“Thanks.” Gathering the three files and my legal pad, I start toward the meeting room to find that my small department has already converged at the rectangular table, including my third-shift dispatcher, Mona, who should be home sleeping. My chest swells a little when I notice everyone’s in uniform. T.J. and Skid are embroiled in a conversation. Glock is thumbing something into his phone. Pickles is nursing a mug of coffee, a legal pad and pen in front of him.

I take my place behind the half podium at the head of the table. “I want to give everyone a quick briefing on what we’ve got so far on the Michaels and Rutledge murders,” I begin. “Doc Coblentz just completed the Michaels autopsy. Cause of death was strangulation from hanging. In addition to being hanged, the victim sustained two gunshot wounds. One to the abdomen. The other to the genital area, which was a through and through.”

“Ouch,” Skid interjects.

That earns him a few nods from the other men in the room.

“The lab retrieved a slug. We’re looking at a .22 caliber. They’re working on matching striations now.” I look around the room. “At this point, no one knows if the gunshot wound to the genitals was on purpose or by chance. I think you know that if it’s the former, we could be looking at the work of a gang or revenge for a sex crime.

“Regarding Michaels’s iPhone: We’ve run all the names through LEADS and we’re working our way through the list. So far I’ve interviewed three of the individuals he made his final calls to: Blue Branson, Jerrold McCullough, and Julia Rutledge. As you know, Rutledge was murdered last night, which I’ll touch on in a moment. All three individuals have alibis and claim no knowledge of the victim or the crime.

“Interestingly, Michaels sent a text to Blue Branson shortly before his murder.” I look down at my notes and read: “‘Meet is on. Will call 2 let you know outcome.’” I turn my attention back to my team. “Blue Branson says he doesn’t know anything about the meeting and he doesn’t recall receiving the text.”

“You believe him?” Glock asks.

“He showed me his phone,” I tell him. “He wasn’t lying about having not read the text. But I don’t believe him one hundred percent.”

“Is he a suspect?” Skid asks.

“He’s a person of interest.”

“Emphasis on ‘interest,’” Glock mutters.