Madam Crime

She had realized that something was wrong. Sitting comfortably on her big old couch and drinking the wine, looking at the photographs from the crime scene. She was searching through old protocols and documents from the first case. The case, which was so many was a cold-closed, without any hope to solve. "Somebody gave up on this little girl. How could they" - she thought, but only a second later there was a reality check in her head. It was an unfair judgment. She, in her career, saw too many issues like this. "We're saying that people don't 'just disappear' that there is always some witnesses or evidence. That people do not die alone without any hope for their murderers be found. But it’s not necessary the truth." - She continued the monologue more to herself than her animal - "It is how it is, Gatsby. Time, leek of knowledge about the crime, animals or even heavy machines take all evidence. Sometimes it's a fault of people’s stupidity- you wouldn't believe how often somebody cleaned or threw away key evidence!
Unconsciously. Sometimes the problem is with witnesses. They are scared, especially in bad neighborhoods. Too terrified, that whatever happened to the victims, can happen to them as well..."
She looked back at the old files. Inside, among the documents and photos, there were photocopies of posters. She remembered them. Rebecca's happy face looking ominously at her street from thousands of electric pols, schools, faces, parks, stores, and bus stops. As a young girl, she had the feeling that each tree had Rebecca's face. One picture flew from the back of the file. She bends to take it from the floor. The old Polaroid photo of the little girl looking as happy as ever, showing her new butterfly backpack. Magnolia gasped with this terrible feeling.
“I’m sorry. I really am” - said to herself finishing her wine. She really felt hopeless.