5

The Las Vegas Metro Police headquarters had a reception desk that spanned the width of the room, manned by uniformed officers. Behind them, the police department’s insignia was up on the wall. To the left, a row of elevators moved personnel through the building, their doors opening and closing with a quiet hiss. To the right, a corridor led deeper into the bowels of the building.

Piper was well acquainted with this police station. When she was a child, Family Services had their offices here and regularly pulled her from her mother’s home. Late nights in the station weren’t as terrifying because her guardian ad litem was there, giving her hot cocoa and convincing the officers to let her watch cartoons in the break room.

She went to the long desk with police officers behind it and said to the first person that looked at her, “I’m looking for Detective Holloway in Juvenile Crimes.”

The officer gave her a quick look up and down and said, “Downstairs, bottom floor, to your right.”

“Thank you.”

She heard them say something about a “dungeon” as she walked away but didn’t quite make it out.

She rode the elevator down. The bottom floor had dim lighting and exposed pipes, and she realized it wasn’t a floor but basement storage. It was crammed with junk like old water heaters and emergency generators.

A sign on the wall listed various utility rooms, and on the bottom was white tape with handwritten words:

JUVENILE GRANT

Det. Holloway

Det. Riley

TBD

She went into the room and saw a man standing in front of a whiteboard that was littered with drawings, notes, and taped photographs. In the center was the smiling photo of a young boy of about thirteen.

The man stood with his hands resting on his hips. Dark hair, combed back, met a full beard. Deep-set blue eyes focused intently on the whiteboard. His white shirt, sleeves pushed up, showed arms inked with tattoos. His tie was red and loosened at the throat, but everything about him seemed deliberate.

“Detective?”

“You’re Danes, right?” Lazarus said without taking his eyes off the board.

“Yes—”

She almost said sir .

Seated at a desk against the far wall was a giant in a gray collared shirt with the LVPD insignia over the breast. His head was shaved on the sides and the top buzzed. His arms stretched the sleeves of his shirt, and his belly hung over the desk like it held a beach ball. He looked taller than Piper sitting down. He casually glanced up at her and then went back to whatever he was doing.

“Danes,” the detective said, “you know a psychopath, I’m talking a pure psychopath that doesn’t know the difference between right and wrong, life or death, do you know they dream in black and white? Why you think that is?”

She stepped into the room and came closer to him to better be able to observe the board.

She stole a quick glance at him. His eyes were the most striking feature. They held an intensity that was almost disconcerting. He gave off heat like a live wire coursing with electricity.

“Maybe their brains process information differently, so they have altered perceptions in dreams.”

“Maybe,” he said, moving his eyes over the board. “I like the idea of karma. I know it’s bullshit, plenty of bloodthirsty dictators die of old age in their palaces, but I like the idea. Dreams are influenced by personal experiences, and a pure psychopath does nothing but harm. Maybe their dreams are sinister because they’re sinister?”

He looked at her for the first time, his gaze focused on hers. “I didn’t expect anyone from your office to say yes to working here.”

“Why’s that?”

“You guardians aren’t known for taking on more work than you need to.”

“My experience with police officers hasn’t been much different.”

The giant in the corner chuckled.

Lazarus grinned as he picked up a Styrofoam cup of what looked like old coffee and took a sip. “Just to do our job, we have to be willing to die. Because if we’re not, some punk wannabe banger with a nine millimeter tucked in his crotch is gonna know it in a second. Do you have to be willin’ to die to sit in a courtroom?”

The giant in the corner held out his fist in the air for a bump, and Lazarus extended his arm.

“I don’t dodge bullets, no, but my job’s not without risk,” she said calmly.

Lazarus looked back to the board, his lower lip tucked under his upper as he gazed at the photo of the young boy. “This boy’s twelve years old. Almost killed his two sisters. Put rat poison in their breakfast cereal. When I asked him why, he said he didn’t know, but that he would do it again if we let him out.” He removed the photo. “He told me he dreams in black and white.”

He tossed the photo in a nearby trash bin.

“What’d ya want this crap post for, Danes? You another lawyer climbing up the judicial ladder to get to the bench?”

“No. I want to help Sophie.”

He nodded. “Guess we’ll see.”

“Now my turn,” she said.

“Fair’s fair,” he said, leaning against his desk.

She looked at the giant and then back to Lazarus. “This case is the murder of two people. It should be in Homicide or Major Crimes. Why is a Juvenile Crimes detective the lead?”

“Homicide kicked it.”

“Just like that?”

“I used to be Homicide, I’m a good place to kick it to.”

“Used to?”

He gave her a cold glare. “Used to.”

She looked at the giant. “And who are you?”

“The big man’s Riley, he likes goin’ by his last name. He don’t talk much. He’s a floater on loan from SWAT and Robbery and whoever else needs a door knocked down.”

“And if I may ask, why do you two want this crap post?”

Riley spoke for the first time. “I go where they tell me,” he bellowed in a voice that sounded exactly like what she thought it would sound like.

Piper looked at Lazarus. “And you?”

“Personal reasons.”

“See how you did that? I answered your questions honestly, and you deflected. You got the information you wanted, and I got nothing.”

He fully grinned now and crossed his arms. “You got something. Now you know Riley only likes to be called by his last name.”

“Is there a problem between us, Detective?”

He uncrossed his arms. “You don’t wanna be here, and this is too important for some noob to stumble through, so why don’t you run back to representing kids in custody battles and we can pretend this didn’t happen.”

She kept herself calm and smiled at him with no warmth. “But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of your welcoming company.”

She glanced at them both. Riley was giving her his full attention now.

She said, “My degree’s in childhood development, and I volunteered to work with abused children at a shelter for almost a decade. I worked with victims on cases even you couldn’t imagine. Believe it or not, I may have insights to offer that you could overlook. Collaboration gives better insight into a child.”

He took a sip of coffee out of the Styrofoam cup. “Quoting the illustrious Dr. Bishop already?”

“Isn’t he why we’re here?”

“Is it?”

“Judge Dawson seems to think so.”

He gave her a mischievous grin. “Who do you think funded the grant?” He finished the coffee and tossed the cup on top of the photo of the boy. “Well, if you ain’t leavin’, I’m under orders from the judge to keep you involved in everything, so we gotta go meet somebody. I’ll drive.”