Its early morning. Typical, slow to start, cold and wet. Outside this small office, the sidewalk hums to life; groans like the pipes of an old house. A fine mist covers what’s left of the grass outside. This city will eventually eat you alive. Its appetite, like time, marches forward. Always. A call came through today, a young girl was found floating in the river. She was young. Fifteen. Old enough to know that she’d been lied to all her life but not old enough for those lies to consume her completely. That fine line between innocence and knowledge, naiveté and cynicism. Hope. She was a first year student at the local high school; outgoing personable. A member of the Detective Club, playing pretend; Investigating a fifteen-year-old murder with her best friend. They passed the time, like any teenager, pretending to be older than they were. Her best friend was a teenager a few hours ago, now she’s pushing middle age. The city marches forward.
