“He was so fucking on the nod it took him a full minute to realize I was shouting at him!” Chen spluttered into his coffee. “I went over and shook him to see if he had any dope. Sure ’nough…”

Nate usually loved the joviality of his fellow cops, but now he tried to block them out. A murder in his town. It was on. Nate had been exposed to all the terrible things people did to each other. He sure as shit wasn’t letting a murderer walk the streets of his town.

He stared at a Post-it Note he’d stuck to his computer monitor. The numbers had been written on a scrap of paper that was tacked to Santiago Martinez’s refrigerator. Nate had jotted them down, thinking they might be important to his investigation.

323 454

What were they for? Did they mean anything?

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, no closer to the answer. It couldn’t be a phone number, which was seven digits, or a bank card’s PIN, which was four. What was six digits?

If only he had some news, a break in the case, but after the last twenty-four hours processing the scene and interviewing potential witnesses, he was at a dead end. He chuckled at his own pun. Ah, good ol’ detective humor.

Nate pulled a Snickers from his desk drawer and popped the top on a warm can of Coke. He’d texted Emma earlier to say he’d be home late again, but he hadn’t had a chance to check if she’d replied. He reached for his phone just as Lieutenant Dyson came out of his office, forcing him to leave it in his pocket.

“You still here, kid?”

“Yup.” Nate tried not to care that Dyson still thought of him as a kid. Years as a beat cop in Seattle, then promoted to detective here, and he was still just Matt Sweeney’s kid. He peeled the wrapper off his Snickers and took a huge bite. “Just finishing up these reports.”

“Tell me what we know.” Dyson leaned against the desk next to him. He was a good lieutenant, always willing to talk out a case or jump in when needed. The way Nate’s dad used to be before the stroke fifteen years ago.