Mike knocked on the door carefully, his hand barely curled as his knuckles touched the hazel oak that stood in contrast to the cream-colored stucco. Behind him, Scott Sorrensen breathed quietly, the sturdier man's shadow in his peripheral vision a strange twist to his usual routine.

The two squad cars were parked a few doors down, hoping to avoid undue suspicion. The Galaxy, with its sole anxious occupant, was blocking the driveway in front of the house, discouraging a car chase before it could even begin.

Lowering his hand and hearing the warrant in his breast pocket crinkle against his grey vest, Mike cued his ears to any noise coming from inside the large mansion. Scott instinctively rested his right hand on the butt of his revolver, ready to draw if needed. Mike knew well enough that any Sergeant surviving the streets for two decades while collecting only four small grazes from rogue bullets was worth his weight in gold when it came to their delicate case.

"Mister Roberts?"

Another set of faint knocks later, and he finally heard footsteps on the inside.

Standing perfectly still, downright holding his breath, Mike put on his best performance in preparation of a routine questioning, holding off on mentioning the arrest warrant for now. It was his hope to get through to Roberts before he could raise those defensive walls and clam up.

Inside, the chain lock was removed, before the solid door slowly swung open.

Unlike earlier in the week, Jason Roberts was less put together this time around. His wavy black hair was oily and unkempt. The white polo shirt was pulled out of his dark brown cargo shorts, its wrinkled ends dangling aimlessly at his narrow hips.

From his distance, Mike smelled alcohol on the other man's breath, so strong that he could distinguish that it was bourbon.

"You again…", the man breathed with a hoarse voice, and opened the door wider, "Please…tell me you're here because you solved my daughter's murder."

"In a roundabout way, yes.", Mike answered nonchalantly and walked into the house, Scott staying close on his tail.

Wordlessly, Roberts walked over to the large living room, stopping by the expensive side table to reach for his half-empty glass of bourbon.

"We'd like to ask you a few more question, if we may, Mister Roberts."

Mike kept his voice calm as they followed their suspect deeper into the house, keeping an eye out for firearms but finding none in plain sight. Judging by the slurred speech and tipsy walk, the Lieutenant guessed that Roberts had been drinking for quite some time, possibly sensing where is wife was at the moment, as well as the direction their investigation had taken.

Quietly motioning for Scott to check out the adjacent kitchen for any threats, Mike watched Roberts sit down on his love seat, then waving him over to do the same.

"So, what questions have you got now? It's Lieutenant, right? Yeah…Lieutenant."

"Mister Roberts, we'd like to know where you were the morning of the 4th of July."

"Me?"

Looking at him with blurry eyes, Jason grunted for a moment, then took a big gulp of Bourbon, making what little liquid was left in his glass swirl wildly.

"I…I guess I don't know. That was a few days ago…and it's been…a few…long days."

Mike nodded in affirmation, his fingers tracing the outline of Roberts expensive furniture as he carefully approached.

"It would be very beneficial to our investigation if you could remember."

"Beneficial in what way? What are you trying to do? Mhm?"

"We're trying to establish a timeline.", Mike answered vaguely and was about to position himself in front of Roberts, when the man rose back to his feet to pour himself another drink. As he waited with unmasked impatience, he saw Scott reappear in the nearby hallway, shaking his head in quiet relief.

"A timeline, mh? And just what would my sleeping in on a holiday have anything to do with my daughter being murdered?"

"According to your wife's testimony, you weren't sleeping in on the 4th. As a matter of fact, you got up a few hours before her."

"Be that as it may, I don't see how this has anything to do with Sarah? Maybe I got up early, I don't quite remember. My mind has been in a fog ever since you told me about her murder. I want you to find that sick bastard who ran her down like that."

Raising his eyebrows, a victorious smile spread on Mike's lips, as he gathered another pivotal piece of evidence.

"Mister Roberts, we never told you how your daughter was killed. How did you hear about it?"

Freezing in his spot, with the bourbon inside the thick glass bottle sloshing back and forth, Roberts lowered his head, mumbling something Mike couldn't understand.

Across the vast room, Scott Sorrensen stood perfectly still, arms by his side, ready whenever needed.

And yet, without either police officer having a chance to react in time, Roberts swung around, the bottle still firmly grasped in his hand, a primal cry escaping his lips.

In a downward motion, he used it to strike Mike upside the head in a well-planned act of malicious violence. As the Lieutenant felt his legs buckle beneath him, the fedora sailing off his head and landing near the couch, Scott's frantic order for the other man to stand down and drop the bottle echoed through the vast living room. But instead of giving up, Roberts reached for Mike's .38 in trained precision, firing two rounds at the Patrol Sergeant before running toward the garage.

Feeling the stinging and burning sensation of alcohol mixing with the blood gushing from his temple and into the collar of his dress shirt, Mike scrambled to his feet, swaying dangerously, before following Sorrensen out the back door after their suspect.