"Shit."  A word repeated at intervals as Neathawk leaned against a wall, deep in thought.  It anever even occured to her to share this with Tanner.  Her reassignment to a case long abandoned had not been mere punishment detail.<br/><br/>"Shit."  Somebody had decided to move on the case, somebody had gotten aline on the girl, then lost it, now they were flailing about for any possible leads, and Carol Neathawk herself was one of those leads.<br/><br/>"Shit." It had been a weird event, no lie.  The witnesses swore the assailant, whoever the hell he was, had put a bullet into the girl, she had then decked him, jumped out a second floor window of a trilevel house, then ran like hell.  But why was she in the house?  It wasn't hers.  It wasn't the shooters.  Unfortunately, Carol herself had put him down two days later, and nobody had come up with any idea why he had wanted to murder the kid.  trthe detective snarled something stronger under her breath and jerked away from the brickowrk andstarted to tuck the vial back into a small well-padded case, then froze.  For just a brief instant the blood had puled like a red LED, and now it seemed to be sloshing back..Down?.. into the bottom of the vial.  Almost like it had surged up on the inner wall.  She really hadn't been paying attention, wasn't sure what direction the, the pull had been in.  But maybe, just maybe...  Carol looked more critically at the pavement.  It was damned dark, but maybe more drops of blood led that way?  Disturbingly close to the angle the slosh had been towards, maybe.  Following would have to wait for morning.<br/><br/>Carol stared at the vial again before tucking it safely away.  "Holy shit."  Not a curse.  More like a prayer.