The man in the long brown trench coach comes and stands over the body.

"Detective, look at this," says the woman in high heels, tight, revealing red blouse, and a black skirt that he thinks is way too short for professional work - - unless we're talking about the oldest profession in existence. He can't take her seriously in that get up. "What do you think of this?"

"The hole in the back of his head?" he asks. "Hmmm….let me put my Sherlock cap on." He reaches in his coat pocket and slides out a crumpled, checkered hat and shoves it on his head. Her face takes on a controlled look, like she's not sure if she's allowed to laugh.

He reaches up and puts his hand on top of the cap and moves it up and down, like in the old brain sucker joke - - What's he doing? He's feasting. What's he doing now? He's starving. "I think, Detective Wells - - "

He tried calling her Sarah the first day she was transferred to homicide - - two weeks ago - but she insisted on being called Detective Wells.

" - - I think it means….he didn't commit suicide after all. Despite the suicide note."

"So, then," she says, "this is a homicide."

"Yeah. That's kind of why I'm here, doll. I don't write traffic tickets."

"Don't call me doll."

He laughs. "Ahhhhh….You're surprisingly squeamish about words considering your toe is just an inch away from a piece of brain." He snaps on his gloves, squats down, and rolls the body over. He's startled when he sees it's not a man, but a teenage boy.

"His name is Martin Haverty. I canvassed the area," Detective Wells says. "Went ahead and interviewed the mother."

"You're supposed to wait for me to do that."

"Well you were a long time coming."

He'd forgotten to charge his cell phone again. It happens.

"Anyway," she says, "his mother said he had a huge argument with his coach last night – he plays varsity football at Hawkinson High. The coach showed up at nine thirty last night just as she was leaving for her night shift. He was all livid and asked to step inside with the kid. Mom shut the door behind him, but she stayed in the hall for a while and heard the coach yelling and saying something like – I swear to God, you ever go near her again, and I'll kill you."

"Sounds remarkably like a little something I like to call motive."

"Yeah," Detective Wells says. "Anyway, kid's mom didn't think much of it because she knew her son was fooling around with the coach's daughter, and she figures the coach is just posturing, just trying to get Martin to call it off. Says she thought coach was an okay guy - - he helped turn her son around when Martin was almost about to join a gang - - and she figures if he's crossing the line with coach's daughter, maybe he ought to get a lesson in character from the coach. So she leaves them alone and goes on to work. Only, when she gets back in the morning, she finds her son like this." She points to the bullet wound. "And she rethinks her opinion of the coach."

He shakes his head. "Well, while the squints take care of this body, I think I'll interview this coach." He pulls out a spiral notebook. "What's his name?"

"Seriously?" she asks. "You don't just use you iPhone to take notes?"

"I look much cooler this way. What's his name?"

"Coach Eric Taylor."

His pen freeze mid word. "Say who?

"Coach Eric Taylor."

He finishes writing. "Well, I guess there must be more than one Coach Eric Taylor. Hell, there's probably two or three in the country. I used to have a coach named Eric Taylor, back in Texas, when I played high school ball."

"You played football?" She snorts.

He looks up. "Why? Don't think I look the part?"

"I…." She shakes her head.

"Anyway, last I heard, he was coaching in Pennsylvania."

Detective Wells is fiddling with her iPhone and doesn't respond.

"So I really can't imagine that he'd be in Seattle."

She turns the iPhone in his direction. "That's his picture."

"Holy shit," he says. "That's him. That's my old coach. That's my ex-best friend's father-in-law."

"Ex-best friend?" she asks. "What, did you two get a divorce?"

He shakes his head and puts the pad back in his pocket. "There's no way Coach Taylor did this. No way."

"Well so far he's the only suspect we have, Detective Clarke."

"Damn it, why can't you just call me Landry?"