Sergeant Cooper Alden sat alone in the office. The sun was beaming evening light through the window from its low perch in the sky.

He was studying his computer screen intently. Three killings. All male. All brutal.

I hate serials. he thought.

His concentration was interrupted by the beep of the clock, built into his picture frame. He liked that beep…it gave him a reason to look at the picture without looking like a romantic fool.

7:00.

“Shit.” he murmered. He told Emma he’d be home by seven.

He locked the computer, punched off the monitor, and stood from his desk, slinging his jacket on.

Then the phone rang.

He answered out of reflex. “Homicide. Alden.”

There was a pause, then a kid’s voice from the other side. “Cooper Alden? I’m supposed to tell you something. You should go to the warehouse at Albert and Market. Something you should see.”

“What’s your name, son?”

Click. The line went dead.

Dammit. He checked his gun and walked out the door.