He'd seen the silver Porsche in the underground garage, and yet, Mike was unnerved to find his partner's desk unoccupied, his coat and equipment missing. The half-full cup of coffee sat next to their open case files, still warm when he lifted it up for inspection.

"Art, have you seen Keller?"

The sole other occupant of the bullpen early that morning, Sekulovich shook his head, then pointed at the clock on the nearby wall.

"I just got here ten minutes ago myself, Lieutenant. Never seen him."

"Mhm."

Heading into his office and hanging his fedora and overcoat on the clothes rack by the corner, trying to shake off the anger he still harbored after his late-night encounter with Tre, Mike was relieved to find a note on his desk, recognizing the neat handwriting from afar.

"Michael, left to meet with Clarence over on Market regarding suspect. Be back by 10am. Steve."

The note, albeit thoughtful, made him cringe, knowing well enough that it was his partner's excuse not to 10-20 his position on a regular basis, something that was becoming more important as their startling case unfolded.

Grasping the piece of paper, Mike pulled the black rimmed reading glasses out of his breast pocket, slipped them on his face, then walked back over to Steve's desk, sitting down on his chair to look over the files again. They had spent countless hours going over the findings yesterday, trying to cover every single angle, every arbitrary connection and odd facts.

And yet it seemed that the only connection between all three victims was that there was no connection at all- except for their killer and his wire.

He was about to pick up the phone and call the DMV, when he heard the door of the bullpen swing open enthusiastically. And much to his surprise, the person walking in was the last one Mike figure he'd see that morning.