Red and blue lights war on the streaky gray walls, and uniformed men and women crowd on the strip of pavement between lines of caution tape. Some avert their eyes and mutter into their pocket walkie talkies, while others brace themselves against the wall, peering in, unable to look away.

Jaws set and fists clench.

"Despicable," sighs an officer in Mandarin, a vein twitching in his neck. He's seen too much; his partner has seen too little.

"Do you want my notes?" his partner asks. He's looking a little green. He's new; the detective privately refers to him as 'the kid.' Surely he's too young for this.

Taking a long drag from his cigarette, he sighs. "Shoot."

"Body found in bathroom at 1:14 AM. Hysterical call from a party-goer on her way home; the lady was drunk and half unintelligible, but we made out 'blood' and 'little girl.' Squad arrived at 1:30. Victim dead at scene." His Adam's apple bobs. "Def... definitely dead."

They share a mutual moment of silence, staring down at the tiny bundle of unmoving red rags. People in Latex gloves crouch at the scene. Cameras flash. Slick surfaces gleam, dark against white linoleum.

The detective is pale, too. "Cigs usually settle my stomach," he says, fumbling with the pack.

"How's that working?" asks the kid, eyeing the ashes trailing out the door.

"It's not." He passes a light. "What next?"

Clipboard pages rustle. "At approximately 8 PM yesterday..."

The detective doesn't want to listen, doesn't have to. With his seasoned eyes, the scene plays out like a moving picture. Perhaps the child came in here to relieve herself. Perhaps her mother told her to stay put until someone returned-- that would explain the little pink clutch, its contents strewn about the room-- perhaps nobody had intended to return. This was where it all went down. He presses his hand to his mouth. Who knows why the perp entered the women's rooms, but the result is clear; he sees the fist lash out, hears her shriek. The detective turns away. He knows how it ends for the butchered, naked little girl.

He leans against the wall and stares at the floor. There he sees a small plastic toy. Hello Kitty. He kneels, reaches out, and picks up a broken pink handle. He presses it to his chest, fist tight. He can't. He can't.