He left a lily on her gravestone. There were certain days when he would leave more than one: holidays, her birthday…the day of her death. She was his first case, that "bouncing baby red ball" that had haunted him for so long. But despite his bitterness over the case, and not being able to close it, he came.
It was like he couldn't help it. He would sit next to the granite slab that bore her name, and talk, like she could actually hear him. Like she knew what he was talking about. But to him, Adena Watson had seemed like the sort of girl that liked to know about things. So she was his outlet, his way to relieve himself of everything he saw day in and day out.
For some odd reason, it made him feel better. Every time he left, he went with a lightened heart and lifted spirits. There was still someone who would listen, even if the rest of the bleeding city didn't want to. But he never left without leaving something in return, on ordinary days, a single flower…a lily.
After all, lilies meant purity. And out of all of the things he had seen, all of the victims he'd handled, she was still the only truly innocent one…the only truly pure one.