D “Sir?” he said. “May I come in?” “Of course you can come in. This isn’t my apartment. It’s a crime scene.” Andropoulos blushed and stepped inside. He was carrying a folder filled with information about the victims. “I have the background that you asked for.” But Dial ignored him, focusing on the nightstand instead. It sat between the two cots and was the only furniture in the monk’s room where something could be stored. He opened the drawer, hoping to find something important, but it was empty. Just like the rest of the room. “Speaking of crime scenes,” Dial said as he glanced back at the young cop, “who’s in charge of the perimeter?” “The perimeter?” “You know, the imaginary line that encircles a crime scene. Who’s in charge of it?” “We are, sir.” “Who’s we?
