The Midnight ***er
Meet Jasper Quinn
There was only the sound of a pen gently leaving the ink alphabet on a paper, coming from the Detective Jasper Quinn's office. His two stern black eyes, hidden behind the glasses were following the hand moves - following the italic letters of his calligraphy. Grey curly hair was shining under the short beams of a black desk lamp. He looked up as he caught two shadows with a flick of his demure eye. His satin face tinged with curiosity unveiled his weariness as he took off his glasses and flounced towards the door.
Dark green shirt, shyly grazing his unbuttoned, white lab mantle emphasized the beauty of his dark brown eyes. Perfectly shaped face painted golden from the sunlight and silky short hair were the magnets for women; Josh Rivers - a forensic scientist. He immediatelly spotted curiosity that was reflecting in Quinn's eyes as detective Jasper poked his head out.
Their iridescent eyes met.
They were intermittently looking at each other; intermittently looking at Malone and the kid wearing an orange, Las Vegas convict T-shirt. The kid's bare feet were plodding along the cold floor, leaving behind the meager bloody smudges mixed with grime.
The kid dressed in the T-shirt that didn't fit him and the march performed in slow motion smeared Jasper's mind with curiosity; eagerness to throw a shed of light on the new case - The Midnight Murderer, he called it.
The two shadows, marching down the hall fused with the darkness.
"Quinn, it's blood all over his shirt, socks, baseball bat", Josh said moving his finger along the paper.
"Human blood", he continued.
Josh's results erased Quinn's weariness; boosting up his curios ego. He was standing in front of his tidy office, clutching the door knob, stifling it from swaying in the draft.
"XX chromosomes", Josh continued glancing at Quinn's poker face.
"Her blood markers indicate the last stage of illness - meta adeno carcinoma. If she's not dead, the tumor's gonna kill her. Whoever she is."
Thoroughly examining the results printed on a white sheet of paper, Josh said deliberately:
"There was tuft of hair dyed auburn transmitted to the baseball bat after..." He paused to breath in.
"...blunt force trauma to the head..."
"We have the underage, barefoot suspect whose mom still wipes off his underage ass and a victim that is... Still alive? Knockin' on heaven's door?", Quinn said staring at the floor.
A cynical leprechaun inside him has invoked. His philosopher posture, the seeming absence of mind began to ensure Rivers in Quinn's weirdness as the 42 year old detective began to quietly talk to himself, gallantly scratching his chin.
"You're muttering 'Thank you, Josh for analyzing blod in no tim-'".
"Shut up, Rivers", Quinn said making him smile.
The crime scene investigator was sniggering, hiding his face behind the papers. He knew that Quinn's cynicism couldn't mask the softness and kindness of his heart.
"You laugh like a girl", Jasper jabbered scramming down the hall.
"...like a silly little girl...", he repeated to himself.
Dark green shirt, shyly grazing his unbuttoned, white lab mantle emphasized the beauty of his dark brown eyes. Perfectly shaped face painted golden from the sunlight and silky short hair were the magnets for women; Josh Rivers - a forensic scientist. He immediatelly spotted curiosity that was reflecting in Quinn's eyes as detective Jasper poked his head out.
Their iridescent eyes met.
They were intermittently looking at each other; intermittently looking at Malone and the kid wearing an orange, Las Vegas convict T-shirt. The kid's bare feet were plodding along the cold floor, leaving behind the meager bloody smudges mixed with grime.
The kid dressed in the T-shirt that didn't fit him and the march performed in slow motion smeared Jasper's mind with curiosity; eagerness to throw a shed of light on the new case - The Midnight Murderer, he called it.
The two shadows, marching down the hall fused with the darkness.
"Quinn, it's blood all over his shirt, socks, baseball bat", Josh said moving his finger along the paper.
"Human blood", he continued.
Josh's results erased Quinn's weariness; boosting up his curios ego. He was standing in front of his tidy office, clutching the door knob, stifling it from swaying in the draft.
"XX chromosomes", Josh continued glancing at Quinn's poker face.
"Her blood markers indicate the last stage of illness - meta adeno carcinoma. If she's not dead, the tumor's gonna kill her. Whoever she is."
Thoroughly examining the results printed on a white sheet of paper, Josh said deliberately:
"There was tuft of hair dyed auburn transmitted to the baseball bat after..." He paused to breath in.
"...blunt force trauma to the head..."
"We have the underage, barefoot suspect whose mom still wipes off his underage ass and a victim that is... Still alive? Knockin' on heaven's door?", Quinn said staring at the floor.
A cynical leprechaun inside him has invoked. His philosopher posture, the seeming absence of mind began to ensure Rivers in Quinn's weirdness as the 42 year old detective began to quietly talk to himself, gallantly scratching his chin.
"You're muttering 'Thank you, Josh for analyzing blod in no tim-'".
"Shut up, Rivers", Quinn said making him smile.
The crime scene investigator was sniggering, hiding his face behind the papers. He knew that Quinn's cynicism couldn't mask the softness and kindness of his heart.
"You laugh like a girl", Jasper jabbered scramming down the hall.
"...like a silly little girl...", he repeated to himself.