VOICE ✍ 005

[inseine]

[It is mid-morning, approaching the afternoon, when Javert makes this mysterious announcement. There is no context, no emotional inflection in his cold and indifferent voice, and no further explanation offered.

It is also interesting to note for his superiors that he has not come into police headquarters today. All he has done is sent a simple, succinct message to his administrative coordinater: Inspector Javert will not be in today.]

Doctor Naomi Hunter's [--and that he says with a strange emphasis--] laboratory and clinic are closed to the public. All of you patients must have received referrals from her recently. It is suggested that you use them indefinitely.

Comments

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[Javert wisely ignores Seiji's insistance that he pursue a murder case against his wife because he loves her... mostly because Seiji is precisely right. Just because Javert would not officially and professionally assign himself to her case does not mean he would take a hands-off approach.

But the point is moot, anyway.]

She was very ill, damn you, [he rumbles at last.] There is no murder. Or shall I cuff and lock up the cancer that swallowed her up? I shall have a real challenge of it! Just what I could use.

[i-love-head.livejournal.com]

[Wait.

What?

Cancer?

When did this-- How did she--?]

She was sick? She never said anything about it.

[Somehow, Naomi strikes him as the kind of woman who wouldn't. He goes silent after that, unsure how to respond or what else to say except a meager...]

I'm sorry.

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

Oh, for Christ's sake, [The rumble of Javert's deep timbre suggests a palpable twitch in his face. He is losing patience, but he is not angry. On the countrary, he sounds... rather mild, calm, and cold as his initial announcement. And, of course, the more tired of these conversations he becomes, the looser and more heavily accented his language will be. His words flow quickly and smoothly, with very little inflection to hint at any feeling.]

What use do I have for your damn apologies? Of course she never said anything about it. Would you want an unending, healthy, annoying buzz of well-wishers and sorries from every man, woman, and child you know? You worked with her. You might have recognized that was not the sort of attention she was scrambling over her breasts for.

No. Don't apologize for your questions. I get why you wanted to know. But I suggest, Monsieur, that you choose them with better thought next time you interrogate a fresh widower.