5:15 am
Fresh coffee is brewing. I look inside my mug. Can't wait for the pot to finish. Three packs of sugar oughta help.
For some
reason I remember a line from a play I read in High School:
“You can't eat the orange and throw the peel away. A man is not a
piece of fruit.”
Death
of a Salesman. Willie Loman. A loser like me.
A piece of fruit. Damn terrible way to regard a man’s life.
Another
girl was murdered last night.
Another
report to fill out.
“Your
phone was ringing,” Danny Collins says.
Besides
me, Collins is one of the last senior detectives in Maryland State’s Special
Investigations Unit who hasn’t retired, although it's no secret he’ll be making
his move before long.
"I
heard it," is my reply. Like I care.
Stacy Culver:
Thirty-one years old, five-foot five-inches tall,
one-hundred-eighteen pounds.
Dark brown hair, blue eyes.
Preliminary COD: Poisoning.
Probably
shouldn't go in the report, but this girl was gorgeous, but saying so, officially would be stupid,
considering the climate of the division lately.
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