He came in at six, on the dot. A tall black man, lean and fit, his head shaved bald. My guess put him in his early thirties. I motioned to the chair across from me and he sat down.

“Good evening, Mr. Johnson,” I said. “I understand that you were the news pilot at the incident yesterday?”

“That’s right.”

“And how is your coworker? Ms. McKinney?”

“She’s recovering.” I could see the pain in his dark eyes. I knew that she was currently undergoing surgery to install the components necessary for cybernetic replacement. I knew the procedure well enough myself.

“Good,” I answered. He had some information. Time to get to business. “How can I help you, Mr. Kent?”

“I recovered an image from our camera drone of the man who broke into the diner and killed the two other men.” He produced a data chip and pushed it across the desk. I picked it up and plugged it into my console.

“Is it a clear image? Something we can work with?”

“Clear enough. Maybe. If he has a previous record.”

“Everyone has a record, Mr. Johnson.”