“I take your silence to mean the latter,” the young detective said with a sigh. “Why does everything have to be such a mystery with you?” Pratt had always reminded him of one of those pale-skinned, middle-aged poker players who lingered in the background of old western movies─always calm, always cool…even when the bullets started flying.

“Patience,” Detective Pratt said smiling.

“Patience,” the rookie detective mimicked. “I think that sign on the wall is just a game meant to fuck with everyone’s head.”

Pratt looked at the sign Stevens was referring to. It was simply a large piece of paper with a date written across it in permanent red marker. The paper had been on the wall so long that the corners were turned up and it had a dingy, yellowing tint.

“April 17, 2003,” Stevens mumbled, looking at the paper. “That’s today. You know…a lot of people believed that this was the date you planned on taking early retirement.”

Pratt shook his head. He was well aware of the many whispers and rumors regarding the date on the wall. As he looked into the eyes of the eager youngster, he decided to let the secret out. He reached into his desk, pulled out a stack of envelopes, and handed them to Stevens.

The younger detective tried to hide his excitement. This was the moment so many people had been waiting for. As he fumbled with the rubber band that held the envelopes bundled together, he started feeling uneasy about what he was doing, as if he were treading on sacred ground. Unfortunately his curiosity would not allow him to stop.

The first thing Stevens noticed was the return address on each envelope. The mail was from an inmate at a Washington State Prison. It seemed that Anthony Davis, prison number 654311, had sent exactly fourteen letters, one per year, all postmarked on April 16.

Stevens slowly opened the envelopes. Each held a single piece of paper with April 17, 2003, written in big red letters.

“So, what do you think?” Detective Pratt asked.

“I think that one of the pieces of shit you put away has been sending you threatening letters!”

“Look again and show me where you see a threat,” Pratt responded.

“Well, what else could it be?” Stevens said. “He definitely ain’t a friend of yours…is he?”

“No, he is definitely not a friend,” Pratt said matter-of-factly.

“Well, explain it to me then,” Stevens demanded. “What does it mean?”

“I never recall saying there was any meaning. I never even recall saying this was a mystery.”