“The victim’s house guest said he woke up to, uh, urinate and discovered that Robert Sand had been tragically murdered in his doorway in an apparent robbery gone wrong. Here he is with an exclusive first-hand account.”

Tom opened his eyes to Melanie propped on her elbow next to him in bed watching the news. “There was another murder. In Mid-City,” she said.

Tom rubbed his eyes and focused on the familiar face being interviewed. “Jesus.” Shock shot through every inch of his body as he watched the jolly man from the night before describe him to reporters. Detective Daniels appeared from off screen and cut the interview off, pulling the man aside and waving a hand at the camera.

“I was there last night. He was telling reporters about me.” A quiver crept into his last word. “Me.”

Melanie made a face. “What do you mean you were there?”

“I mean I made twenty bucks off that dead guy. I almost went inside for a drink,” he thought, but he said, “I delivered there last night.” His phone began to buzz, with “Unknown” showing across the screen. He silenced it.

“Who was that?” She asked, glancing at his phone.

Tom could hardly think; his heart was pounding in his ears. “No one. You need to get ready, you’ve got an eleven o’clock.”

“Right.” Melanie walked towards the bathroom hesitantly, glancing over her shoulder at Tom before closing the door. He forced what he hoped would be an easy smile, but felt more like a desperate grimace.

“Alright, calm the hell down. You’ll talk to Daniels again and tell him everything you know, just like last time,” he told himself.

Last time Daniels had cracked that joke about Tom killing Deborah Bollinger. What would he think now about this Robert Sand? “What’s he going to do, arrest you? It’s not like you have bloody knives in your back seat,” but he wondered… He headed for the door, snatching his keys off of the kitchen table as the shower went on in the bathroom.

He let out a sigh of relief and closed the door on an empty backseat. “What did you even expect?” Tom thought, pushing through the gate and towards his apartment.

Renaldo was leaning on the balcony eyeing him quizzically. Tom had shot out the door like a canon and sprinted to his car.

“You need to conduct yourself appropriately. You’re acting like a guilty man,” he told himself. He gave a nod to Renaldo, whose curious look remained, and went back inside his apartment.

His phone had just finished ringing again, and Tom saw that there were two other missed calls. All were from “Unknown,” but Tom knew all too well who was on the other end. It started ringing again. This time he answered.

“Hello,” he said, feigning grogginess.

“Morning, Tom. This is becoming a bit of a ritual for us, isn’t it?”

“Daniels? What’s this about?”

“Don’t watch the news, huh? Funny. You’re making it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He hardly believed the lie himself.

“You’re going to need to come in. Today.” Daniels paused. “That or I can bring you in.”