I got brought in to help out another agency on one of their unsolved murders yesterday, spent the day in their shop, getting the lay of the land, copies of the reports and evidence and interviews and crime scene, autopsy photos, etc. After a few hours I took it all back to my office and sat down and read everything, slowly, just letting it kind of wash over me, jotting down notes and questions as they occurred to me. Today I’ll watch the interviews again, looking for what’s wrong. Although that’s not quite right. What’s wrong just kind of jumps out at you from the background noise, like it sits a few millimeters off the page, hovering.
There are days my job is a deep pleasure and I know that I am in my place in the world. It might be an ugly place, but it is mine entirely.