The robbery-homicide bureau where Detective Rodrigo Costa works the Luke Baker file — a working precinct, not a set piece: duty desk, case boards, and the long war of attrition against Carleton money.
The bureau runs on fluorescent light and cold coffee. A duty desk fields the night's calls; behind it, a bullpen of paired desks, each buried in the paper a robbery-homicide caseload generates. One wall is a board — photographs, thread, a column of open files that never quite empties. Costa's desk is the tidy one. He keeps the Baker murder where he can see it: the manifest, the timeline, the single clean wound that reads like a signature. Everyone in the room knows whose name sits at the far end of the thread, and everyone knows what it costs to write it down. The precinct is where the story's law lives — underfunded, outspent, and stubborn. Carleton owns towers; Costa owns a desk and a caseload and will not let the file close.
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