Detective Moran ignored the random noises and people around him. He had learned to tune them out. He needed to focus on the body in front of him.

The wreck of a human form was slumped sideways in the armchair. All the blood had coagulated hours ago, leaving behind piles of nearly black goo. Between that and the fact the victim’s shirt had shifted, Moran couldn’t see the entry wound.

Small mercy.

He would have to look at it eventually, that was part of his job, but he always had to steel himself. He’d never managed to banish the chilly, cringing sensation that grew in his chest, but he'd trained himself not to react. That mattered. That was the mark of a professional.

Moran glanced at the man standing beside him. The man wasn’t the medical examiner, and he sure as shit wasn’t the police chief, but he was as unaffected as everyone around him.

It felt like he belonged there.

City attorney, maybe? Moran thought.

“Who was the victim?” the man asked.

Moran considered the corpse. “Professor Trevon Wayde. He worked at the college across the street.”

The man nodded, as if accepting a fact. Then he muttered, almost under his breath, “And how was it done?”

The detective ran a hand through his hair. It was too early in the morning to deal with that kind of crap.

“Well,” he said, “unless someone’s learned to embed nine-millimeter bullets into a chest cavity with a slingshot, I’m going to guess it was done with a gun.”

The man looked away from the body. When his eyes rested on Moran, the detective shivered.

“You’re speaking of the murder?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah. I suppose you would think that’s important.”

The man turned and left.

A second later, Moran grabbed onto the arm of a passing forensic science technician.

“Hey, who was that guy who just left?”

“What guy?”

“The guy I was talking to five seconds ago. Wore a nice suit.”

“I heard you muttering. I thought you were talking to yourself.”

“You didn’t see him?”

“Sorry, sir.” The technician lifted hands. They were full of equipment. “I was working.”

Moran let go of the man and waved him on. “Nah. You’re fine. We all have work to do.”

The technician passed by. Detective Moran gazed at the study door for a few seconds, then returned his attention to the body of Trevon Wayde.