Autopsy of a Mind Chapter 39: Be His Assistant

"How do you know that?" I asked, interested in his explanation.

"She cleaned the kitchen, but not the rest of the house. She didn't think she needed to hide the murder. The kitchen was clean, probably because she does it every ti she cooks. It is an occupational hazard."

"And how does that say that she went to her husband?"

"She has a picture of him on her bedside. She sotis regrets leaving him. She wants him back. Such positioning of objects show the associations people have with things, and this shows her regret and hidden love for her husband."

"Are you sure you are not reading gossip magazines?" I asked, smiling at his conviction.

"I don't read gossip," he said proudly.

"I am sure you are already tracking the killer but get the address and number of her husband." The two nodded and led us out.

"Why are you sure it was her?" I asked. "It could have been soone else."

He turned to silently. "Do you think it was soone else?" I shook my head. "Good, sotis your gut will get you the answer faster than any knowledge from the book. Your gut is your biggest asset."

We walked down the stairs and saw the n still surrounding the older lady.

"Should I try to talk to her?" I asked.

Did we need to get the statent right now?

"I think she requires so reassurance, but do it after the killer is found. She is a neighbour, so she must be distraught over it. We will also need the story."

I nodded and walked down. I felt terrible for the confused older woman but also knew that this was sothing non-English speaking individuals faced when speaking to the police. There were records of misinterpreted words and coerced statents from people who were frad or misled to attest to sothing or take the bla on themselves so that the cops didn't have to do further work. It was a sad state of affair.

We were in the portable monitoring room in no ti. I could see Sebastian's car from where I was, but we were farther away from it. A crush of people was surrounding the periphery of the building, trying to understand what was going on inside and why there were so many policen. There were also a lot of policen attempting to hold the crowd back.

This was where all the rich people lived, so the paparazzi was not far away. It was distressing how they had gotten the scent of news and travelled this far.

Sebastian had taken a backseat as the lead investigator ca in and spoke to him. It made wonder why we were still standing here.

And I went ahead and asked him that.

"Didn't you say catching the criminal was not your job? Then why are we here still?" I asked. There were so many questions that I wanted answers to when it ca to Sebastian Butler and the elusive world of criminal psychology. It filled with a feverish need to know. It was a feeling I had tried to curb for a long ti, but my upbringing had always made a curious cat.

Maybe Sebastian wasn't wrong in assuming that I was a cat.

Only, I hoped that it wouldn't get killed.

"This will be the only ti you will be able to see the process followed to catch a criminal. I want you to know that the system works and that you will be safe in their hands." Those words made shudder. I had little faith in the system that had failed to find for seven months and resorted to finally catching the murderer because I had sohow escaped the hell hole.

"I don't need to know this." I was firm in my belief.

"Just because it failed you once doesn't an that it is incapable. You can trust . Just watch. You will discover the true world of criminology and how the criminal thinks. You are invaluable in your skill-set. I also want to show you how worth the ti it is."

I would have said I was tired of his trials at getting into his field, but it only held excitent for . It was like I was finally learning that I was worth sothing, that my pain would not turn into a monster but could also help protect others from their miseries. I could understand others' pains through myself. It was only natural that I have to compare. We can't know the significance of an event if we don't place ourselves in soone else's shoes.

I succumbed to his persuasion and sat back as another case was solved.

.

There was an epic chase on the street like the ones we see in movies. No one knew where she was headed until she went to a nearby food chain and ordered food. Soone posted a selfie with her. They tracked down her location and her car number, sothing they were previously unable to find.

The husband was inford, too. He had been stoic at the face of crisis and waited for her patiently. He told them to let her co to him and confess what she had done. It would be easier for the police to convict her, then. I didn't know what exactly happened in those few hours, but the cops kept chasing her down the streets and blocked off all exits. After a talk with her husband, a distraught looking Dorothy Mitchell was escorted out of her own house, the one she shared with her husband.

The footage from the police cars was all over the news, and people were horrified that the innocent and harmless looking chef could commit such a cri. In the end, Sebastian was left in the room with her, a recorder recording their conversation. And I stared in awe as he interviewed her.

He indeed was a sight to behold.

All my dreams were rushing back to , urging to choose the path I had always promised to take, to use my education and do the service necessary for victims to get justice.

I was convinced.

I would be his assistant.

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