Misty Abernathy (just_misty) wrote in strange_ic, @ 2016-10-10 15:29:00 |
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Misty couldn't ever recall a time when she'd actually had downtime on the job. If she didn't have six active cases at any given time, it was a fucking miracle. Right now, she had exactly nothing as far as actual work went. The recent murders were all neatly tied up (by those that bought the cougar story, anyway), the girl's body had been claimed quietly by an uncle, and all that was out there were cold cases that Misty didn't think were that cold, and she was a little baffled as to why so many of the murders were being dismissed. So she decided that in her downtime she'd avail herself of the files. Snagging a cup of coffee, making sure she had her cell on and charged, Misty disappeared into the file room. She'd printed a list of murders from this year, and prior years, and she was kind of astounded at the length of them. She was more baffled by the fact so many of them were marked as solved, when no one had been arrested or charged for them. Accidents, most of them were labeled, but how many fatal accidents could one town really have on a yearly basis? The deeper she dug, the more hinky it looked, which was the lead up to wanting to see the files themselves to see what (if anything) was in the physical that wasn't in the electronic files. Especially the older ones that were just skeleton entries in the computer. It was something to do, right? Moving around the room to see how it was organized, Misty consulted her list. Where to start? She looked at the files lining the shelves, glanced around the room, and shrugged to herself before she decided to start as far back as the files in here went. It wasn't nearly far back enough for her tastes, but whatever. The farthest back surge the physical files covered was the mid-seventies, and the files themselves only seemed to go twenty years back from that. She frowned a little at that. "Hey, Artichoke," she called out toward the desk closest toward the door. "It's Andrichuk," he called back. "What?" "Yeah, so much better than artichoke," she muttered. "Why don't the files go back farther?" "Fire," he replied. "We lost everything before ... what, the sixties?" "Fifties." "Right. Fire." "Uh-huh," she replied. Not unheard of, she knew. Back then, booze and cigarettes were a thing (assuming "Mad Men" had any degree of accuracy), so sure. Someone drops a lit butt into a can. No reason to be suspicious about it. "Why're you after them anyway?" Misty startled at the closer voice, and she glanced over to the hulking bear of a man. "Curiosity. I like to get to know the town I'm working in." He regarded her, eyes narrowing. "Wouldn't dig too deep, Absinthe." "Absinthe, really? That's the best you've got for Abernathy?" "Could go Haymitch." "I will hurt you." He half-smirked before he turned to let himself out. "You want my advice?" He called over his shoulder. "Leave it alone. Nothin' good'll come of it." Misty watched him curiously, her own eyes narrowing. Why all the secrecy, she wondered even as she turned back to the shelves, moving until she was in the range of the early-mid-seventies. She matched file numbers to the ones on her list and made a stack of them before retreating to one of the tables in the area. Settling down at it, pulling a pen out of her pocket, Misty made a checkmark next to one file on the list before she opened it up, thumbing slowly through the contents. It was going to be a bitch of a project, but ... what else did she have but time here? |