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down the hall. Barrios reaches the door, squats and regards the glass on the carpet. The window had been broken inward.
    Jackson emerges from the hallway. “Nothing disturbed back here.”
    “Bring the Farryton’s in, Jackson, and let them check the apartment.” He opens his notebook and starts filling in the details.
    Jackson returns with the still apprehensive couple. “Please take your time and check if anything is missing or out of place.” Barrios offers calmly. “It doesn’t appear to be a breakin, probably just an accident caused by some kids fooling around.”
    Mrs. Farryton walks around the counter that separates the living and dining area from the kitchen, suddenly disappearing. When she stands up, she says, “Oh Art, come look at this, it’s a darn old golf ball. I bet it’s what broke the window. It has a big red 2 on it,” Mrs. Farryton says as she turns it around with her fingers. “Can you imagine why someone would be hitting a golf ball here of all places?”
    “Probably someone from that damn tournament,” Art grumbles.
    Barrios holds out his hand. “May I see it, ma’am?”
    Mrs. Farryton hands the ball to him. “I shouldn’t have touched it. You could have gotten fingerprints.”
    “Well, probably not, ma’am. It’s highly unlikely we could get fingerprints from this kind of surface. I’ll take it for evidence, but there isn’t much we can do.” Barrios drops the ball into a plastic evidence bag.
    Jackson joins them. “I’m sure no one has been in your house, it’s just one of those unfortunate things that happens,” he says. As Barrios and Jackson move toward the door, Mr. Farryton thanks them and then closes the door behind the officers.
    Jackson studies the ball through the plastic of the evidence bag. “You know, Barrios, this ball seems kind of like it’s marked with blood. Did you notice that? Do you mind driving for a while?”
    “Sure,” says Barrios. They toss their nightsticks on the seat, hats off, notebook on the console and settle in. “Clear us,” he instructs.

Chapter 3
    A lmost immediately, the officers’ shoulder mikes beep in with the dispatcher asking their location. After stating where they are, they are instructed to proceed immediately to another scene, a possible homicide in the same vicinity.
    Barrios makes a quick U-turn at the next intersection and accelerates the engine. They reach the new address in a few minutes and pull into a small lot identical to the one they have just left. An elderly man in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt is waving frantically. He is stocky, balding and his glasses are in his right hand. Jackson is first out of the vehicle.
    “Oh my God! It’s terrible! It’s terrible!” the man says over and over again. Jackson notices immediately that the man smells like he has been vomiting. “It’s terrible, terrible, who would do something like this?” The man is gasping and trembling and tears are running down his cheeks.
    Barrios hurriedly walks around the vehicle and firmly takes the man’s arm. “Show us the way, please, sir.” The man begins to half run down the curved path, Barrios and Jackson following on the walkway between more stucco and cactus. They turn the corner two buildings later, and the man points.
    “There! There!”
    Two women are sitting on the steps of an upper unit of the complex. Barrios notes the door above is partially open. One of the women is crying hysterically and convulsing at the same time. The other woman, older and not as well-dressed, seems to be trying to comfort her with little success.
    Barrios grabs the man’s arm and stops him. “All right, what is going on here?”
    The man, his shirt still damp with vomit, says, “The woman upstairs is…is…is…oh my God, it’s so terrible. She’s dead! She’s up there.” The man points to the upstairs apartment.
    “Did you go inside?”
    “I just peeked in the door.” His red face crumples and Barrios is sure the man will be sick