The morning after learning of the ill fate of a former customer, Tom took his seat in another rendition of Criminal Justice 101. Dr. Johnson droned on about current affairs, while Tom dreamt of dreaming in his bed. There wasn’t much that Tom dreaded more than the monotony of his early weekday mornings.

“Alright class, on the local front — what have we got today? Anyone? Bueller, paging Bueller. Aha. A murder in Uptown, people. That’s really not that common. What’s you guys’ take on that?”

Tom spoke up, eager to take his thoughts elsewhere. “I actually delivered to that lady just the other day.”

Dr. Johnson was amused by that. “Ah, and here lies our prime suspect.” That was met with laughter from the class.

Tom threw his hands up. “Guilty as charged,” he said with a grin.

“Tell us, Tom. Tell us, why did you do it?”

Tom didn’t mind milking the joke; this class was in need of some levity. “I just couldn’t help myself,” he said dramatically to more laughs.

“They’re always the ones you wouldn’t expect, isn’t that right? Now, let’s take a look at what’s going on outside our neck of the woods,” Dr. Johnson said.

Tom decided that was as good a place as any to tune out. He let his mind wander while he looked out of the window at the unbelievably mild November weather. “More like May out there,” he thought, realizing his time might be better spent in the park.

“Pst,” a student next to him poked his shoulder, taking him out of his daydream.

“What’s up Connor?”

“So you delivered to that lady, huh?” Connor’s eyes went a little wider than Tom would have liked.

“That’s right.”

“How’d she die, man?”

Tom leaned back and scowled at him. “How should I know, I didn’t stick around for it.” He shook his head and turned his attention back to the lecture.

“Now, we are able to get statistics on crimes like Mr. Hooper’s here, through UCRs.” Tom shifted uncomfortably in his seat at that. Dr. Johnson went on. “UCR stands for…? Anyone? Yes, Sarah.”

“Uniform crime reports.”

Dr. Johnson smiled amiably. “That’s right.”

Just then Tom’s phone began to buzz. He pulled it from his pocket to see ‘Unknown’ flashing back at him. He got up from his seat, stepped into the hall and slid his finger across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Tom Hooper?” A vaguely familiar voice inquired.

“Speaking, and who is this?” Tom expected the kind of telemarketer that always found you on your cell phone.

“Homicide Detective Daniels. I’m investigating a murder that occurred recently in the 2nd District.”

Tom’s throat tightened. “2nd District?”

“That’s police jargon for Uptown. You reside there, correct?”

“Yes.” Deborah Bollinger, he knew.

“Well, Tom, it’s my understanding that you were one of, if not the, last persons to see Deborah Bollinger alive. I’d like to speak with you. In person.”