THE CALL
JOHN
As I have no open cases, other than Walter's, of course, I decide to work from home the rest of the night.
Home for me is a tiny one-bedroom apartment in the city. It's actually not that bad — it's only a few blocks away from my office, which means I can walk it, and... okay, so I lied, it's not that nice. It's about as nice as my office: small, unorganized, full of old files, and a lot less furniture than an adult should own. But it works for me.
I'm going over some of the information I have on the old cases I was able to sneak out of the precinct before I left. Most of it is garbage, and I know it doesn't have any valuable intel on there for me to use, but it doesn't hurt to look at anything I can.
The only thing that peels my eyes from the page is the sound of my phon
