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minutes—meaning a quick escape.
    “ Jesus,” Brophy muttered as he turned in to the parking lot. Media had already swarmed the area, choking off the back roads leading to the lot. Cops had barricaded the scene, containing the onslaught from the media.
    He didn’t need this. His head pounded. He hadn’t gotten any sleep…not exactly. He hadn’t gone to bed last night. He kinda passed out in his recliner. The closure he had sought hadn’t materialized in the bottle of Jack. He had come to the conclusion that the guilt that gnawed at him over Lauren would not ease overnight.
    Dodging the flashing camera lights, Brophy drove his car onto the curb. He parked on the side street beyond the media vans, got out of his car and popped a couple of Motrin. Promptly ignoring the line of overexcited reporters, he ducked under the yellow police tape. Badge in hand, he walked toward the crime scene.
    Surveying the area, he saw the parking lot sat empty for the most part. An old white van parked alone on the far side by Best Buy, a Ford Focus, a few rows over. But under a broken light sat a silver Audi sedan.
    The morning sun broke through the haze, giving an eerie glow to the objects. It was a cold one. The frigid temperatures of the night before seemed to have dropped further.
    “Brophy!”
    Brophy caught sight of his partner, Albert Waters. Wasn’t hard to find him. Waters stood over six three. His presence demanded attention. Brophy supposed his partner would be considered handsome by most. African-American, he had an athletic built and eyes women swooned over, and swoon they had. Waters had shuffled a multitude of women in his prime…that was, until he married.
    Waters had been his partner for the last three years. He was good…reminded Brophy of himself at his age. Driven by his job, Waters was relentless in digging for the evidence to convict, didn’t like to lose , and didn’t take no for an answer. Great data cruncher.
    Bostonian through and th rough, Waters had been born and raised in Mattapan. A standout, not only in football at Dorchester Academy, but in school as well. He had graduated salutatorian and had played linebacker at Boston College until he had blown out his right knee.
    “ Ever think of picking up your phone?” Waters asked with a hint of impatience in his voice. “It’s fucking cold out here. Captain wouldn’t let anyone touch anything until you showed up.”
    Brophy shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on working this weekend.”
    Brophy stood beside his partner. He recognized that he was not the physical specimen his partner was. In reality, Brophy doubted he impressed many with his appearance : a tad overweight man of forty-one, already starting to bald. His face had begun to crease with lines. His shirt collar and the cuffs of his sport jacket were frayed, and his tie showed evidence of frequent wear. As of late, most days his trousers needed to be pressed. But Brophy realized that despite how he looked, he was considered one of the best detectives within the Boston Homicide Unit.
    “ So what do we have?”
    “ The victim is a young, Caucasian male, twenty years old. Five ten, hundred and seventy pounds. Driver license says Rey Caputo,” Waters stated in a rush. “Discovered in his car earlier this morning. Looks like our guy.  He left his calling card along with a black Milano stiletto in the heart.”
    “ Same one as the other two.”
    Waters nodded. “Seems that way.”
    “ Who found him?”
    Waters nodded to the side where a uniform officer stood with another group of cops. “Officer Thomas Bentley was on patrol. Thought someone had left it parked for the night. Shined his light inside and saw the kid. He called it in immediately after he checked for a pulse. Said the kid was already cold. He didn’t touch anything.”
    “ Do we have any idea when he died?”
    Waters shook his head. “Bentley found the victim around 5:35. Before that, he had rounded the area a little after three.