"Sir I didn't see nothing, I was just getting home late." --Leonard Cohen
One of these things is not the like the others, one of these things is not quite the same. Or at least that's what one little ditty on Sesame Street told me when I's a child.
And then I learned the same rule again at the detective academy last year, which surprised me, because I had worked so hard to forget the first lesson through pot smoking, catalog shopping and sunbathing while slicked with a measly millimeter of level 2 SPF only. Daredevil, some say.
But what of it, when you come upon it? The carnation, cadets, there on the floor of the velvety woods. Take note, rope off the scene, and come up with a hypothesis: Esprit du Tigre (Spirit of the Tiger) had this when she wore it. Remember the sunset burst of cardamom and the hot lick of cinnamon, the (perhaps imagined) weird camphor as if from a sickbed scene?
Forty years at the bureau and they'd never seen anything like it. Like some kind of animal escaped from the zoo. Esprit du Tigre I thought, and then: "Move along, nothing to see here."