The last shift had been...refreshing. It wasn't often that Franziska could say such a thing (surrounded by the usual idiots, it was hard not to end a day with a headache), and so having spent a shift merely chatting with Freyjadour had been good for her. While spending time in idle leisure would normally earn her a sharp and disappointed look from herself of all people, she argued (and won) that refreshing one's mind was essential to finding new angles to a case.
And now that she was led into the Sun Room, Franziska again turned to that case. The baseball bat would need to be obtained quickly and then she'd need to hide it in order to preserve it as much as possible. Especially the tip of the handle. Everything hinged on that. Next, she needed to talk to her father and somehow garner his fingerprints. After that? She needed fingerprint powder, which...was a little harder.
Shrugging her nurse off at the door, the prosecutor took a seat and opened her notebook, studying everything she'd learned so far. Fingerprint powder... what was the homespun version again? She'd known the recipe before when she was a child and had practiced crime scene investigation. Nowadays, though, she left it to the police under her control, meaning the recipe was far buried in her memories. "...starch powder..." She jotted that down into her journal and then let out a humming sigh as she tried to recall the rest.
no subject
The last shift had been...refreshing. It wasn't often that Franziska could say such a thing (surrounded by the usual idiots, it was hard not to end a day with a headache), and so having spent a shift merely chatting with Freyjadour had been good for her. While spending time in idle leisure would normally earn her a sharp and disappointed look from herself of all people, she argued (and won) that refreshing one's mind was essential to finding new angles to a case.
And now that she was led into the Sun Room, Franziska again turned to that case. The baseball bat would need to be obtained quickly and then she'd need to hide it in order to preserve it as much as possible. Especially the tip of the handle. Everything hinged on that. Next, she needed to talk to her father and somehow garner his fingerprints. After that? She needed fingerprint powder, which...was a little harder.
Shrugging her nurse off at the door, the prosecutor took a seat and opened her notebook, studying everything she'd learned so far. Fingerprint powder... what was the homespun version again? She'd known the recipe before when she was a child and had practiced crime scene investigation. Nowadays, though, she left it to the police under her control, meaning the recipe was far buried in her memories. "...starch powder..." She jotted that down into her journal and then let out a humming sigh as she tried to recall the rest.