"RIGGS," His editor, a very tall man in his late 40's shouted from across the room. He had a suit on but his jacket was hanging on his desk chair. "Where's that story? I needed it yesterday!"
Jeff sighed. The story was done, alright. But, it was absolute rubbish. "It's right here," he mumbled as he stood up, the story in hand. It was about a missing boy that was recently found alive and returned to his family. Though, Jeff had trouble getting an interview with the family so the information he had was basic knowledge off the police report. He walked over to his editor and handed it over reluctantly.
The editor skimmed it with skeptical eyes while Jeff kept his head down. "Jefferson, this is absolute shit," he said with disappointment spread across his face. He tossed the story onto his desk carelessly and sighed. "Son, I'll print this, but only because I like you. You need to step it up. Here," He handed Jefferson a file, "read up on this. Look into it. i'll give you like a month to come up with something. If you can't, its back to writing features about whatever rubbish they're showing down at the theater."
Jeff nodded and took the file under his arm. "Thanks, sir," he said as he nodded towards him and turned to head back to his desk. Jeff sighed and ran both his hands through his hair in frustration. He opened the file and read through it. It went into limited detail about a string of unsolved murders and the only likely suspect, suspected for nothing. Included in the file was a picture of Griffin's (the suspect) house and of him himself. Jeff furrowed his brows and looked for the address. "Hm," he said, now interested.
After his shift ended an hour later, Jefferson headed toward's the Griffin residence. He wanted to get a better look.