Witness: Alice Marie

It's never been easy being a homicide cop in London. Urban sprawl like this brings a lot of crazy with it; tourists too stupid to just hand over their wallets at teh first flash of a gun, violent husbands going one step too far and discovering how it feels to have a knife in their stomach, drug dealers moving into someone else's patch. All that crap ends up on my desk. Couple of years go past and you get used to it, your mind callouses to all the blood and shit covering your murder scene, the smell doesn't get to you so much anymore. I've seen body parts hacked off and put just about everywhere. But walking into a scene where the head is nailed to the wall and it's still speaking. I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, it knew my fucking name. Nobody should have to deal with that. Us normals, we hand that kind of case straight over to Danieal and his MCID. Whoever found it gets a week paid vacation, enough time to forget we ever saw it. Shit, how do you forget something like that?