Lifting the tape up he stooped down and under it, walking towards the place where forensics were working. He didn’t see anything at first; all he knew were small details.
A murder, someone by the name of Rosemary Tolbart, and that was all the information he had been given on the drive up there.
He saw soft brown curls first, the body flat on its back, and then he noticed the size of it. It wasn’t a woman like he had expected, but a child, from the size of her she couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old. Just a child, so tiny, so fragile.
Tags: talking muses
Current Mood: melancholy