The morning sun wasn’t really trying to . shine. It just hung there behind the clouds, this pale, half-hearted glow that made everything look washed out and tired. Davon stood at the edge of the crime scene tape, hands buried in his leather jacket pockets, watching the CSU team do their thing.
He hadn’t slept.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d closed his eyes around two, stared at the ceiling until three, then gave up. Made coffee he never drank. Scrolled through case files without reading a word. Around five, he just sat in the dark and listened to the city wake up—garbage trucks, early birds, that distant siren that never seemed to stop.
The call came at 8:52. Woman’s body, MacArthur Park. No ID, no witnesses. Just a Jane Doe on a bench.
He thought about calling Claire. Actually
