The Detective's Dilemma: A Crime Fiction Novel of Hard Choices

Detective Frank Morrison had been staring at the same case file for three hours when the phone rang. The fluorescent lights in the precinct cast harsh shadows across the photographs spread before him, images of a crime scene that had gone cold six months ago. Another unsolved case to add to the growing pile on his desk, another family left without answers. The coffee in his mug had long since turned bitter, but he drank it anyway, needing the caffeine to push through another late night.

"Morrison," he answered, his voice gravelly from too many cigarettes and not enough sleep.

"Frank, we've got a body." Lieutenant Sarah Chen's voice was tight with tension. "Downtown, in the financial district. It's messy."

Frank glanced at the clock on the wall. Half past eleven on a Tuesday night. The city never slept, and neither, it seemed, did its criminals. He had been hoping to wrap up some paperwork and head home to his empty apartment, maybe catch the end of a baseball game on television. Those plans evaporated with Chen's words.

"What kind of messy?" Frank asked, already reaching for his coat. Twenty-three years on the force had taught him that when his lieutenant called something messy, it usually meant the kind of case that would keep him awake for weeks.

"The kind that's going to be all over the morning news. Victim is Marcus Delacroix, the investment banker. Shot execution-style in his office on the thirty-second floor of the Meridian Tower."

Frank felt his stomach tighten. Marcus Delacroix was one of the most prominent financiers in the city, the kind of man whose death would send ripples through the economic community and attract unwanted attention from city hall. The mayor would be breathing down the commissioner's neck, who would in turn breathe down theirs. High-profile cases meant high-profile pressure, and Frank had enough stress in his life already.