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Description

“Was any data retrievable from the voice or any other part of the video tape?” the judge said doubtfully. It had been well done, covering visable flesh and muffling his voice with a degree of professional pride.
As the judge expected, the answer was negative, yet one of the lawyers stood to make a case based on the evidence. The judge nodded in approval, willing to hear any incite into such a mysterious tape.
“The gloves and surgical clothing were rather professional, the type used by surgeons.”
The judge looked puzzled; to say that this was a surgeon’s outfit was hardly making the conviction against a librarian.
The attacking lawyer continued, “But such a thing is available, and would indeed temporarily distract such an investigation.”
“Objection your honour” The tall, rough looking defence lawyer stood.
“On what grounds?”
“The opposing party are making worthless assumptions, the argument isn’t going anywhere.”
“Granted, Clarkson, such babble is wasting court time.”
The court was adjourned, people filed out eagerly as they rushed to continue their lives.
The defence council sighed a breath of relief as he debriefed his client and made his way out, his papers speedily thrown into his case as he dragged himself reluctantly towards the office across town. It was already eight pm but he knew the files needed to be sorted straight away for his mind to stay on track. As he hauled the large bag up the stairs, he could have sworn it was getting bigger.
“Do you need a hand with that?”
A tall rugged man appeared, he seemed to appear out of no where, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair unbrushed, yet he seemed strangely friendly. Under normal circumstances, this would never have been accepted by such a cautious man, yet the stairs never seemed to end as the bad became a noose around his neck slowly tightening and constricting.
Before accepting, he stared at the man’s strangely familiar face. He handed the case over, leading the way to his office, his whole body livening up a bit as he lost the excess weight.
“How rude of me! I didn’t introduce myself to my saviour! I’m Johnathon Fryer.”
The other man skilfully hid his shudder at the openly blasphemous statement.
“Tom, Tom Morten.”
Mr. Fryer’s face lit p, that’s who he was, the thrown off police detective. Admittedly he’d let himself go since the dashing picture that had covered the local news, but it was unmistakably him.

Description

“Was any data retrievable from the voice or any other part of the video tape?” the judge said doubtfully. It had been well done, covering visable flesh and muffling his voice with a degree of professional pride.
As the judge expected, the answer was negative, yet one of the lawyers stood to make a case based on the evidence. The judge nodded in approval, willing to hear any incite into such a mysterious tape.
“The gloves and surgical clothing were rather professional, the type used by surgeons.”
The judge looked puzzled; to say that this was a surgeon’s outfit was hardly making the conviction against a librarian.
The attacking lawyer continued, “But such a thing is available, and would indeed temporarily distract such an investigation.”
“Objection your honour” The tall, rough looking defence lawyer stood.
“On what grounds?”
“The opposing party are making worthless assumptions, the argument isn’t going anywhere.”
“Granted, Clarkson, such babble is wasting court time.”
The court was adjourned, people filed out eagerly as they rushed to continue their lives.
The defence council sighed a breath of relief as he debriefed his client and made his way out, his papers speedily thrown into his case as he dragged himself reluctantly towards the office across town. It was already eight pm but he knew the files needed to be sorted straight away for his mind to stay on track. As he hauled the large bag up the stairs, he could have sworn it was getting bigger.
“Do you need a hand with that?”
A tall rugged man appeared, he seemed to appear out of no where, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair unbrushed, yet he seemed strangely friendly. Under normal circumstances, this would never have been accepted by such a cautious man, yet the stairs never seemed to end as the bad became a noose around his neck slowly tightening and constricting.
Before accepting, he stared at the man’s strangely familiar face. He handed the case over, leading the way to his office, his whole body livening up a bit as he lost the excess weight.
“How rude of me! I didn’t introduce myself to my saviour! I’m Johnathon Fryer.”
The other man skilfully hid his shudder at the openly blasphemous statement.
“Tom, Tom Morten.”
Mr. Fryer’s face lit p, that’s who he was, the thrown off police detective. Admittedly he’d let himself go since the dashing picture that had covered the local news, but it was unmistakably him.