Those days of hacking all night were long gone, along with her patience and her body’s ability to process copious amounts of Mountain Dew. After speeding through the beverage aisle, she hurried to the checkout lane, eager to get back to the office. Every second counted if she wanted to keep her boss, Fitz Houndum, off her ass.

“I knew you had a secret mini fridge!” Rick exclaimed as Tilly barged into her office, grocery bags in tow. She knew she was on the losing end when she agreed to exchange office keys with him, yet she’d still agreed to do it. “Partners must be equal,” he’d argued.

“I never denied it,” Tilly replied, placing her bags in the fridge in her closet. Rick better not have a key to this, too, she thought as she closed and locked the closet door. Exhausted, she collapsed into her office chair, taking a deep breath.

“I have no idea how to handle the Black Lives Matter stuff. I know it will blow over, but I don’t know if this case can wait that long. Everything is cold, and we have no prime suspect, no motive, no leads. And Mr. Mystery Government Guy keeps blowing off Houndum.”

Rick grinned back her, relishing her anguish. “Actually, we’ve got one out of four,” he said after a spell.

“Are those our chances of being demoted?” Tilly asked.

“No. I just got a tip that blew this case all the way the fuck open. Apparently, the van that got wrecked was sold to our mysterious terrorists that same night. And check this: the terrorists were teenagers.”

“No fucking way. So, this is domestic?” Tilly perked up, leaning across her desk, a gesture typically reserved for realizing the building was closing.

“This is very domestic. The guy who sold the van says he sold it to some young black kid in a blue Honda Civic.”

Tilly was instantly skeptical. “A young black kid? That’s weird. I mean, I guess that fits the nature of the crime, but even then, I don’t see it. What black teen in 2019 has strong opinions on Civil War memorials?” Tilly paused, concentrating. Leads were like relationships. If you didn’t recognize where they were taking you early on, you could waste a lot of good time. And outfits.

“I’m not sure this is domestic, Rick,” Tilly declared. “He could have been African. Or Caribbean. Or Canadian. Before we get to that, though, can we trust this source of yours? Who is he? What does he do? How did he meet the kid? Why did he come in?”

“I don’t know all that shit, Tilly. You’re the actual senior agent. I’m just a specialist who got a title change because human resources doesn’t know what they’re doing. He’s in Interrogation Room F, though, if you want to interview him.”