Anthony had been working for the past thirty-six hours with no sleep. Hunched over his desk, he gathered his papers, evened them out, and took a sip of coffee. It had been his eighth cup tonight, and the taste was permanently stuck in his throat. He had been working on a kidnapping turned murder case that went cold in 1987; he went over every witness statement, looked over the court proceedings, but something wasn’t right. Anthony couldn’t figure out why they dropped the case. All of the evidence pointed to Jack Kelly, a repeated sex offender with a violent record.

Anthony finished his coffee. Exhausted, he rubbed his eyes and stretched. Time to go home he thought. He shoved the papers back into his desk, turned out his lamp, and left for the night.

Anthony stepped off the 23rd precinct steps and lit a cigarette. He quit a week ago. He took a long, and much needed, drag of his cigarette, and put his hat on. He shook his head in frustration and stepped into the rain.

Anthony thought about heading to The Dime, a bar that was only a few blocks from his place; he didn’t want to go back to his empty apartment. Ever since Stacey left, there was an eerie quit that seemed to consume him. Pausing on the corner, Anthony looked at The Dime and then back at his place. “F***,” he said to the rain. He turned and walked to his apartment.

After taking his coat off, he threw himself onto his bed, and shut his eyes. Anthony’s phone rang and with reluctance, he rolled over and answered his cell.

“You up yet Boss?” inquired his partner.

“Have been for the last thirty-six hours,” Anthony replied while adjusting his button down.

“There’s been a kidnappin’ in Brooklyn. A 25 year old woman, Georgia Thompson she went missin’ this mornin’.”

Anthony ran his fingers through his hair, his partner’s southern drawl was the last thing he wanted to be listening to at 2:45 in the morning. “Why are we getting involved? No murder has been committed; besides don’t kidnapping cases get looked into after twenty-four hours?”

“This one’s different, she’s the fourth woman to go missin’ in the last forty-seven hours.”

“Huh, you think they are all related?”

“They are all 25, female, and are from Brooklyn Boss, They’re related.”

“Okay, I’m on my way to the Station, make sure there is coffee,” Anthony hung up and walked over to the window. He sighed; this is the start of a long day, he thought.