It’d been around eight hours since the homicide took place, and five hours since the bodies had been discovered. It was nearing midday, and Brian was running on several cups of coffee and only two bits of dry, whole-wheat toast.
His stomach rumbled, and he figured he’d have to eat soon, but looking at crime scenes and then the photos victims all day had kind of killed his appetite.
They were in the squad room, pinning photos of people, living and deceased, to the case board, trying to establish suspects, motive, or a pattern. Brian’s stomach growled angrily, and Raymond rolled his eyes.
“Man, I’m gonna make you some oatmeal if it growls one more time,” he threatened.
“I just want to get these photos up,” Brian said, flicking through a file from the stack of cold cases they’d dug up, on
