[center][img]https://static.tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pub/images/wesley_dodds_001.jpg[/img][/center]

[h3][I][b]Last Night…[/b][/I][/h3]

“Mind you don’t pop your top, Rook.”  The Sergeant warned.

The young officer heeded his Sergeant’s warning and kept his distance; he may have been young, but he knew well enough not to charge in and disturb the crime scene.

“So how do we handle this?”  It was an unseasonally cool night.  Steam rose from the subway grills and manhole covers and the first dead body he’d ever seen on the job lay supine on the cold bitumen.

“I just called in, we should have a detective car here ETA 10.  Until then…” he tossed the keys to the younger officer, “There’s a roll of tape in the trunk, go get it and cordon off there… through to there--”  He pointed at the wide entrance point to the alley “--and divert onlookers back through to the main roads.”

The young cadet caught the keys and nodded, with the task in his mind fresher than the body they’d caught down the dead-end street.

After he’d completed the task and other support cars had arrived, allowing him to put someone else on the menial work, he snuck back to watch the detectives and his Sergeant in action.

“Me and the Rook caught this about fifteen, twenty minutes ago.  Anonymous tip from a pay phone.  Body was as-is.”

“Sir, tape’s set up and Taylor’s taken over crowd control.”  The young officer announced his return, the two detectives doing little to acknowledge him but a slight head turn and an expression of mild inconvenience.

“With all due respect, Sergeant, you ain’t caught shit.  We’re the ones who are going to have to be working this.”  The first detective vocalised that sense of inconvenience, throwing a cigarette butt back down the alley before approaching the crime scene.  “Techs been called yet?”  He asked, hunching over to look at the body, and cocking his head from side to side as old experienced eyes soaked up the environment.

“Yeah, CSI van’s on its way.  Got told there’s a thirty five minute ETA there.”

“…so expect it in an hour or so.”  The other detective responded.  “Got it.”

The second detective pulled his phone out and started snapping off photos of the crime scene.

The cadet hunched down behind the first detective and watched, resulting in an audible sigh from the elder lawman.

“So what do you figure was the cause of death?”  He asked the detective.

“Well, so far I think we can safely rule out ‘old age’ and ‘gunshot wound to the face’, but I think we might leave the rest up to the coroner to determine.”  He sarcastically fired back to the irritating younger patrolman, pointing out the victim’s clear face.  The sergeant shook his head at his younger partner.

The younger officer took the hint and stepped back out of the detective’s space.  The victim’s face was indeed clean, but the scene was not without signs of a struggle, his breast pocket was torn and hung loose on his coat like a dog’s tongue, with a hole at the bottom of the point where the pocket used to join where it was torn through to the shirt.

The officer thought for a second and using his own finger he hooked his own breast pocket and furrowed his brow.  Something didn’t make sense to him.  The sergeant tutted him, signalling him to leave the detectives to do their work but something stuck in the younger man’s craw.  He moved his finger and hooked the other side of his pocket and was no more satisfied at the result.  Then his brow re-settled.  He had his answer.

Considering the fall of the body he marked off an invisible path with his line of site to a dumpster in the alley.

He turned to the detective with the phone.  “Snap some off of what’s under the dumpster.”  He said brazenly.

“Eh?”

The young officer dropped down to his knees and pointed underneath.  “I’m pretty sure that was on the victim.”

A few photos later and a gloved hand gingerly lifted a pen from under the dumpster and placed it in an evidence bag.

“His pocket was torn up.  The torque didn’t match the hole unless whoever ripped it was pulling on either a pen or one of those mechanical pencils or something.  Presumably the killer was pulling down on that, might be able to pull a print.”

“Huh…  Got some hawk-eyes on you, huh kid?”  The detective begrudgingly credited the younger officer for the pickup.  “Still… too early to say ‘killer’ until the coroner can give us cause of death.  Could be the deceased had a heart attack or stroke, clutched his chest at the pen, then his arm seized and he tore the pocket.”

“OK.”  The eager younger officer nodded, absorbing the lesson and looking to push forward.  “So has he got a wallet on him?  Can we I.D. the victim?”

“We don’t touch the body ‘til the techs get here.  Normally we just snap the photos off to cover our asses in case some lawyer tries to get cute and claim something shady.  Pen’s still a good pickup though, you’re right there was a logical progression there and we lifted it clean.  Tech’s get here, we’ll look for a wallet, or they’ll try DNA, prints - or at a push - dentals for a match on the deceased.”  The other detective replied.

The rookie cop nodded, soaking up the procedure.

“All you need to know is, if you find another one, keep the crime scene clear and don’t touch anything.”  The dourer detective added.

The sergeant walked over and put his arm around his younger partner.  “Come on.  Shift change is about to happen.  Crime scene’s secured and they’ve got this under control.”

The younger officer acceded and walked back to their patrol car, but he looked back multiple times on the way...