I gazed down the hall squinting my eyes, but I wasn't really sure what I was looking at.
Being the only murder detective in this town, I very rarely had to do my actual job. Most days were just paperwork. For the most part, it was better than working in the city. When I was offered a job covering murders here, I took it without question. More benefits, better pay, less work.
The blood stain on the wall is big. I can tell that much. I cast about in my head for other things I can learn from the pattern, the height, the size of it, but I keep coming up with nothing.
I've never regretted taking this job. I've never regretted it for a second, but I often wonder about what would have happened if I didn't. I would probably be fine if I were still working in the city. I didn't really need the raise in pay. And god knows this town would be fine without me. Maybe they would have a competent murder detective.
I look down at the body. An older man. He's lying on his stomach. The bullet wound is pretty obvious. I can probably identify this guy. You know, assuming it's his house. I'll look up the title to the house later. Yeah, identifying the victim would be good.
I mean, it's not like I was never trained. I know what I'm doing for the most part on the procedural half. I usually get the paperwork right without any prompting from my supervisors. It's just that I wasn't really made for this job. I don't have any love for it. I don't hate it. I actually enjoy it sometimes. But days like today make me realize I stumbled into it, rather than coming to it with any sort of purpose.
There are two officers waiting in the other room for me to finish up. They probably think what I'm doing is some kind of wizardry. Or they probably don't realize, anyway, that I'm just as clueless as they are. I snap some photographs of the scene.
There are kids who want to grow up to be murder detectives. I mean, they make TV shows about this stuff, for christ sake.
But I never cared much for cop shows.