[Hope the author of the first one won't be offended.]


Shit. Shit. There was someone in his office. Not stealing, not threatening, just... there. On the floor. Foggy turned slowly - standing frozen in your own doorway, very classy, Nelson - and gave the locks a long hard look. But no, no sign of a break in.

Which there wouldn't be, he realized, since the door was open and he must have forgotten to lock it behind him yesterday evening. He definitely was in no state to remember anything. Edna Crilly divorce case was wearing him off.

Right.

Foggy took a few steps forward. The man on the floor still wasn't moving, and... was that blood?

Oh shit. Oh shit, did he have a BODY in his office? (Is that Tom Crilly's way of delivering a message?)

If this man died just to get Foggy to fall in line, someone will pay for this, dearly, and Crilly will have the rest of his miserable life to... oh thank God, his chest was moving.

Breathing. Yes. So Crilly wasn't a murderer after all. Thank God, because Foggy wasn't sure he would have the balls to deliver on his mental threats.

That still left a sleeping man to deal with. Foggy leaned over him. "Hello?"