Legendary Duo
She leaned against the edge of his lacquered desk, studying various photos of the crime scene. He was sitting in his chair as usual, thumbing through reports and comparing them to the master evidence list splayed before him. Between them were a few cardboard takeout boxes—Chinese tonight; it was Thai yesterday—and at any time one of them would grab the fried noodle carton or one of the spring rolls and get a mouthful of dinner.
There was an intimate feel to the way they worked, an understanding in the silence that was only broken once only every few minutes by a question and its reply, or an observation of something of note. After she brushed back the long bangs of her hair past her shoulder once more, it was her turn to do the latter.
"Damon."
The word was still vaguely unfamiliar to her lips—new and a pleasure to speak because of the closeness it made her feel to the man who owned the name, who had just recently insisted she use it. She said it again.
"Damon, look at this."
He must have sensed the excitement in her voice; she looked up from the photo in her hands to see that he had already set down his reports and was watching her, a hint of amusement in his merry green eyes.
"Hmm?"
Angling the glossy photo to his direction, she pointed to a corner of it.
"It's nothing decisive, but this window the victim is lying beside, here. If the assailant left through it instead of through the back door, it would explain why he wasn't seen by any witnesses."
He leaned over, interest fully piqued. She offered the photo to him, now completely confident in her hypothesis.
"It's likely he left his prints all over the frame as well."
She watched him contemplate this for a moment with his slow-blinking gaze. Finally, he met her eyes again and smiled, placing his gloved hands upon the desk to push to his feet.
"That's the lead we've been looking for. Let's get going."
She went for her coat and he for his, and they were out the door and onto the streets again within minutes.
In those days, they were a team.