Between the economy and the budget cutbacks that had come out of Washington and Sacramento, cops had been pulled off the street, and crime had become a burgeoning industry. Both detectives had been fast-tracked to Homicide.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said to Grace. “Where’s Cabrera?”

“He just walked out of the squad room. He’ll be there in five minutes. So will the coroner’s investigator and the crime lab. They were shutting down another crime scene when the call came in. They’re coming from Melrose. Everybody’s close by.”

“Then I better get going.”

“Listen, Jones. This is your first . . .”

Grace stopped talking. Even through the loud din, Matt could sense his supervisor’s concern fermenting in the break.

“My first what?” Matt said, feigning naïveté.

Grace remained quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice had changed.

“You know what I’m saying, Matt. Just take it easy. If you’ve got any questions, call me, no matter what time it is, okay?”

“Okay. We’ll touch base later.”

“Thanks,” Grace said. “And I’ll make this up to you. I promise. Now keep your eyes open and be safe.”

Matt ended the call. As he hurried out the front door, he sent a quick text message to Hughes. All it said was: Dinner off. Call me. His fingers were trembling. He felt that cold breeze working the back of his neck again. Halfway across the sidewalk, he realized that he’d just stepped out of the warmth and into the wind.

CHAPTER 2

You’ll see why it’s so fucked up when you get there . . .

Matt kept replaying the words in his head. He should have asked Grace what the hell he meant, but his head had been spinning through most of the conversation. By the time he thought about it, he was already out the door hustling over to his car, parked at the curb. Now his stomach was churning and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

He popped open the trunk, pulled a hooded sweatshirt over his head, and got into his windbreaker. Starting down the sidewalk, he tried to keep a measured pace, which was difficult because he could see the flashing lights from the first-response units beating against the side of a building on North Cherokee Avenue. He lowered his gaze, passing a souvenir shop on the corner. Inside the store he could see a middle-aged couple standing before the window display filled with hundreds of fake Oscar statuettes. Ordinarily, the sight of tourists picking out their Oscar would have given him a lift, but tonight no longer seemed very ordinary.

You’ll see why it’s so fucked up when you get there . . .

The truth was that Matt didn’t understand why he felt so anxious, no matter what his supervisor may have had in mind.