In any case, here's a short Kathleen scene.
The door swings gently shut behind her and she heads for the stairwell. While she's down here, she might as well pay a visit to Georgia and find out the current state of the John Doe.
It's not Georgia she sees bent over the John Doe when she enters the area. It's a young man, frowning in concentration, busily taking the corpse's measurements and enunciating his findings carefully for the recording equipment. Georgia herself is standing two bays over, studying the body of an elderly woman and muttering about stomach contents, and Kathleen is suddenly, starkly glad that she didn't make a detour for food this morning.
She waits until Georgia looks up, unwilling to disturb the train of thought that might help make a case, and in a shorter time than she'd expected Georgia notices her and smiles. "Morning, Kathleen," she says, looking fresh and sounding chipper; Kathleen would love to know how Georgia can sleep at night with all she must have seen. "What's up?"
"Not a lot," she acknowledges, though she pulls the sandwich bag from her pocket and hands it over. "I was hoping you could maybe do a quick scan of this substance found near the body. I didn't want it to get lost over at the lab, but you look plenty busy."
"Oh, when am I not?" Georgia asks, laughing ruefully as she pushes back an errant lock of her hair. "I can't do a full analysis any time soon, but I could at least look at it under a microscope, narrow the field a bit for you. Hand it over." She moves away from the autopsy table toward a bank of expensive-looking equipment, a microscope prominent among them. She places part of the dark curl Kathleen scraped up on a slide and positions it beneath the lens. She leans forward to look, her lank strawberry blonde hair slipping out of place again. "Huh," she says, her voice both surprised and somehow amused. She sits back in her chair and meets Kathleen's eyes. "Looks like you won't need a full analysis from the lab. This is sulfur. Same stuff that's in your John Doe."
And the same stuff that was all over that beautiful and otherwise pristine bullet. Somehow, Kathleen's not surprised.
She's still a little queasy from watching Georgia poke around inside someone's body to uncover partially digested food, so she passes on even a coffee break and settles at her desk instead to catch up on paperwork. There's a letter in her inbox, forwarded from Hibbing, and she just knows there's nothing in that envelope that could make her day any better. She takes a deep breath and slits it open. The letter, when she unfolds it, turns out to be another shrink's request to do an evaluation of her, looking for fodder for some article on the psychology of cops or the family members of victims or both. She crumples it in her fist. She is moving on, putting it behind her. She misses Riley every day anyway - it's not like she needs any reminders.
She chucks the letter and the envelope into the trash. She scans through her email until she finds the message she sent herself yesterday and loads the partial thumbprint Georgia pulled from the John Doe into the IAFIS database. Hopefully she'll get a hit. While she waits, she takes another crack at the preliminary report she still owes the chief.
Still gen, still R-ish.
Word count (today): 575
Word count (total): 12,679 (42.26%)