The Threats In The Case

The brass clock above Westbridge Precinct’s evidence intake room had stopped at 8:17, but the second hand still trembled beneath the cracked glass.

Shaun Lee noticed it as he stepped through the security door, one hand closed around the folder containing his new assignment. The corridor behind him rang with telephones, hurried footsteps, and the sharp clatter of a dropped coffee mug. Ahead, the evidence room waited beneath fluorescent lights that flickered like faulty signals.

He had been hired that morning to partner with Andrew Simon. His immediate goal was simple: find Andrew, collect the murder file, and learn why the department had requested an outside detective before the first week of the investigation was over.

A uniformed officer behind the intake counter looked up. “Detective Lee?”

“Shaun Lee.”

The officer checked a clipboard. “Andrew Simon is inside. He said to send you through.”

Shaun held up his credentials. “What’s the case?”

The officer’s gaze shifted toward the evidence room’s inner door.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Before the officer could answer, something struck the metal door from the other side.

Once.

Then again.

The sound was not loud, but it carried through the corridor with deliberate force. The officer froze, fingers tightening around his pen.

Shaun pushed open the door.

The evidence intake room was narrow and overlit, with steel shelves rising along both walls. Clear bags, sealed boxes, and numbered envelopes filled the shelves. The room smelled of paper, disinfectant, and old dust. Andrew Simon stood at the central worktable, his coat draped over a chair, one hand resting near an open case file.

He was taller than Shaun expected, with gray beginning at his temples and a thin scar cutting through his left eyebrow. His eyes moved from Shaun’s credentials to Shaun’s face.

“You’re late,” Andrew said.

“The appointment was for nine.”

“It’s nine twenty-three.”

“The clock outside says eight seventeen.”

Andrew glanced toward the inner door. “That clock has been wrong for three months.”

“Then it’s keeping better time than the department.”

A faint smile touched Andrew’s mouth, but it disappeared quickly. “You always start by insulting the building?”

“Only when the building deserves it.”

The door behind Shaun clicked shut. The officer remained outside, visible through the wired glass.

Andrew slid the open file across the table. “Murder victim: Daniel Voss. Forty-two. Municipal contract auditor. Found in his apartment last night. One stab wound. No weapon recovered.”

Shaun opened the folder. A photograph showed a man facedown beside a kitchen table, one arm bent beneath him. A dark stain spread across his shirt. The image had been taken from the doorway, leaving the rest of the apartment hidden beyond the frame.

“Why bring me in?” Shaun asked.

“Because the chief wants a second detective on it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one I have.”

Shaun looked up. “And the threats?”

Andrew’s expression changed by a fraction. “You’ve heard.”

“Three officers mentioned them before I reached the elevator.”

“Then they mentioned too much.”

Andrew took a sealed evidence envelope from the table. It was marked with the case number and the time it had been received. The seal had been cut and resealed with clear tape.

Shaun’s attention fixed on the envelope. “That wasn’t processed correctly.”

“No.”

“Who opened it?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because it arrived without a chain-of-custody form.”

Shaun turned the envelope over. The paper was thick, cream-colored, and unmarked except for the case number. A dark smear crossed one corner. It looked like ink, but the edge had a reddish tint.

“What was inside?”

Andrew did not answer immediately.

Then a telephone rang in the corridor.

The officer outside picked it up. His voice came through the door in broken pieces.

“Westbridge Precinct… Yes, this is the police desk… Who is calling?”

The voice on the other end was too faint to hear, but the officer’s face drained of color.

Andrew reached for the door.

Shaun caught his arm. “Wait.”

The officer listened, then slowly pulled the receiver away from his ear.

A sharp crack sounded through the corridor.

The receiver fell from his hand.

Andrew opened the door and ran. Shaun followed.

The officer stood rigidly behind the counter, staring at the telephone. A small puff of gray smoke curled from the receiver’s earpiece.

“What happened?” Andrew demanded.

“He said - ” The officer swallowed. “He said the next call would be from a dead man.”

“Who said it?”

“I don’t know. A man. His voice was covered somehow.”

Shaun reached over the counter and lifted the receiver with a cloth from the desk. The plastic was warm. A thin black mark showed where something inside had burned.

Andrew turned to Shaun. “Get back in the evidence room.”

“Why?”

“Because this is now a secured scene.”

“This is the precinct. The threat came through your phone.”

...