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didn’t look anywhere near as wrecked. All three had dark circles under their eyes, and their skin looked gray, almost as if they were suffering from anemia.
    Maybe there was a bug going around.
    The door opened, and a fourth cop stumbled in to drop into a chair, sloshing his coffee on the table. Andy Jones put down the paper cup and scrubbed both hands over his haggard face. His eyes were bloodshot, and he’d missed a strip of black stubble along his jawline when he’d shaved. He didn’t even grunt a hello, just sat hunched over his cup, his expression troubled.
    â€œSomething wrong, Andy?”
    Jones looked up at her and started to open his mouth, but Morrow cut him off before he could speak. “He’s just tired, Weston. We all are.”
    She studied the other cop’s placating smile. Granger was red with rage, but to her surprise he kept his mouth firmly shut. Faith found that almost as troubling as their unhealthy skin tone. Restraint wasn’t exactly Frank’s best quality.
    She flicked a glance at the other two men. They didn’t seem to be tracking the discussion at all.
    What the hell was going on?
    Sergeant Randy Young walked in, looking even more drawn than the others, his shirt loose over what had once been an impressive belly. He must have lost a good forty pounds in the last two months. Faith had complimented Young on his weight loss before, but now she wondered if something more sinister than a really good diet was responsible. But what else could it be?
    And why haven’t I noticed this before?
    Of course, her attention had been firmly on Rambo for the last month. Getting the dog settled in and learning to work with him had taken all her attention.
    Also, police work in general often involved running from crisis to crisis at breakneck speed. It was easy to overlook undercurrents among coworkers in the race to catch bad guys.
    Young launched into his briefing as Faith gnawed over the problem. He stumbled three times just reading off the description of a guy who’d been seen breaking into garages in the Pecan Point neighborhood. The sergeant was normally razor-edged and sarcastic, but he was definitely off his game today.
    When he finished, Faith voiced the question that was bothering her. “Sarge, have we heard anything on the murder victim I found dead in the park last night? What did the autopsy find?”
    At that, the cops looked at her with a hostility so thick and unspoken, she sat back in her chair in surprise.
    â€œHe was a crack addict, Weston,” Young said. “He probably tried to rob the wrong house, and somebody turned their rottweiler loose on him.” The sergeant grinned without humor. “It’s like I always say—it sucks to be a maggot.”
    â€œYou think one of us had something to do with it?” Granger demanded, glaring at her.
    Faith blinked. “Of course not.”
    â€œCould have fooled me.” Young studied her coolly. “You told Taylor the junkie said things happened to people who go to the city jail. And since the only ones with access to the jail are cops and jailers…”
    â€œAnd what the fuck do you care about a junkie, anyway?” Granger’s face was flushed under his thinning red hair. “The world’s better off without him. Hell, he took a swing at you day before yesterday. Nice shiner, by the way.”
    â€œI’m well aware of that, Frank.” Faith blew out a breath, striving for patience. “Look, it’s my job to report anything that might be relevant to a death. When two guys in six weeks end up dead after a night in the city jail, that’s relevant.”
    â€œThe first guy got cut up by drunks, Weston,” the sergeant said. “That dumbass last night ran into somebody’s dogs. Unless you know something we don’t. I mean, considering you were the one who got in the fight with him to begin with, and you’ve got that big-ass