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trace the source.”
    Jill nodded, making a mental note to take a closer look at Carter and anyone else within the department who may have worked with him. Narcotics had the highest volume of cops on the take, from several different corrupt sources, and she was suspicious that Carter’s inability to find a source for the drugs was more likely a case of looking the other way.
    She needed the proof, but in Jill’s experience, if there was enough anecdotal evidence that a cop was sticking his hand in a bunch of dirty pies… well, maybe there was something to it.
    “Unfortunately, I have to get back to the Bishop. Meeting with the Commissioner in twenty.” The two men shook hands when Downs rose from his seat. “Daniel, always a pleasure.”
    Turning to open the door to the captain's office, which overlooked the rest of the bullpen, Downs stopped and turned to Jill. “I sincerely hope everything Dan's told me about you is true, Detective.”
    Jill turned to Dan with a furrowed brow as the door shut again. “What the hell was that?”
    Richards gave a dismissive wave. “Don't mind Jeff. Guy's seen too much NYPD Blue .” He lowered himself into his chair again with a sigh, grabbing the navy blue mug at his desk and grimacing when he noticed it was empty.
    “Cap.” Jill shook her head. “If this is the van...”
    “I know. I'm right there with you.”
    “So what do I do?”
    “Your job.” Setting the mug back down, Richards paused to glance at the old photograph he still kept on his desk of himself and Paul, back when they were both still detectives. Paul's haircut was dreadful, and Richards looked like a damn kid clean-shaven like that, but they were happy. It was a reminder of when all was right in Daniel Richards' professional world. “Keep doing what you do best. I'll handle the jackals if it comes to that.”

CHAPTER 10
     
     
     
    Hitori Watson had stared at the low-resolution video for so long that his eyes were starting to burn. Not even a lengthy coffee break and half a bottle of eye drops could make the redness go away, yet he persisted. Now that they had something resembling a lead, he was determined to chase it until it went somewhere. The fact that he was working without his partner, who had to recuse herself from the case because she was related to the victim, made him all the more determined. This wasn't just one cop looking out for another, or having a partner's back. Whitney Blankenship was Watson's best friend, and the best thing he could think to do for her right now was to help catch the scum who killed her nephew.
    So far, nothing on the surveillance footage linked the van used in Devin Buckner's killing to the van Colonel Downs had alerted them to. But Watson had put in a call a half hour ago for traffic cam footage within a nine-block radius of the scene of the murder, expanding the search from the original three-block area. Their current footage didn't give a clear shot of the van's license plate; the hope was they would find a better view and be able to track it that way. Various complaints from motorists who had called to report the van could also be helpful in piecing together Devin Buckner’s final moments.
    “Any luck?” Detective Stevens asked as soon as he stepped off the elevator.
    “Not yet,” Watson said with a sigh, returning to his desk and grabbing the pen sitting atop a stack of papers that had been neglected for the better part of a week. “Waiting for more traffic cam footage. Where are we on the bullet?”
    “It's a .380,” Stevens explained, plopping himself into the chair beside Watson's desk. A few months ago, the chair would've squeaked under Stevens' weight, but now it made no noise when he lowered himself into the seat. “Ballistics is goin' over it now, hope we get a gun match by the end of the day.”
    “Fucking 17-year-old kid,” Watson muttered. He hardly ever cursed, unlike so many of his colleagues, but if any situation warranted an f-bomb...
    Before