TWELVE
As the evening sun began to set upon the New York City skyline, the fiery orange glow reflected in the labyrinth of glass, stone and steel. The populace rushed about at their usual pace as most headed home after a long, productive day, while others made their way to meet friends at restaurants or one of the many watering holes.
The city was alive as it always was, regardless of the time of day, it truly was The city that never sleeps.
McCall sat at her desk and stared at the murder board, its shiny white surface masked by photographs and writings in several different coloured markers. She stared hard as if it would reveal something the more she looked, but the more she looked, the more it made no sense. The murder of Donald Major made no sense; McCall stood up and walked about,
