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clusterfuck did we just get handed?”
    “The worst kind,” I said. “There’s more going on then the chiefs are letting on. That’s another case we need to crack. I have a feeling it’s the answer to catching our guy.”

 
     
    10
     
     
    White led us down a corridor away from the public areas of the precinct. “I’m gonna set you guys up near me. It’s quieter over here.”
    Is that so you can keep a close eye on us?
    He opened the door to a small office. We peeked inside and saw two desks, two chairs, and a large board for posting or writing on.
    “This was an old storage area but we cleaned it out and use it for interrogations every once in awhile.”
    I guess the cleaning didn’t apply to the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling?
    “It’s your office now,” he continued. “My humble abode is just around the corner, past the men’s bathroom. Don’t be afraid to stop by if you need anything or have questions.” White took a step but stopped and turned back. “You guys have an idea on what kind of information you need?”
    “Case files for all the previous murders and current ones to start with,” I said. Just then my cell rang. It was Po Po. I asked Wilkinson if he could continue as I stepped outside the office and walked a few steps away.
    “Po Po, is everything all right?”
    “Yeah, everything is fine. I’m calling to see when you’re coming home.”
    “Wait, there’s a lot of static. Hang on.” I walked toward the front of the building. Much better. “I think I’m going to be out here for a while. I’ll see what I can do about coming back for a visit.”
    Po Po grunted and then said, “Lucy wants to talk.”
    I could hear the phone exchanging hands and then the sound of heavy breathing. “Hi, Mommy. I miss you.”
    “Mommy misses you too, Lucy. Are you getting ready for school?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. You’ll have to show me what you did today when I get home.”
    “When are you coming back?”
    “Mommy doesn’t know yet.”
    “Oookay.”
    Before I could say anything else, I heard rustling and then silence. I walked back into the office. It smelled of turpentine. Wilkinson had already taken a seat at one of the desks. “The lieutenant is having all the case files delivered here. He said to give it an hour or two. Oh, and I cleaned off your chair.”
    “Why? What was—”
    “You don’t want to know.”
    • • •
    We spent the next few days holed up in the tiny office. I started to feel like a regular at the precinct—punching the clock and getting to know the vending machines. I even kept a stash of green tea in the break room.
    A couple of uniforms had delivered a mountain of stuffed banker boxes to us that first day. Every single one of them filled with files from the previous and current case, so we were told. Without an obvious starting point, we just grabbed a file and started to read.
    We dubbed all the victims before the Comerica Bank heist “pre-bank” murders. Anyone killed after that we called “post-bank.” It made it easier since there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how the files were organized. I assumed all the information we needed was there; we just had to make sense of it.
    It wasn’t until the third day that we found what we were looking for, something we should have had from the very start of the investigation.
    “Got it,” Wilkinson waved a file in the air.
    We had been searching for the original killer’s case file from the moment we got the boxes. Up until that point, we had developed a good grasp of who the victims were, but we didn’t know much about him.
    “Michael ‘Blade’ Garrison,” Wilkinson read aloud. “Grew up in Sterling Heights. Did a year at Oakland Community College—”
    “No med school?”
    “Nope, not that I can tell.”
    “Strange, you’d think this guy would have had a medical background given the way his victims died.”
    “He could have gotten his information in a public library or online.”
    Self-taught?