A/N: I don't own any of the "Backstrom" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.

Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.

Backstrom was sitting slumped on the couch, in front of TV. Gregory walked by, shopping in his tracks upon noticing some... unusual images on the TV screen.

"National Geographic?", he exclaimed.

Everett sighed. "The only way to avoid the news about the case I'm working on."

Gregory frowned. "The dead cop?"

Everett just nodded his head.

Gregory sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Any news about your father?", he eventually asked. "Any news about your father?", he asked. "I mean... the case?"

Everett sighed. "Just the usual crap", he answered.

Gregory just nodded his head and went upstairs to his room.

#

Nicole was pacing around the workroom rather nervously, a cup of coffee in her hand. Peter was sitting at his desk, going through bunch of papers. Nicole stood by the side and glared at the content.

"What is that?", she exclaimed.

Peter looked up, almost appearing confused. "Victim's bank records", he explained.

Nicole stared back at him in a rather odd manner. Peter sighed. "It is a part of investigation, Backstrom's speculations aside." He frowned. "By the way, have you seen him today?"

Nicole shook her head. "No". She sighed, sitting down at her desk. "You found anything interesting?", she asked, rubbing her eyes.

Peter looked up at her. "As a matter of fact, I did." He held one of the papers up for Nicole to see. "He received a payment two weeks ago. Two weeks ago. From a man named Jake Newman. That is stated to be a consulting feed. Only Jake Newman owns a bakery. He also has a prior criminal record for theft and burglary." "Phone records show that the two of them co responded a lot lately. But only through personal phone."

"Maybe we should pay him a visit", he said.

#

Within half an hour, Jake was sitting at the table in the interrogation room, opposite to Nicole and Peter. He was a rather young looking Caucasian man of average height and weight, with short brown hair and brown eyes, dressed in a red T-shirt and jeans. The print outs of the bank records laid on the table in front of him. The camera near by was running.

"Michael and I were friends", he said. "Ever since High school." He sighed, looking down at the floor for a moment. "I couldn't believe when I heard that he had been murdered. "

"But you didn't contact the authorities", Peter pointed out.

Jake looked up. "I felt that I didn't know anything that could help you guys."

"Explain the deposit", Nicole said, pointing at the print outs on the table in front of Jake. "What could you possibly consult about?"

"Michael would help me when I was going through the hard time", Jake explained. "Which was often. I accumulated that debt over time, sum by sum. Not that he ever held that against me, but still. Once I finally landed on my feet, made some money, I paid that back to him. All at once. Explaining it as a consulting feed was his idea. He didn't want to answer all those boring questions. Or his wife to know all the details."

"She didn't approve of you?", Nicole questioned. "That is why you would only call to his personal phone?"

Jake shrugged. "Yeah. But who wouldn't?"

Nicole leaned over, looking Jake in the eyes. "Or maybe you owned him much more money", she said in a husky tone. "The money that you didn't have, or didn't want to give away. You gave him that two thousand dollars only to calm him down a bit. And then, two weeks later..."

"No!", Jake cried. "How could you even think of something like that?"

"Where were you two nights ago between ten and twelve pm?", Peter asked.

"Home, alone. But I didn't kill anyone!" He looked at Peter, then back at Nicole. "Search my house, car, anything! You'll see!"

#

Backstrom was standing in front of gun locker, observing the door carefully, even smelling the metal at times. John stood in the doorway, observing him for some time before approaching him. They exchanged a brief glance before Everett turned his attention back to the locker.

"To be honest, this was the last place I expected you to find", John commented, signing. He turned to look at the locker. "Michael Gray's gun locker."

"It has been vandalized", Everett pointed out, turning to face John, who frowned. "Scratches on the lock", Everett explained, pointing to the damage. "Fresh, no rust. Strong smell of paint thinner. Somebody cleaned something nasty off it lately."

"So it would appear", John agreed, taking a closer look at the locker.

Everett sighed, looking around. John was still studying the locker. Eventually, Everett groaned and sat on the small stepping stool near by. "I asked around", he said. "Michael recently got into an argument with a fellow patrol officer, Kyle Miller. A week ago, Kyle got into a dangerous pursuit." Everett fondled his hands together, then continued. "No real reason, just some stupid kids driving a stolen motocycle. He caused some damage on the department's car. found out and reported it. Kyle had to pay for the damage, was almost suspended." He took a deep breath, smiling slightly. "Sounds like a motive to me."

John slowly turned to face Everett, glaring at him. "First the victim was a crooked cop, now the guy who killed him is a cop also?", he exclaimed more than asked.

"The evidence seems to support that theory", Everett pointed out, still sitting down.

"With an emphasis on "theory"". "By the way, I just heard from Nicole and Peter. Somebody did give a nice sum of money. From a friend. He paid back his debt."

Everett flinched for a moment, but remained calm. "So he says", he replied, before looking up at John. "Does he have a criminal record?"

"You are going to talk to Kyle, right?", Backstrom questioned, making John stop in his tracks. They exchanged a look. "Otherwise, I might have to do it myself", Everett warned John. almost tauntingly.

John was looking back at Backstrom, breathing heavily. "Don't worry about that", he eventually said after a tense silence, then walked away.

Backstrom remained sitting there.

#

John and Moto felt awkward, sitting at the table in the interrogation room, opposite to Kyle Miller. He was a tall African American man in his 30s, still dressed in his police uniform.

"How dare you?", Kyle hissed, grinding his teeth. His face was flushed. "Accusing me of murdering my brother in blue?"

"This is just a routine questioning", John explained, calmly. He took a deep breath. "Though we heard that the two of you didn't get along well lately."

"We had our... conflicts", Kyle admitted. "But I would never kill him!"

"You called in sick on the day he was murdered", Moto pointed out.

"I really was!", Kyle mantained. "The... timing was just a coincidence."

"Where were you that night between ten and twelve pm?", Moto asked.

"At home. My wife can confirm it." "I know, not much of an alibi. But maybe you should look into wife first."

"Helene?", John exclaimed.

Kyle scoffed. "I'd see him. Going to a bar accross the street after his night shift would be done. Stay there for an hour, sometimes more. Making sure his phone is turned off, even during the lunch breaks. For weeks, it was like that. And then he turned up dead."

John and Moto exchanged a look.

#

Nicole ran into Paquet in the hallway, with both of them heading toward the workroom. Paquet was holding two files in her hand.

"Forensic report?", Nicole inquired, as Paquet handed her another file.

"As for the bullets, no match in IBIS", Paquet exclaimed, as Nicole started going through the file. "No useful data from the GPS has been recovered. That paint is not that common, but still not rare enough to narrow down the pool of suspects considerably. And it doesn't match to the one used on those pots."

"Crap!", Nicole glanced, earning herself a glance from Paquet. They both sat down at their desk, lowering the files down.

"They are still working on fingerprints, blood and mold analysis", Paquet said, continuing. "The autopsy has been completed. Cause of death, not surprisingly, two gunshot wounds to the head. No other injuries, no signs of a struggle, nothing under his fingernails. Except for high amounts of caffeine, all tox screens came back clean. But they did get the results from that glass fragments and blood stains that you had noticed in that alleyway."

"Jerry Summer", Nicole read. "Multiple DUI arrests. Apparently, he damaged his car and mildly injured himself during one of his drunk shennaningas. That was the day before the murder, in that alleyway. He was in jail the night was murdered."

Nicole sighed. "Have you seen Backstrom?", she asked.

Paquet's eyes met hers. "Today? No."

Nicole breathed and looked away.