Today I beat Keira's fuckbuddy unconscious ( Read more... )

Bill wakes with his heartbeat thundering in his ears, and is momentarily disoriented ( Read more... )

I made it to LAPD's evidence impound the other day after the thing with Walsh. It's a bleeding warehouse, as luck would have it, and resembles my Gran's attic, except on a huge scale. Boxes and bins and dusty old paper bags on piles of shite teetering like it's about to fall over. I didn't find the evidence in any of the files I was looking for ( Read more... )

The thing with Walsh had been fine. Bill isn't worried about it ( Read more... )

Bill lays in bed for more than an hour after he wakes up, head aching dully. The sun isn't even up yet, which doesn't particularly surprise him. Sleep has been dodgy just lately, as it often is when he's got a lot on his mind. He doesn't turn his face toward the glowing digital numbers displayed on the clock on the bedside table. He doesn't ( Read more... )

I ran a check of all homicide files of less than 5 k. I came up with 11.

It surprises me slightly, because these cases have come in pairs so far. Victims dead, and possible suspects dead, but clean. Revenge hits?

So why is the number of cases uneven here?

I need more fucking time. I need more fucking beer.

Put the porn down, Boyd.

Bill is beginning to have serious sympathy for minimum wage workers and single mothers. Or anyone, really, who works two jobs.

He's fucking tired, he has too much shite to get done and not enough hours to do it in, and he absolutely, positively must be visibly doing his job on the weekends. The rest of the time he can sort of skate, stop by the ( Read more... )

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My mum used to get onto me for eavesdropping. Which is just fucking funny, considering my current occupation, no? I mean what do I do, basically: I apply my childhood penchant for being a sneaky, spying wanker to new and compex situations ( Read more... )

Well, now. This is interesting ( Read more... )