Harrigan and I stood on the steps of the precinct in the early morning L.A. sunshine.
"Okay, Randolph. Make this fast. Some of us have real work to do."
Real work? I let that one slide.
"Alright, Harrigan. Who's investigating the murder of Paige Turner?"
Harrigan looked at his watch, "Me and Striker."
Then he got a funny look on his face.
"Oh no! I should've known you'd be mixed up in this somehow, Randolph. You're like a magnet for dead bodies. What's your interest in this case?"
"I got a call from an old friend. His name's Milton Dunn."