DISCLAIMER: Character is property of law and order and Dick Wolf. I make nothing from this.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Rogers looked up to see the suits rubbernecking at the observation window. Ostensibly, they were here for a budjet meeting. She knew they were here for the gossip. Her body moved ever so slightly into their sight line. *Everyone deserved a bit of dignity in her house*.
She spoke impassively into the mic as she carefully replaced the organs, weighed, examined, and dissected into the cavity of the well muscled torso. He worked out regularly. As the cause of death was recited, she laid in his betraying heart.
Washing her hands carefully, she dried them and considered the closure. She used prolene yesterday on John Doe with a neat subcuticular closure. She thought about the bright cobalt blue slipping and gliding just beneath the surface. Her presence there would be as anonymous as the subject.
Today was a different story. Considering the jackals above, she decided on tradition. It would be cotton twine and a baseball stitch, dirt cheap and common .
The twine was thick and unwieldy as it drew the halves of the body together. The needle bit and grabbed. The coarse fiber resisted passing through the walls finally rising twisting and curling over and back again, at last, driven home, cinched, and languidly buried. His chest, cold smooth and heavy under her palm would never rise and fall again. Her fingers ran lightly over the precise tracks marring the smooth hard surface and came to rest at the crouch of the y-incision. That's what they felt like, the dead, marble statues, fucking works of art.
It was finished. The mayor's service would be friday.
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