never Sleep

Who: Brett
Where: ECPD
When: Late morning

Brett had been over the evidence time and again. He'd been at the crime scene that morning. Shit - it had meant to be his day off, but he'd been called in. he didn't take that as a compliment - he took that as evidence that the department knew he wasn't a religious type, so they could call on him and not find him at the church on a Sunday morning.

he didn't give a damn - he'd given himself back to this job and whilst he might not have chosen it again given the circumstances, once he committed to something, he gave it his all. And today, he was giving his all to the murder of some little shit down on the edge of Chinatown.

At least, the guy had been 'some little shit' until he saw his face. After that - well, Brett Trent knew this guy, once upon a time he had worked for him. Fyodor Vladivostok. He'd managed the Kitten Club for the Syndicate. And now he was dead, pinned to the wall of the very club Brett had once worked at.

He'd looked over the evidence time and again, searching for evidence of some kind of fight-gone-wrong. Except nothing pointed that way. instead everything pointed to a hit. And Brett knew enough about the Syndicate - and their rivals - to know that nothing about this was in any style that was known to them. Maybe another cop wouldn't have picked it up, but Trent had the kind of knowledge that 'just another cop' could never have.

Someone outside of the two main crime families had orchestrated this. And Brett had no idea who. And he had no idea why. But what he did know was that he smelled a rat. Which was what had him taking this straight to his superiors. This wasn't just another murder, and they needed more men on this. Even if he had to shout the roof down to get them...