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but it was one of the hardest lessons he had ever learned. In fact, he had been treated far better in the testosterone-soaked world of police work than he had been in school.
    The sound of Paulson clearing his throat made Ramon roll his eyes. Patience was clearly not this guy's strong suit -- and frankly, Ramon thought that meant he was in the wrong line of work. This wasn't Law & Order ; cases weren't wrapped up neatly with a bow in an hour. Fishing one of his cards out of the pocket on the inside of his overcoat, Ramon handed it to Mitch. “Listen, I need to get back to my precinct,” he said. “But please, if you need something, call me. Even if it's just to talk.”
    Though hesitant, Mitch took the card with a nod. She sniffled when Ramon gathered himself up and got back onto his feet, before pocketing the card and pushing herself off the edge of the sidewalk.
    “So?” Paulson asked with an edge to his voice as Ramon approached.
    “So,” Ramon repeated. “How about a little empathy? Mitch just lost her grandfather.”
    “Her?” Paulson's face scrunched in confusion and disgust. “Oh, don't tell me that little shit's jumped on the I can be whatever gender I want bandwagon.”
    “Here's what I'm telling you: do your goddamn job.” Ramon stepped into Paulson's face, ignoring the stench of cigarette smoke and fighting back the urge to grab the other detective by his collar. The last thing Ramon needed was to be reported to downtown. “You whine about people here not trusting you, not cooperating? Maybe you should start giving them a reason to.”
    Ramon pushed his way past Paulson before the other detective could react, and their shoulders bumped.

CHAPTER 8
     
     
     
    “You know,” Juanita Gutierrez said as she painstakingly worked to extract the tweezers that she had embedded in what was left of the side of Devin Buckner's head, “it's a good thing everyone already knows about us. Otherwise, you hovering around in here watching me work on this body would be weird.”
    Time was, the morgue was the last place Earl Stevens would ever willingly set foot in. But he had grown used to the constant stench of ammonia and decayed flesh -- it was a smell so strong that no amount of industrial-strength cleaner would ever completely mask it. But while the morgue had the dead bodies and the refrigerated jars holding God knew what, it was also where Juanita spent the majority of her time. And in the interest of expediency when it came to working cases, Stevens figured it was only right for him to be unofficially stationed at the morgue when she had updates to provide.
    Or maybe he just liked the way she looked in her scrubs.
    “Any weirder than the weight I've lost?” Stevens cracked. He had dropped a good twenty pounds in recent months, a concerted effort to stop hitting the drive-through every time he was on a long, stressful case. Fewer cheeseburgers and more bottles of water had Stevens in the best shape he had been since his football-playing days at Nebraska, and it had actually alleviated some of the pain in his knees. They still popped sometimes when he would bolt out of his chair, but he had better range of motion and more energy than he’d had in years.
    “No, see, I like that,” Juanita quipped, grunting when she finally pulled the slug out of the viscera. Examining the bullet under the magnifying glass, she was amazed at how intact it was. Given the condition of Devin's head, she figured the bullet would've fragmented or warped enough to render testing ineffective. “Pulling slugs outta teenagers? Not so much.”
    “Just think,” Stevens said, squeezing Juanita's shoulder, “that slug might tell us who the asswipes are that killed him.”
    “Such a way with words.” Juanita stole a quick peck on Stevens' cheek before turning her attention back to the bullet. “Looks like a .380.”
    Stevens leaned in, his chin resting on Juanita's shoulder. He smiled to himself, knowing she would be able to smell