I’m Lieutenant Frank Drebin, and today was supposed to be about protocol. The Queen is arriving in Los Angeles, and Captain Hocken wants everything perfect. No scandals. No mistakes. Especially no Nordberg.

But there’s a problem. My partner, Nordberg, got shot during a bust on Vincent Ludwig’s heroin operation. He’s alive—barely—and muttering clues from his hospital bed. One of them was a photo of Ludwig’s ship. Another was that his jacket tested positive for heroin. That doesn’t add up. Nordberg wouldn’t touch the stuff.

I just came from Ludwig’s office. Tried to play it cool, ask about the ship. But I slipped—mentioned Nordberg was still alive. Stupid. Now Ludwig knows.

And now, his assistant Jane is here, handing me files with a smile that feels too warm to be professional. She’s asking if I need anything else. I do. Answers. But all I can think is how nice her hair looks in the fluorescent light.

Then my beeper goes off. Hospital security. They’re saying Nordberg’s doctor is acting strange. Very strange.

I have 24 hours to clear my partner’s name. And a feeling that everything is about to get much, much worse.