Liam had called in the morning claiming he had a touch of Pam’s stomach virus from earlier this week, but he’d shaken it off by the evening, and they’d stayed up into the wee hours in each other’s arms. Still, Gunnar missed him. Though he’d showered, Gunnar could still catch hints of Liam's caramel scent on his skin.

Yet the omega was so far away.

He’s in Seattle, not Mongolia, Gunnar reminded himself as he sipped on a second cup of coffee while canvassing Twitches’ old neighborhood in the vague hope of finding a witness.

When Gunnar first told his dad he wanted to join the force, his dad had said, “Buy good shoes.”

It was good, practical advice, the sort his father had excelled at.

They called it legwork for a reason. Much of being a detective was walking, pounding on doors and walking again until the soles of your shoes thinned and the binding frayed.

Sometimes, it paid off. And sometimes, all you had to show for it was aching feet and battered shoes.

Two days after Twitches’ body was found, the legwork paid off. It was early evening, three blocks from the overpass where they’d spoken with the group of homeless alphas and omegas. The streets were lively with a group of older teens drinking sodas and trying to look cool on the edge of the basketball courts while a group of younger teens loudly chose teams for a game of pickup ball.

None of the kids had seen anything, of course. Gunnar glanced at his watch. He’d have to go soon. He’d already had his mother pick Olivia up from the after-school program, and while his mom loved her granddaughter, she’d already raised five kids, and Gunnar didn’t want to press on her kind nature too hard.

Five more minutes.

Gunnar approached a woman smoking a cigarette on the corner. She looked to be about forty, with every year hard earned, in her short skirt and too-high heels.

“Excuse me, miss.”

The woman laughed. “I haven’t been a miss in years.” She looked up at him through too-long lashes. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m wondering if you’ve seen anyone new around here, maybe claiming to be a cop?” Gunnar described him.

"Preppy blond guy? He’s no cop, but I’ve seen him around, delivering hot meals to the old folks.”

Meal delivery was a good way to get around without being noticed. “How long has he been coming around?”

“Couple of weeks. He’s with the group with the sunshine truck. What’s their name again? New Day something or other. Why do you want to know? He's not in trouble is he?"

"We think he might have some information relating to the death of a young omega from this area who goes by Twitches."

"Twitches! He’s dead! I heard he run off, but I never thought someone killed him? Why would anyone hurt Twitches? He ain’t own nothing except that locket his sister gave him."

"Locket?" There hadn't been a locket among Twitches’ possessions. It's was possible the same guy who took his shoes also had stolen it. Or maybe it was still in the killer's possession.

"It was the two of them when they was kids, with their mom. I don't think any of the others are still alive. If they were, they never came around here. And Twitches never talked about him, except his sister, and only about when they was little."

Gunnar said, "We're still working on finding his relatives."

"Bruce. The guy you're looking for, his name is Bruce. He comes around in the truck two, three times a week with a couple of the others. Tisha, Ben, and Helena usually. I don't know his last name. But I don't think he's doing this because he likes it. Betting he got himself in trouble and is now doing some community service, you know what I mean.”

"Thank you," Gunnar said. "You've been very helpful."

"You just figure out who killed Twitches. He was jumpy, but he wouldn't hurt no fly. Wouldn't even step on a cockroach. I watched him jumping around one night just to make sure his feet didn't land on one.”

Gunnar pulled out one of his business cards. “If you see him around again, or see anything else suspicious, give me a call.”

“Twitches got himself mixed up in something bad, didn’t he?” She shook her head, and a large blond curl slipped out of the bobby pins holding down her wig and fell over her eye. “Course he did. He dead.” She took a final draw of her cigarette and dropped it onto the ground, grinding it into the ground with the sole of her shoe.

“I really would like to speak with Bruce.”

“He done it, didn’t he?”

Gunnar shook his head. “We don’t have any clear suspects yet. I just want to ask him a couple of questions about what he might have seen.” The last thing they needed was for someone to take justice into their own hands. That quickly got out of hand. If Bruce had done it, he needed to go through the system, if only so they could get the man to confess to his other victims and provide closure for their loved ones as well. “I just want to ask him a couple of questions.”

“Right. I’ll warn the girls, just in case.”

Bruce had a record. An arrest for domestic assault – the charges were later dropped – and a petty narcotics conviction which, if he'd been a bit less privileged, would have led to jail time instead of three months of community service.

"Maybe he was scared straight," Juanita said, noting Bruce had chosen to stay on with his community service position for two months so far after the court mandate ended.

Gunnar shrugged. as he looked through the file. Bruce's girlfriend stared back, her eyes glazed and one of them black. Her lip was split, and she had black smudges on her cheeks where the mascara had bled. "There were more calls after this, according to the 911 dispatch. If he was scared straight, it wasn't straight enough."

A history of violence and drug use definitely set the table for darker crimes. But Gunnar wasn't convinced. Bruce was an alpha, but his taste ran towards willowy blondes, and women. Maybe he was hunting and killing omega's to silence his own desire for men. Some religions and traditional communities held odd views about male omega's. Even in the US.

"His volunteer shift starts at three. We should be able to catch up with him today."

Juanita agreed, and maps in hand, they set out. They found the New Day truck parked two blocks from the basketball court. A young black teen, whipcord thin with his hair in wiry twists pulled back and held by a black hair tie, stood in the back of the truck sorting boxes.

Juanita knocked on the side of the panel van's open side door. "Excuse me?"

The man turned, and Gunnar estimated his age a couple of years upwards. He wore a T-shirt with the name of a local college, and well worn, dark jeans. "Yeah?"

"We're looking for Bruce," Juanita said.

"Who's looking for Bruce? What you want with him?"

Gunnar pulled out his badge and held it out. "We just want to ask him a couple of questions."

"I don't have nothing to do with anything Bruce might be doing. I told Clara to let him go, but she bought his line about wanting to do good. He does get the food to the people."

That was the opposite of a ringing endorsement. Gunnar wanted to push for more details about what had this young man so on edge, but Juanita caught his eye and gave him a minute shake of her head.

"We just want to ask him a couple of questions. It has nothing to do with you or anything New Day is doing." Gunnar said.

"It's good work you young folks are doing here," Juanita said, pitching her voice lower and slower, as though she was older than her twenty five years.

"Thanks, ma'am," the teen said.

"All right. He's doing the 200s, and up through number 64 of building 249." The teen pulled a bulky phone out of his pocket and said, after glancing at the screen, said, "He's probably only got one or two blocks that way." He waved east down the block where the truck was parked.

"Thank you," Gunnar said.

They walked.

Bruce was clearly up to something. Fellow volunteers didn't start disavowing you the moment a detective asked a simple question unless you were neck-deep in something. Whether or not it was murder remained to be seen.

After about a block, Gunnar spotted the large, temperature sealed cart with the New Day sunshine logo painted on either side. It sat at the foot of a flight of concrete stairs leading up to a narrow porch in front of a two-story house, covered in dark gray aluminum siding. A pair of kids, between eight and ten years old judging by their height, sat at the top of the stairs playing some kind of card game. They looked up.

Juanita put her hand on Gunnar's arm. "Keep walking," she whispered, her voice just loud enough for Gunnar to hear.

As they passed the house, the two boys looked up, and Gunnar felt the weight of their gaze until the view of the house was obstructed by a snarl of tangled hedge and one spindly tree.

After they were out of view of the two kids, Juanita stopped. They both walked and sat on one of the neighbor’s front stairs.

"That was Big John's place," Juanita said. Her voice was still pitched low, and she was tense. "He runs heroine in this area, not that we could prove it."

"So you think he doesn't need any charitable food deliveries." Bruce did have a conviction for narcotics. Possession, but the quantity had been just below the amount to qualify as distribution.

If Bruce was delivering drugs as a side dish to charitable hot meals, that did give them some leverage. Maybe Twitches had seen something he shouldn't have.

It took almost ten minutes for Bruce to step back onto the sidewalk and start walking, pushing the cart ahead of him, toward them further down the block.

Preppy blond kid, he certainly fit that description. His hair was gelled and artfully tousled, he wore a white button-down shirt and pressed khakis, and were those $200 running shoes? If so, he clearly bought them for style as they looked almost new. Gunnar caught Juanita's eyes, who stood, as Gunnar stepped down and walked diagonally towards the street, to flank Bruce in case he decided to run.

Juanita walked toward Bruce, smiling widely. In his three months of working with Juanita, Gunnar never ceased to be amazed at how well she managed to pull off harmless. Bruce smiled back, his gaze lingering a touch too long on her chest. "Afternoon. Is…" He looks down at his clipboard. "Mrs.... Bernice Shaw a friend of yours?"

"No, I was hoping you have a minute to talk with me about your work with New Day."

Juanita quickly closed the distance between herself and Bruce while Gunnar approached from his right side and slightly behind, effectively cutting off his easiest exits, not that Bruce seemed aware of it yet.

Definitely not a master criminal.

Bruce asked, "Are you interested in volunteering? You can keep me company as I finish up my drop-off, and then I'll introduce you to Zaire."

Bruce was definitely looking at Juanita's breasts. Which meant his taste was broader than Gunnar had first assumed, though whether or not it included men remained to be seen.

"That won't be necessary," Juanita said, and at that moment the easy friendliness hardened, and she was all cop. She pulled out her badge. "My partner and I just have a couple of questions.”

Bruce's hands clenched on the cart, and he quickly jerked his head behind him. Gunnar crossed his arms over his chest and kept his expression grim.

"You’re cops. Didn't do anything. Nothing."

"Mind if I take a look inside the cart?" Juanita asked.

"You need a warrant for that. I know my rights."

"Of course. We can always have this conversation down at the station."

"I didn't do anything. This is harassment. I'm calling my lawyer."

"Keep your hands where I can see them," Gunnar barked out.

Bruce looked back at Gunnar again, and his pupils widened as he realized Gunnar had a good 6 inches on him in height, and at least half that in the breadth of his shoulders. Bruce squared his shoulders and met Gunnar’s gaze full on. But in spite of the show of bravado, Gunnar smelled fear on him.

Juanita said, "We're just here to have a friendly chat. Can you account for your whereabouts four nights ago, from 6 PM to 4 AM the next morning?"

"I didn't do anything."

"So you can't account for your whereabouts for that night?"

"I was home. Sleeping."

"From 6 PM?"

"No. I was at work until eight. Then I went home. My girlfriend will tell you, we watched the game. She's a real baseball fan."

"Baseball, the Crowns played Saturday."

"Then maybe it was a different day. I don't know. I know I was home. I didn't do anything."

"You know that was Big John's house you were just inside for – –." Juanita looked at her watch. "Nine minutes, give or take."

"Big John gets meals. That's not a crime."

"Why don't you let me see what's on the menu?" Juanita asked.

"I can't keep opening and closing that. The meals have to stay hot for the delivery."

"Then I guess me and my partner will just have to walk with you, as he suggested."

"No. That's profiling."

Gunnar bit back a laugh.

"It's a free sidewalk. Besides, you already invited me," Juanita said.

They walked. Bruce stopped in front of the house where he and Juanita had been sitting on the stairs, waiting. He parked the cart next to the stairs. Then he walked up and rang the bell.

A minute later, the door opened a crack, and the glint of large, plastic glasses lens caught in the reflected sunlight.

"Hello. New Day food delivery."

"Gunnar, why don't you grab Bruce one of those box lunches?" Juanita shouted down the stairs.

"No!" Bruce shouted and started running to Gunnar.

There was a rattle of a chain, metal against metal, and then the front door opened.

Gunnar tried to lift the lid of the cooler, and Bruce slammed his palm down on it. "This is my private property,” Bruce said.

“I think this is the property of the New Day Delivery nonprofit organization, don't you?" Juanita said. "How about I give them a call, and we'll see if they consent to let us look inside."

Bruce kept his hand on the cart's lid for another ten seconds, until Juanita said, into her phone, "Hello? This is… Yes, this is Detective Juanita--. Yes, I'm speaking with Bruce now. He seems reluctant to let us look inside – –."

"Fine.” Bruce lifted his hand off the lid.

Inside were two neat stacks of tin foil covered box lunches. Gunnar put his fingers briefly on the topmost one, and the contents were hot.

"See! I told you there wasn't nothing in there."

Gunnar reached for the pan at the top of the second stack.

"No. Ms. Shaw is that one."

But it was too late, as Gunnar felt the second lunch and noted it was at room temperature. He reached for the tinfoil wrapping and pulled it up at the edge. Inside, was a brown paper bag, rolled over once. A brown lunch bag. He pulled it out and started to open it. Bruce took a step back. He turned and started to run.

Juanita tackled him at the waist, and they both went down together.

"I think we need to continue this conversation at the station," Juanita said after she had taken his wrists in a grapple hold. Bruce started to scramble, but though he was stronger, he didn't have the leverage to break Juanita's hold.

"Gunnar, can you grab the cuffs from my waist." She sighed. "I don't know why these young thugs try so hard to make our lives so difficult."

From the top of the stairs, an elderly woman wearing a bulky pink bathrobe, and slippers, shouted down at them, "What about my lunch?"