The Art Of Seeking Truth

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The sound of her heels was the first thing that informed me of her arrival.
The click click click could not be missed as she stalked up the marble staircase.

The second thing was the apparent parting of the not-so-red sea as uniformed officers separated silently at the click click click became less and less distant.

The third thing was the trail of fiery, bright hair she left in her wake - which, like her personality that could be described in the very same way, could not be missed.

"O'Malley, Sullivan" Megs nodded acknowledgingly first at me and then my partner, before continuing towards the body. "What have we got boys?"

I smiled slightly at the familiarity of this moment - like an instant of deja vu that had a habit of recurring on a daily basis.

"17 year old Jason Kilder, found this morning by his parents after they arrived home from a weekend long business trip. Say he was diagnosed with clinical depression about a year ago ... and I guess the rest explains itself" he said, tone turning grave as he surveyed the scene in front of him.

Megs stooped down to kneel down beside the boy, brushing a few stray hairs out of his half closed and lifeless eyes with a sad smile. "He was so young" she whispered quietly before standing again.

After removing her gloves and shoving them into her bag she looked up and sighed, "I estimate time of death between 10pm and 12am last night, just based on body temp. But I should be able to narrow that window down and get a more accurate TOD when we get him back to the morgue."

"Well then," Sullivan said with a smug grin "I guess that's cased closed. Thanks boys" He said, dismissing the uniforms who stood guard at the door.

"Wait. wait wait wait" Megs said narrowing her eyes at Sullivan. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, bewildered expression on her face.

"Uh ... going home? Duh" He responded rolling his eyes at her as he turned too follow the dispersing officers.

"But he was left handed."

Her words made Sullivan stop mid step as he was just about to pass through the threshold.

He turned around slowly. "Excuse me?"

"I said" Megs repeated rolling her eyes at the dry look he had fixed on her.

"He," She restated gesturing to the body with a glance
"was" exaggerating the fact that he was no longer
"Left" (she slowly stalked her way around the body towards us)
"handed" she concluded raising her left hand and waving it in front of Sullivan, sarcastic smirk gracing her lips.

"And how in the hell do you know that?" Sullivan challenged a scowl creasing his brow.

"Because" Megs drawled as she walked over to the victim and picked up his left hand "he has callouses on his middle and index fingers which are consistent with writing marks."
She moved around the body to the desk and riffled through some papers quickly before turning back to us and thrusting a sheet filled with oddly sloped and messily scrawled numbers in our faces.
"And see?" she pointed out dramatically. "It's supported by the way he writes."

She was met with blank and confused looks from us both.
She rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly before elaborating with "See the way the letters slant slightly to the left rather than the right? Thats consistent with the writing pattern of a left handed person that has an underdeveloped writing style."

Sullivan looked at me and scoffed. "Who does she think she is? Nancy Drew?"

He snorted obnoxiously at his own joke and looked back at the woman. "And you got all of that from just looking at the body, huh?"