The Woman Who Murdered Me
We had been trudging through this godforsaken river for the last twenty eight hours. Well, our team has anyway. I had spent fifteen hours wading through the different rapids yesterday before Captain Harding had sent me home. I had came back as soon as the eight hours in which he "didn't want to see my face" had ended. I had spent five hours since trying not to slip on one of the many loose rocks at the bottom and fall on my ass. My partner, Montag, bless his heart, has been with me every step of the way, despite his newborn baby at home. This case has been a rough one, but he understands. It's all been worth it in the end, though. We have found at least three different sets of human remains, and more turn up every other hour or so now. I know that's something incredibly morbid to be excited about, but it just means that I was right. I haven't done a good job about hiding my smugness about it either. Montag hasn't failed to mock me about it every time it sets into my face. I'm normally not a talker. I tend to listen, nod, and keep my comments to myself. Montag has been my partner for almost ten years now though, ever since we were beat cops. He knows what each of my faces mean, not that the ridiculous smirk that's been plastered on my face since the first body was found wasn't obvious enough.