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Callan sifted through the stack of new case files and ME reports cluttering his inbox, mentally prioritizing which needed his immediate attention. A hot cup of coffee would help sharpen his focus this morning, though the sludge from the break room pot was likely hours old already.
“Well, you look like something the cat dragged in,” a familiar voice joked. Callan glanced up to see Brandon strolling toward the desk, signature aviators perched on his blond head despite the windowless room.
“Long night,” Callan said wryly, leaning back in his chair. “This city never sleeps, that’s for sure.”
Brandon laughed as he dropped into the seat opposite Callan. “You get used to it. The chaos is half the charm of the Big Easy.” He flipped open a case file, scanning quickly. “So which one you want to tackle first, brother? Signal 94 in the Quarter or the assault over on Elysian Fields?”
Callan weighed their options, glancing between the two folders. Working with Brandon these past few months had been the easiest part of his transition to NOPD. They’d bonded quickly as partners, and Brandon’s outgoing nature had helped Callan build key relationships within the local law enforcement community.
“Let’s start with the Quarter,” Callan decided, grabbing the relevant folder. “Bar fight turned ugly according to the overnight reports, suspect still at large. I know the owner of the bar. She’ll give us the rundown.”
Callan stood, tucking the file folder under his arm, eager to get out into the field after a long night chained to his desk. As he followed Brandon toward the exit, a booming voice rang out across the bullpen.
“Detective Hemlock!”
All heads turned to see Commander Beckner standing in the doorway of his office, his imposing frame filling the doorframe. Though pushing sixty, Beckner still exuded the powerful presence of his younger years on the force.
“A word in my office, if you please.” Beckner crooked a finger at Callan, then disappeared back into his office without waiting for a response.
Callan and Brandon exchanged surprised glances. “Wonder what that’s about,” Brandon muttered.
“Guess I’m about to find out.” Callan shrugged, trying not to read too much into this abrupt summons. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Sure thing, brother.” Brandon gave him a reassuring slap on the back before continuing on his way.
Callan crossed the bustling bullpen under the watchful gazes of his fellow officers. Beckner’s booming baritone had attracted plenty of curious looks. As he reached the commander’s door, Callan straightened his tie reflexively. In his six months here, he’d had little direct contact with the department’s top brass.
Rapping his knuckles lightly on the door frame, he stepped inside. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Take a seat, Detective.” Commander Beckner sat behind a heavy wooden desk stacked with case files and departmental memos. His piercing gaze remained fixed on Callan as he settled into the chair opposite.
Callan settled into the leather chair across from Beckner, glancing curiously at the woman seated to his right. He recognized her immediately as Roseline Fontenot, the department’s computer forensics investigator. They had worked together briefly on a few cases since his arrival, but she had always been professional and reserved around him. Not that he could blame her caution—Callan had seen firsthand the sexist disdain Roseline faced from some of the old guard cops at NOPD.
He made sure to always be extra polite and deferential with Roseline, impressed by her technical skills and determination in the face of constant skepticism and underestimation. Not to mention, he found the curvy blonde investigator more than a little attractive, though he was careful never to cross any professional lines.
Callan shot Roseline a polite nod, wondering why she was meeting with the commander. He noticed she looked uncharacteristically rattled, her face pale and eyes ringed by dark circles.
“Thank you for joining us, Detective,” Beckner rumbled, folding his meaty hands on the desk. “I wanted to bring you into a highly sensitive case.”
Roseline swallowed hard, avoiding Callan’s gaze. “Commander Beckner was sent a link by an anonymous source, leading to an impending violent crime,” she began, her voice unsteady. “The link led to... to a live video stream.”
She faltered over the words, a deep unease in her eyes. Beckner’s stony expression remained fixed on Callan as he continued gravely. “What Ms. Fontenot and I witnessed on this video stream was nothing short of horrific. A man was bound to a chair as an assailant...”
The commander’s gruff voice trailed off, the silence heavy between them. Callan shifted uneasily, a sickening tension gathering in his gut.
“Go on,” he prompted quietly, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the rest.
Roseline turned her laptop to face Callan. Her hand trembled slightly as she clicked Play on a video file. Callan steeled himself as the footage began.
The shaky handheld camera initially showed a dimly lit room with a man strapped to a chair, head slumped forward. He appeared bruised and semi-conscious. Callan’s cop instincts noted the victim was Mediterranean, likely in his 30s, with gang tattoos covering his arms and neck.
A man wearing a masquerade mask appeared to finally cut his throat. Callan flinched as the assailant appeared with a mean-looking knife.
Roseline paused the video, her face pale. “I traced the live stream as best I could while... it was happening,” she managed. “But the killer is sophisticated. Hidden behind endless proxy servers and dark web relays. He calls himself the Game Master.”
She slumped back in her chair, looking depleted. Beckner cleared his throat gruffly. “This is just the start. We have reason to believe the victim, Mani Alto, had ties to the Delucci crime family. Clearly, someone had a personal vendetta against him. Maybe. What Fontenot had found was the possibility that this psycho had already his second victim lined up.”
Callan sat in stunned silence, his mind racing to process the disturbing scene. A cold-blooded murder, streamed live to a hidden internet audience, likely with more killings planned. They had almost zero leads and no way to identify the masked killer.
