It was the next evening. Mac’s door was open. Malloy, still in his street clothes, stepped in and knocked softly on the glass.
The sergeant looked up. “Pete. You’re early.”
Malloy smirked. “Looks like I’ll start making a habit of it. You’re early, too.”
“Right.” Mac’s eyes dropped back to his desk, where only one page sat. He held a pen, but after a moment, he set it down.
Malloy held up a piece of note paper he’d found taped to his locker. “You wanted to see me?”
“Oh, yeah. That file you requested came in.” The sergeant stood and reached for a thick bundle of paper that rested on top of a cabinet in the corner. He held it with two hands as he brought it over. His eyes were serious. “Pete, be careful…
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