[Center][h1][color=f49ac2]Tiffany White[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][h2][color=f49ac2]House of the Fallen Detective[/color][/h2][/center]
[center][h2][color=f49ac2]Afternoon[/color][/h2][/center]
“Uh uh.” Calvin outstretched his palm toward the coroner’s face and looked away. “I’m going to get it directly from the horse’s mouth. Not an over-glorified nurse. Is Detective Gallagher still here?”

The coroner sighed. “Yes. He’s wandering the house, seeing if there aren’t any breadcrumbs anywhere else. I told him that it was a waste, but—.”

As the Detective disappeared to find the other, Cart wheels wailing like that of a hungry babe for it's mum's teat, pulled the Coroner from his thoughts. His Assistant Tiffany White appearing with the body bag and transport for the unfortunate late Mr. Smith. She was a red headed woman of some twenty-seven years. The ugliness of death had long become normal to the young woman since her time in the war as a Triage Nurse a few years prior.

"well he is quite the assho- I mean 'charming man' isn't he?" She chirped as she moved the cart close and struggled with a rusty hinge to get it to lower. Wonderful New York, it loved its glitter and shine to draw in foreign money, yet cared not about giving the Coroner's office efficient quality tools to work with. Tiffany looked around the macabre garden of brutality and let out a distasteful sigh.

Some minutes passed as she prepped the body, at least this one was in one piece and didn't require a limb scavenger hunt like her last. She moved about doing her best to disturb the scene as little as possible. Her movements practiced, if not labored by the awkward stiffness of her new prosthetic left leg. The large moderate sized house that should be so full of life and emotion, now an eerily barren thing, still except for the remaining investigative crew and mourning cries of the deceased's wife. Poor thing. 

Tiffany craved a cigarette, the irony not lost on her, but what was one more bringer of death in her life?