Marissa Hamm sat on the edge of a desk belonging to Ned Barker, the third shift catch-all plain clothes detective, and waited for her partner to step out of the squad room’s only working restroom. Arms crossed tightly across her bosom, a frown on her face, her right foot kept up a snare drum’s rat tat tat of impatience as she waited for her turn to freshen up before the shift started. But it was going to be a while before her partner stepped out of the can. It always was ten minutes before clocking in for work. Like some circadian sleep cycle, for Mike Bean it was a biological necessity to step into the restroom and systematically overwhelm the building’s antiquated plumbing system with a bowel movement a rogue elephant would be proud of. Glancing at her watch she frowned and mumbled to he
