Chris wakes up to the sound of rain and the cool breeze coming in through his cracked window. The clock near his bedside table reads 6:45 am. Just in time to take a shower and get his day started. When he gets into the office, there’s a yellow sticky note posted on his door:

             “Hastings, officers Branson Mick, Peter Taylor and Tom O’Daly

                          Want to meet with you. Give them a call.” -Atkins

The note didn’t bother Chris, considering he was planning on contacting them anyway but was curious about why they were contacting him. Figuring they had more information or wanted to see how this case was going, he dialed their number. They agreed to meet around noon at the diner Chris was at the day prior, which leaves Chris enough time to look through everything once more.

Time flew by exceptionally fast and before Chris was ready, it was time to meet the three officers. The diner was busy as it tends to be during lunch, so finding an empty booth to sit in took some time and waiting, but nonetheless he got one. He ordered black coffee and some fries to tide over his hunger with a few minutes to spare before the officers arrived. The bell on the door rang, indicating the arrival of new people coming in. Three tall, burly men walked through the door, capturing the gaze of everyone in the diner. Chris stands up and introduces himself, as do the other men, and they all take a seat. Once the men ordered their food, Branson speaks first. “It’s nice to meet you, Detective. It is my understanding that you are still working on the Charlie Denton case?”  The way he emphasizes the word “still” irritates Chris. “Yes,” Chris says, “I was meaning to contact you to get a little bit more of a basis on the scene and anything that may not have been on the report,” he responds. The men look at each other. Peter is the one who clears his throat and speaks next. “Actually, yes. There is something that we have been meaning to um... discuss with you about that night,” he says tentatively. That caught Chris’s attention, so he grabbed a pen and paper from his briefcase to take notes on anything important Peter would say. “Okay,” Chris says, drawing his eyebrows downward slightly out of confusion. “I am going to write down anything you say that will be helpful to this investigation, he says, “are you okay with that?” He asks this so as not to offend anyone. “Yes, that is fine.” Peter says. And so it begins.

The three first talked about how their night started. “It was bizarre. We were eating at ‘Tasty N Sons’ after we got off our shift and decided we wanted a small ‘boys night out,’ ya know?” Peter says in an almost whiny voice, as Chris jots down what he’s saying. “We were eating and discussing how our day has been and how Branson had a delinquent of a kid that was a hassle when we got the radio call,” Chris notes how Peter’s eyes glaze over, almost as if he was going to cry. “An officer at our station says that they got a noise complaint coming from the hotel room that sounds suspicious, and we should go check it out. And you know, we were trying to enjoy our dinner so we were confused as to  why we were being called in, especially for a noise complaint.” Peter said shaking his head.

Tom, who was very quiet this whole time spoke up. “Yeah, man it was weird. We finish eating and decide to take one car to the motel to save time. When we get to the motel we talk to the desk clerk and ask about loud noises coming from a room. The clerk said he heard some loud noises but nothing unusual, which was concerning for us.” Chris puzzled, makes sure to take careful notes of this. “So, we asked if we can get into the room the noise was coming from. We got the key, went in and it was silent. Too silent.  We almost decided to leave until we saw a foot poking out of the corner,” he says, grimacing. “I walk toward the corner and there’s blood everywhere. It was not a clean death, and that’s how we knew that this was a job bigger than we could manage,  and we called in for forensics and the Sheriff.”

Branson speaks up now, “While we were waiting for backup to come, we decided to look around, see if anything looks out of place or anything that we could do to catch this guy.” Branson grimaces. “We didn’t find anything suspicious, and forensics found no fingerprints or anything that would have been helpful for catching this guy. So, we were asked to leave and make a report leaving out no detail. When it’s something professional like this, some things you just have to leave out because you can’t get it across just right, and that’s why we came to talk you.” They all nod their heads in agreement.

Chris finished taking notes and finally talks. “I don’t understand,” he says. “If you couldn’t get the point across on the report, why didn’t you go into the station and talk to me earlier?“ this has been an ongoing investigation for about two weeks now, and I have gotten nowhere on it and now you three decide to come and talk to me?” Chris is suspicious.

“Hey now, you could’ve come and talked to us too,” Branson says defensively.“It doesn’t just have to be one-sided.”

Chris, feeling angsty now, bounces his leg up and down and calmly says, “yes. That is true. I could’ve scoped you out, but you have to remember that I was busy with getting every single detail from photos and reports, and,” he says almost losing his temper, “figuring that you guys would write the report with every single detail you could’ve possibly remembered, you three, were my last resort.” He says, almost out of breath.

“Okay. Everybody needs to calm down,” Peter says apologetically. “We,” he says, glaring at Branson, “ should’ve talked to you sooner because it would’ve helped move you along faster and we’re sorry,” he says finally.

Chris nods his head. “Thank you. And I am sorry for almost losing my temper, but I have spent two weeks on this investigation and have  got nowhere.” Irritably, he finishes, “Thank you for coming to me now, I think I am able to move a little forward,” he says standing up. He shakes each of their hands, thanks them one last time and leaves the diner. Once he’s in his car, he waits around until the three men leave.

A few minutes later, Diana, the stations' clerk, walks out of the diner and climbs into Chris’ car.

“So, what did you find?” Chris asks. He knew something weird was up with the three of them and wanted to know exactly what. So, he had asked Diana to come along and have a seat in the booth behind theirs to listen if anything sounds out of ordinary after Chris left that may get him more information. Diana’s short blonde ponytail bobs up down. “After you left, it sounded like one of the guys hit the other in the arm and told him, ‘way to go for almost blowing our cover’” she says, gulping air. Chris knew something had been fishy. “And..?” he encourages her to go further. “And,” she says looking up to him through the rim of her glasses, “they said that they should’ve just left the conversation to Tom because he’s the one who planned it and would’ve known what to say without being a ‘whiny child’ about it and ‘blowing it to shreds’. And then that’s when they left, ” she says. “Though I am not sure exactly what they are talking about, I do think you were right about them,” she says looking at the empty space of the diner door where the men had just left. “Something is off about them.” Chris shakes his head in agreement. “Thank you, Diana. I really appreciate you being there. By having that knowledge, it makes my next move easier., Thank you,” he says. Once she is out of his car, he drives off and goes back to the station to divvy up a plan and execute his next move.

The drive to the station is a bleak ride. Chris’ mind is racing with different emotions, mixed with confusion and anger. He observes the street the station is located on, gazing at the lights still hanging on the surrounding buildings and houses that were left from the holidays. His old truck races around the corner of the street, tires holding onto every piece of gravel possible to keep from barrelling over and rolling down the street.

The walk into the station was fast and fiery. Chris knew that the other officers in the station were curious as to why he seemed to be in such a rush, and perhaps raised their brows in wonder at what his problem is, but he didn’t care. He made sure to lock his door behind him so no one would come in to bother him. He practically threw himself into his chair, making it swivel a few inches, corrects it, and opens up his computer typing furiously. Chris isn’t exactly known for his happiness, but he’s also not mad all of the time either, it’s just that he's almost… detached from everything around him. Kind of like he’s emotionless. But, you could definitely tell he was mad about something. After he is done typing on his computer, he backs away from his computer and sighs loudly, rubbing his beard. He decides to call in one of his buddies from the station. A few moments pass by and there is a knock on the door. Chris pushes himself out of his chair, takes one last glance at his computer, and walks over to open the door. Nick is there when Chris opens the door with an inquisitive look plastered on his face.

“Come in,” Chris says quickly opening the door a bit more to let Nick into his office.

“You seemed eager in the call, what’s up?” Nick asks, taking a seat across from Chris’ desk.

“Yes,” Chris says, taking a seat as well, “I was. You know how I have been working on the Charlie Denton case for a couple of weeks now?” He asks, and Nick nods. “Well, I think I may have a lead on it. But, I need your help with something first just to be sure.” Nick nods but is hesitant to ask what it is he wants from him, or rather, what he wants him to do.

“Okay… what do you need of me?” He asks slowly.

Chris’s lips tug up into a small smile, “I need you to follow these three guys, as best as you can, undercover. I want to see what they are up to, see where they hang out, know what they talk about, anything that can help. I have a weird feeling about them and think that they may be behind this case and a reason why I can’t seem to get further with it,” he says, almost giddy but with a distant look on his face.

Nick sighs, “You want me to follow them? And what, report back to you with whatever may be suspicious?” Chris nods.

“How long would you need me to do be doing this for?”

“However long it takes us to get some clues. Hopefully within a few days, but who knows. It’s not like they are going to be talking about a murder in the open, especially in public places. You are going to need to get deep and private to know what they are really up to,” Chris says, as he continues to type into his computer. “Here,” he says, turning the computer screen towards Nick. “These are the men. Peter, Tom, and Branson. Tom seems to be the man who they all follow, so I am interested in  him more than the others, but they could be easy targets if we get them alone, too.”

Nick rubs his temples and shakes his head. “Chris, I don’t know. That would be three men I have to follow, and I am only one person. Have you checked in with anyone else about this?”

Chris shakes his head. “No. I didn’t want to involve anyone else because they would ask too many questions and get too involved with them. You are the best at this job and the only person I trust. That’s why I asked you,” Chris says, “and besides, I would be there to help, too. The only thing is, I just can’t be around them where I would be easy to see because they already know what I look like and maybe on high alert for me. So, I need you,” he adds, tapping his hand on the table and leaning back in his chair.

Nick thinks it over for a few minutes. “And you think these guys are behind the murder?”

“No,” Chris says quickly, “well, I don’t know for sure. They could be, or they could just know something and not be telling me. Either way, I want to know. I need to know, for the Denton family, especially,” he says seriously.

“Alright,” Nick says, sighing loud, “Send me their information and anything else I may need to know about them, and I’ll get started on it tomorrow,” he says, standing up.

Chris exhales gratefully. “Thank you so much, Nick, you are really a huge help to me and this case, and I will help in any way I can. You can tell me what else I need to do for you if you need more support,” he says walking over towards the door.

Nick just nods his head. “I hope you know what we are getting into,” he says finally, and he walks out.

Chris shuts the door behind him, keeping his hand rested on the door handle. “I sure do too, Nick, I sure hope so.” He whispers under his breath and walks back to his desk. He stares at the three images of the men for a while, burning holes into their skin. He then gathers up the information that he has on them, and private messages it to Nick. Although Chris doesn’t know exactly what makes him think they may be behind or know something more about what happened with Charlie Denton, he has a sinking feeling in his gut that something is not right. And it bothers him that he doesn’t know what it is. He decides he doesn’t want to spend any more time in his office discouraged by his thoughts. Besides, it's getting late. He decides to pack his things in his briefcase. He turns off the light and closes the door.

After he arrives at his place, he sets his things down and begins his nightly routine. As he is making himself dinner his phone machine beeps with a voicemail, “Hey Chris, it’s Nick. I’ve looked through a few of the things you have sent me, and it immediately brought me up with some questions that I would like to discuss with you tomorrow if you have the time. Anyways, give me a call or text when you can to let me know we have something on. Bye.” Chris immediately takes out his cell and texts Nick letting him know that he is on to meet him tomorrow and suggested a place and time that would work. He finishes up making his chicken and rice and takes a seat on his couch and turns on the “X-Files”. What can he say, he likes watching other people figure out unexplained cases too. Makes him feel a little less alone when things are taking longer than usual. Once he finishes his dinner and about 8 episodes, he finally decides to go to bed, foreseeing what tomorrow will be like, which is a long day but probably needed. He brushes his teeth, washes his face, cracks open his window and turns off his light.

His alarm clock blares at 6:45 waking him up from his deep slumber. Rolling himself over, he turns off his alarm clock with blurry eyes and slow hands. Twisting himself out of his sheets he makes his way over to the bathroom to take a shower and start his day. After he gets ready he goes out to start his car to get it warm and sends Nick a quick text just to make sure that they are still meeting in the same place. Once he gets confirmation from Nick that everything is ready to go, he gets back into his car and begins driving to the destination. It starts to snow on the way so he gets there a lot later than he expected, but gets there nonetheless.

He sees Nicks truck and gets out of his car to meet him in the desolate barn. Nick is sitting on one of the haystacks looking at his computer. “Hey man. Thanks for meeting me here. I am sorry it was so far out of your way, but I wanted to be sure that we wouldn’t be followed or no one would overhear us if we were in a public area.”

“I get it. I mean, I’m not saying that we are being followed or anything, but we have to take extra precautions, especially because these guys could also be following us or have hired someone to check in on us as well,” Nick says slightly shaking his head. “Anyway, last night, while I was going over their records and photos and stuff, I found something interesting,” He said pulling up each thing on his computer. Chris leans in closer to get a look at what he may be showing and nods to encourage him to go further. “Let's look at their record first. It was interesting to me because I found that each of their records had basically the same thing. The reports show  age, height, weight and where they are from, which is normal, but everything else is clean.”

“Okay…” Chris says, not really seeing what Nick  is getting at. “Isn’t that a little strange to you?” he asks in his raspy voice. “I mean even if you are the nicest person and follow the rules, there would be at least something on your record. Even if it's a traffic violation. But these guys, they have nothing. At all.” Chris furrows his brow. “I suppose that is interesting, but there’s nothing we can really get from this or tell by this report. I mean, how does this push us further into these guys?”

“Well, it doesn’t really get us onto anything, but it does let us know that there is something definitely up with these guys, and I still have to look into following them and seeing what they are actually up to before we make actual presumptions about them.”

Chris nods in agreement. “Okay, yeah, what else is there?”

“So, we are assuming that these guys didn’t know each other before they became cops, correct? Unless they were all friends and decided to get a job together, which is pretty unlikely. Right?”

“Uh - yeah. As far as I know. Wasn’t exactly a question that I asked them while I was trying to figure out Charlie Dentons murder. But, yes, it is possible that they could have known each other before signing up to become cops, but it is also possible that they didn’t know each other prior to their employment with the police department.,” he says getting irritated by not seeing the point Nick is getting at.

Nick pulls up a few photos that Chris has never seen before, “Well, I did some research last night and found a few things from before. Like 2014, before. And what I found definitely confirms that they knew each other before becoming cops,” he says turning the computer more toward Chris to give him full view of the screen.

On his screen, there was a picture of Branson in a sleeveless shirt, revealing his bicep tattoos, holding a Corona beer with Peter and Tom next to him, laughing at some joke one told the others. The setting behind them was dark with a few neon lights illuminating their faces, indicating that they are probably at some party,also proving that they did know each other beforehand.

“Yeah,and there is more,” He says clicking the arrow on his keyboard.

“I don’t understand what this means. So, what? They knew each other before. It doesn’t help us move any further on this case,” Chris says, again.

“Just wait,” Nick responds. There are a few more pictures of the three together but the one that really gets Chris to stop, look up and tense is the last picture in the folder. It's a picture of  Branson, Tom, Peter, and standing behind them, cooking at a grill is Charlie Denton.

“Holy s***,” Chris says, not believing his eyes.

“Yeah,” Nick says. “Yeah. I don’t know what this means. Three guys randomly called in to a murder scene that just so happens to involve their friend, and they say they have no idea what happened, why they got ‘called in,’”he says in air quotes, “and are acting like they have no idea who Charlie was or what happened to him,” he says shaking his head. “Again. I am not saying that I think they are tied to his murder, but they definitely know something that they aren’t telling you or anyone. Now, I have about two logical ideas for it: Either someone else on the force, or their ‘friends’ don’t want them to say something about it because it will make the situation complicated, or they are too scared to admit that they know something and don’t want to confess what it is.” Nick finishes.

“Or?” Chris asks.

“Or,” Nick says looking up at him through his thick brows, “they had something to do with the murder and this is their cover-up.”

Chris leans back on the haystack, processing all of this new information. “So what are you saying?” he asks. But he doesn’t like that question. “Like, what do you think I should do? If we just sit around hoping that they are going to talk about something relating to the investigation or Charlie, we are going to be waiting a long time,” he says.

Nick taps his knee three times and rubs his index finger in circles against his kneecap. “I don’t know” Nick answers. “I suppose you could contact them and talk to them some more. Ask questions about them, but make it seem as if you were asking about the investigation. Say you have more questions and some things you meant to ask them previously, and other things to talk about, but you couldn’t because the situation got heated and then target exactly what you want answered.” He suggested, pushing himself up from where he was seated, and paces away towards the wall and back again.

“This is just an interesting situation. You never hear about things like this happening, let alone have it happen. It’s like something straight out of a movie.” He queried.

Chris, following Nicks suit, also stands up and begins to walk back towards the barn door. “Thanks, Nick. You are being a really big help now, and I will need you even more later. Still, follow up with them and see what is going on, and I’ll check in with them and see what I can get out of them too.” He places his hand on the door handle, and turns back towards Nick, “I am going to need your help now more than ever.” He says, leaving Nick standing in the middle of the empty barn.

By the time Chris gets back into town, it's late evening. The sun is already set over the grey mountains, creating a tangerine hue across the horizon, and Chris is tired. Sometimes he wonders if he did the right thing. Becoming a detective, and all. He wanted to help people and solve the unsolvable, but maybe it's a lot more than he bargained for. He works every day, averaging 10 to 14 hours like he's a workaholic and he has next to no social life because all he does is work. He loves his job and he loves working, but when it's time like these, it makes him wonder if he should cut back a little. Stressing over someone's death is very serious, but not all cases are like this, so why does he work day and night, over and over again. He begins to think over his job and his hours and that after this investigation is over with and the Denton family gets the justice they deserve, he’s going to cut back on his hours and regain a social life. And catch up on sleep. Definitely, catch up on sleep.

He decides to get some takeout instead of making dinner at his house, and pulls up at “Frank's Noodle House”. He orders the “General Tso’s Chicken” and a diet coke to go. While he is waiting for his food, he decides to email Tom about meeting up. He thinks he should start out with Tom, considering he seems to be more of the leader and see what he can get out of him, and then follow up with the other two and see if what they say matches up. By the time he sends the email, his food is ready and he gets back into his truck to go home.

When Chris unlocks and opens his door, he is immediately welcomed by a cool breeze. “Crap,” he mutters under his breath and quickly runs over to his room to find his window has been left cracked open. He swiftly closes the window,  locks it and curses to himself for forgetting to close it when he got up. Now, he has use his little gas stove which takes forever to turn on, let alone heat up. In the meantime, Chris reheats his food that had gone cold over the thirty-minute drive from the restaurant to his place. His diet coke has already been finished off so he uses the same cup to pour another diet coke, putting more ice into the cup. The microwave beeps indicating that the food is done heating, and he takes a seat on his recliner and sets his food on the pull out table he usually uses for his dinner and resumes binging Criminal Minds.

As he relaxes, his phone dings signifying a notification and he wonders who would be contacting him at 9:45 at night. It’s an email, from Tom, simply saying “9:30 tomorrow morning at Sheri’s. Sound good?” The sign off states simply, “Tom O’Daly”. Chris furrows his brows and turns his head slightly in curiosity. Why was it so short and to the point? Chris asks himself. Thinking nothing more of it, he shakes the question out of his head and replies to the email letting him know that he’ll see him then.

Chris’s night was restless and tense. He couldn’t stop thinking about Charlie and his family or what they might be going through. He also couldn’t stop thinking about those pictures that Nick showed him of the four of them together. He just couldn’t get it out of his head that Peter, Branson, and Tom know something that they aren’t telling him, and he thinks it's for a personal gain, which makes him more agitated with the situation.

Tossing and turning all night to find the right, comfortable position came to no avail. When the time finally gets to 6:00, he decides he might as well take a long shower instead of laying in bed any longer, especially since there is no point if sleep won’t welcome and envelop him with warm arms. The water is hot on his back, instantly making him relax his tense muscles and sigh with relief. He didn’t realize how tense he really was.

Once he’s out of the shower, he wipes off the steamy mirror with his hand and looks at himself. Really looks at himself. He notices his tired eyes and the purple rings around them and how they seem to be slightly sunken yet puff out. His eyes travel down to his beard and facial hair. He hasn’t really paid attention to how long it has gotten. He looks older than he is, not necessarily in a mature way, but in a tired and beat up way. He decides to shave it off. Once he is done and wipes off his face with a towel, he looks  himself in the mirror again and notices the difference instantly. He looks better. Cleaner, and more like his age. Sighing, he finishes up his morning routine and makes his way to the diner instead of making breakfast.

The bell above the door rings when he walks into Sheri’s and he takes a seat at  a booth near the big window. When the waitress comes, he orders his usual - black coffee and an omelet, and decides to check back over the photos that Nick found. Sighing, he closes his computer and sends Nick a quick text letting him know that he is meeting with Tom and what he plans to ask him.

He eats food slowly, turning each word over in his head, and before he knows it, it's 9:30. Time to talk to Tom.

Tom approaches Chris as he stands up to greet Tom, “Hey Tom. Nice to see you again,” he says and gestures to the seat across from where he was sitting.

“Likewise. How’ve you been?” Tom asks, observing Chris’s newly shaved face.

“Been better, been worse, and you?” He asks, mulling the next question over in his head.

“I suppose the same. It’s like everything has been off since we found that guy, you know? Like something is about to happen, and we just don’t know what…” Chris says, trailing off. There is a long pause before he speaks up again. “Or, like something isn’t about to happen.”

Tom raises his brow slightly and asks. “What do you mean by that?”

But before Chris can answer, the blonde curly haired waitress bounces back. “Oh, you have a new friend with you. What can I get you?” She asks, cheerfully. Tom takes his stare off of Chris to answer, “Oh, I’ll just have a cup of coffee. Thanks.”

The waitress nods her head and says “Will do. One cup of coffee coming up.” Once she leaves, Chris speaks up.

“Oh, you know, just that this investigation hasn’t gotten anywhere and I’m really not getting any closer to finding out who did it or what really happened, so,” he says, leveling his stare with Tom, “there might just be nothing that happens.” 

“So, what are you saying here, Chris? Did you want to meet with me to tell me that you still haven’t gotten anywhere on this investigation?” He chuckles,  “I already told you everything we know from that night. There is nothing else.”

The waitress comes back with Tom’s coffee and he gives her a curt nod. “That's it, right there, Tom. You told me supposedly everything you know from that night, but not about before,” Chris says, leaning back in his chair and sipping on his bitter black coffee.

“What are you getting at here? I don’t know what you mean.” Tom says dully.

“Oh. Mr. O’Daly, I think you do,” Chris says, grabbing his folder of the printed pictures of Charlie with the three officers. “Maybe this will jog your memory a little,” Chris says, sliding over the folder to Tom.

Tom looks up at Chris and then back down to the folder and slowly opens it. Chris watches his face carefully, noting how he lets out a little loose breath and the muscles in his shoulders tense a little. Maybe this wasn’t exactly the angle Chris was planning to get at, but he likes how fast and straight to the point it is. If he were to have  gone slowly about it he wouldn’t get the information he needs, not the necessary information anyway.

“Care to explain, Tom?” Chris asks, rather boastful.

Tom shuts his eyes and sighs, “how did you find these?” 

“None of your concern as of right now,” Chris  says. “Why didn’t you guys mention that you all knew each other before? Now, I’ve been coming to either rational or irrational conclusions about you guys, and more importantly about the case of Charlie Denton,” he finishes.

It takes a moment before Tom answers , “Okay. We knew each other. But only from parties and barbecues, really,” he says almost sadly. “We had only hung out a few times outside of that, so I wouldn’t have really called us ‘friends’,” he says.

“So then what would you have called it?” Chris asks.

“I don’t know. Like an in-between of friends and acquaintances.”

“Okay, then explain to me why you didn’t mention that you knew each other,” Chris says, raising his voice a little.

“It wouldn’t have helped you out any.” Tom says, lowering his voice.

“What do you mean? It would have helped, because now I count you all more as a suspect now than I did before!” he says, looking out of the big window and the little bit of snow flurries falling from the grey sky.

“Why?” Tom asks, “we told you everything we know about that night, and don’t tell me you think we were apart of it,” he says, scanning Chris’s face for answers.

“I am not sure what to think. Coming into this investigation, I had no leads, I was nowhere. You guys come into the picture and I have a little bit more information, but not much to move forward with, and then,” Chris says sighing, “and then I find these pictures and find out that you all not only knew each other before, but you knew Charlie too. So you tell me, what would you think if you were in my position?”

Tom shakes his head, “How did you even find these?” he asks, “I haven’t seen those in months, almost a year. They’ve all been deleted.”

“I do my homework.” Chris says. “If you think we have anything to do with your case, you’re wrong. The only reason why we didn’t mention it to you because it really didn’t matter. None of us had talked or seen Charlie in months, and the next time we see him, he’s dead.” His eyes slightly glaze over. “He was a good guy though, you know. He always put other people before himself and would do anything for the people he cared about in an instant. We hadn’t really known each other that long, let alone hung out a lot, but you could just tell with Charlie. And it’s a mystery to us too as to why we got called in, when we were off duty. We don’t even know who radioed to us.” He laughs, “It’s like some sick joke that the world or someone was playing on us,” he claims.

It takes a moment for Chris to soak up all of the things Tom just said before he speaks next, “Do you have any idea on who could have done it?” Chris asks, almost giving up.

“No,” Tom says, “No. Everyone liked him. Or so it seemed anyway. The only thing that was suspicious was that we were the ones getting radio called to check it out, and that no one on our team called it in.”

“What do you mean no one on your team called it in?” Chris asks.

Tom takes a swig from his coffee and squints and Chris. “When we got back into the station to make the report, we asked who called it in. No one knew what we were talking about because no one had heard about the murder yet. We asked everyone and no one said they did it. So, we just thought someone must’ve had one of our radios and called it in. But, it’s still weird that it wasn’t from anyone  on our team. After a while we kind of just forgot about it,” Tom says, wiping the bit of coffee he spilt on the table with his dark green cloth napkin.

“Another thing you just happened to forget to mention to me,” Chris says bitterly.

“Hey now,” Tom says, “I just told you we forgot about it, but now that we are talking about it, I remembered,” he says. “The guy had kind of a raspy voice. Not necessarily deep, but not young either. Like he was getting over a cold, but never had the cold, you know?”

Chris lowers his brows and leans back in his seat, “S***” he simply says.

“What?” Tom asks, interested. “Does that sound familiar to you?”

Chris is silent, mind racing with each thought and question passing by. It can’t be possible, he thinks. It just doesn’t make sense.

Chris lowers his voice, almost to a whisper. “Come with me and I’ll show you,” he says, abruptly standing up, taking out his wallet and leaving a twenty on the table. He rushes out to his truck and quickly turns it on to warm it up while he waits for Tom who is a few seconds behind him.

When Tom gets in the car he has to adjust his seat to his large size. “What Chris. Why did we come out here?”

“You said the voice was raspy, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tom nods.

“Look, I know that many people have raspy voices, but I know of one in particular and I just need to know if this is the voice you heard or even a possibility of it being this voice,” he says, taking out of his phone from his pocket and clicking on the voicemail button and pressing play on the top one.

“Hey Chris, it’s me. I’ve been following up with the three officers like you asked, but need to check in with you about something. How about I meet you at your place at seven to talk to you about some things. Anyways, give me a call when you get the chance to let me know. Bye.” The voice on the phone speaks.

Tom looks up to Chris with accusing eyes, before asking outraged, “You were following us?”.

“It's only been two days,” Chris says defensilvely, “and besides, I had to know what you guys were up to to get more information because it seems to me like you just ‘happen’ to forget things,” he says with air quotes.

“But that’s not the point. The point is and what I need to know is if this voice sounds familiar.” Tom looks at Chris for what feels like forever before he says, “Play it again.”

And so he does.  Once it’s over, Chris waits patiently, or rather impatiently for the words he is dreads  to say

“Exactly. Sounds exactly like the guy who radioed us.”

Chris leans into his steering wheel, rubbing furiously at his temples.

“What does this mean?” Tom asks.

“I don’t know. Either it means that the person I trusted most is behind it, or he knows who is. So I am pretty much back to square one, just with different people,” he says, frustrated. “Or person, rather.”

“I think. .  .” Tom starts to say, but stops mid sentence.

“What?” Chris asks aggravated.

“I think you should talk to whoever this guy is. Maybe make something up about what I said or did that would make him talk more.You might be able to get out what you need from him,” he says, turning his head back to the windshield.

“I should go. I have to be back at the station by noon and it’s already 11:30,” he says, opening the door. “I hope you get the information you need, Chris,” he says, and shuts the door behind him, leaving Chris to his chaotic and wild thoughts.

Chris decides instead of going to the station that he’ll just go home to think. Being around all of his paperwork at his office will just make him more confused and angry. The drive back to his place is a blur. He had so many thoughts going through his mind, that he doesn’t really remember much of it.

When he gets inside, it’s cold. Again. Confused, because he thought he left the fire on so that it would be warm by the time he would get back. He goes over to check why it might’ve turned off when he hears a raspy voice.

“It would have been better if maybe you didn’t ask me to help you with the investigation.”

Chris freezes halfway bent down and slowly starts to rise and turn around. When he slowly turns around, to no surprise, he sees Nick, standing in his doorway leaning against a wall.

“Why?” Chris asks, coming to the conclusion that Nick was obviously the one who killed Charlie and set it up for the three officers to look like they were involved more in the investigation than they were.

“He owed Chris. A lot. And when you owe, and you don’t pay up, it makes someone who’s very important angry.And when the important people are angry, it looks bad on me. It’s a price I had to pay, Chris. It the price he had to pay,” Nick says.

“I don’t get it, Nick. Why make it look like other people were involved if you really could have just let it look like something else?” Chris asks, slowly walking toward Nick.

“To watch you run in circles, constantly being busy because you were getting nowhere on this case made it more interesting,” Nick says, smiling.

“So this is about jealousy?” Chris realizes.

Nick shakes his head, “Not everything is about you, Chris. You were always the best guy on the force, always could solve the unsolvable. People praised you and when you were stuck for two weeks with absolutely nothing people finally started to realize who I was. It was nice. But it wasn’t just about you. I didn’t kill Charlie for you or because of you. I killed him because he owed.”

Chris didn’t know what to make of this. So many things were running wildly through his head. “Why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Because,” Nick says, getting impatient, “you were obviously close to finding out about it anyway, and it’s not like you are going to live to tell anyone. So it’s a win-win situation,” he says, pulling out a gun and pointing it straight at Chris’s chest.

“Woah, woah, wait, you don’t hav-” but that’s all Chris could get out before Nick shot him, knocking him off of his feet and the air out of his breath.

Chris felt like he was on fire. His whole body was burning and aching and burning but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint where the burning sensation was coming from. He knew he was shot, but for some reason, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All he could think about was that damn burning, and after a few minutes, everything went black. And then he didn’t feel anything at all.