@detsheehan // the world barely makes any sense, so it follows that crime doesn’t either.
there are two disposable coffee cups sat between them, both cooling and three-quarters empty and wendy’s sits like a black, cold stone between them and her eyes keep drifting from it to the wad of notes at her side. it’s not that she believes everything’s clear cut — they work in the grey areas of the human psyche that are entirely different from killer to killer, but they still have overlapping characteristics of bittersweet humanity that biII and hoIden try and tar with the same sequence killer brush bullshit.
“it only doesn’t make sense because people haven’t bothered trying to understand it.”
it’s a throwaway statement, but wendy shifts her fingers through two photographs to reveal the one taken from the first step of the crime scene; she takes out the one of the body, and places it carefully between the two coffees. “we have methods now — we have... ways of digging into the human ego in ways we never have before.”
she pauses, stares at the photo, and continues without so much as looking back up at the detective before her. (she does this a lot with hoIden — he stares with bated breath and she hypothesises aloud.)
“look at this one, for example. the way he places the victim’s corpse like that means something. it’s careful. it’s... almost gentle in the way it’s been re-dressed. our killer’s closed the victim’s eyes, he’s crossed her arms over her chest as though she’s... sleeping. and in the same breath, it’s controlled. this was not a what the fuck murder — in the sense that there’s, almost, a ritual to everything he’s done with the body. there’s no dna left at the crime scene, and it looks as though our killer wasn’t in a hurry to leave her out of any great regret or remorse. there’s no weapon, no signs of any kind of post-kill stress... i don’t think we’re dealing with your every day accidental rage killing. there’s something else to it. it’s... organised. it’s methodical.”
