The detective couldn't help but think to himself how beautiful it was in peaceful morbid sort of way, "Murphy, you ever think these jumpers always look like somethin' out of the Guggenheim?" he said, gazing up the corner of Avenue C and 4th on the lower east side.

 "Nope, just another body to me." Murphy wiped the sweat from his brow and neck with an old handkerchief then stooped next to the body taking a pen from his jacket pocket. Held loosely in a twisted hand was a glint of gold amidst the red. Murphy hooked the pen around the chain and lifted it into light of a setting sun. The charm dangled there turning ever so slowly in the wind, it was a simple locket open to the dazzling smile of a little girl, daughter, sister, niece, it was anyone's guess. Whoever it was she must have meant the world to him clutched the way it was, it was the only thing to arrive on the ground level unbroken; there she spun apart from the blood or gore but surrounded entirely by the mess of carnage. "Pity."