Csi Quotes

You're an investigator - can't nobody find stuff out like a woman. Y'all put the police to shame, make the little investigative tricks they show on CSI and Law & Order: SVU look like counting lessons on Sesame Street.

Look guys, you might want to think twice before doing this. I’m not an easy target. And I’ve seen CSI. I know how to get rid of the bodies and everything.

They'll have to bring in Mulder an' Scully, because there ain't no CSI on the planet that'll ever be able to explain this.

I bet if you look at the average teenager and the average adult, the average teenager has read more books in the last year than the average adult. Now of course the adult would be all like, 'I'm busy, I got a job, I got stuff to do.' WHATEVER! READ! I mean, you're watching CSI: Miami. Why would you be watching CSI: Miami, when you could be READING CSI: Miami, the novelization?

Look at the huge success of Fifty Shades of Grey. The girl in the book lets a rich guy beat her and ritually rape her, and she likes it! She finds it erotic! But imagine if Christian Grey wasn't a billionaire. Imagine if he lived in a dirty old trailer down by the river. Then that story wouldn't be a sexy romance novel, but an episode of CSI.

Every liberal in the country must watch Fox News for one year, and every conservative in the country must watch MSNBC for one year. (Middle-of-the-roaders could stick with CSI)

The man sitting across from me at the cafe was thinking about murdering his wife. He imagined stabbing her and pretending like it was a robbery. Or perhaps, he thought, he'd take her hiking, push her off a cliff and say it was an accident; that she'd slipped. I wanted to tell him it wouldn't work, that in those CSI shows on T.V. they always suspected the husband first.

People are heavy when they're dead. I also nearly ralphed every time I caught a glimpse of the skin flap flapping, and I'd seen enough CSI to know that my stomach contents could be used to link me to the site.

SVU, CSI, CSI: NY. These shows, they're all about things being done to females and children. If they were full of thing being done to say, Asians or black people, well, that probably wouldn't be allowed - not as many shows all the time. But females and children are okay.

You know how, in court, they talk about the CSI effect? Like, everyone on the jury has watched so much CSI that they believe science can prove anything?" "Yeah." "Well, I think there's an Evil Husband effect. Everyone has seen too many true-crime shows where the husband is always, always the killer, so people automatically assume the husband's the bad guy.

Wow,” he said, his voice as sarcastic as before. “I had no idea I was related to such an accomplished detective. Is that where you were the past couple of days? Doing undercover work? Tell me, Detective Oliviera, what else did you and your CSI team learn during your amazing investigation?” “She learned,” Mr. Liu said, taking a menacing step forward, “that boys who smart off to ladies often get slapped.

CSI, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, Criminal Minds, Blue Bloods, Castle, Bones, and Hawaii Five-0

The Nightside CSI is only one man, pleasant enough, calm and easy going, and very professional. It probably helps that he has multiple personality disorder with a sub-personality for every speciality and discipline in his profession. One to handle fingerprints, another to examine blood splatter or look for magical residues...He's really quite good at his job though he does tend to argue with himself. Between himself he knows everything he needs to know. Each sub-personality has a different voice. Some of them are women. I've never asked.

Yep,” Eddie said, “if you wanted a change from intelligence, then CID is the place to be.

No one took any notice of you if your lobotomy still seemed to be working.

Medicinal alcohol was such a profitable business that it allowed Walgreens pharmacies to expand from around twenty stores to more than five hundred during the 1920s.

Honestly, I suspect that in this day and age most murders could be solved by the correct Google search. It could be a web series. CSI: Bing. I

Can you zoom in?” The foreman rolled his eyes. “This here ain’t CSI—it’s Radio-fucking-Shack.

I think you’ll find that in CSI they never set out to murder people. They solve murders.

I’m serious. You know how, in court, they talk about the CSI effect? Like, everyone on the jury has watched so much CSI that they believe science can prove anything?” “Yeah.” “Well, I think there’s an Evil Husband effect. Everyone has seen too many true-crime shows where the husband is always, always the killer, so people automatically assume the husband’s the bad guy.

We’ll have to see if CSI picked up anything from the scene,’ says Nelson. ‘Are they finished?’ ‘Yes,’ says Tanya. ‘Shall I liaise with them?’ Tanya loves liaising, it sounds so much more important than keeping in touch. ‘If

- Apát! - szólította meg [a szerzetes] nagy tisztelettel az elöljáróját. - Függetlenül a Tanítás Három Kocsijának eszméitől, a Hármas Világ régióitól, a Létezés Hat Világának lényeitől, a tíz állapot és a tízezer dolog birodalmaitól, a négy alaptételtől és a száz tagadástól, mondd meg nekem, mi értelme volt egyáltalán, hogy Bóddhidharma elhozta nekünk az indiai vallást? - Ajjaj! Ajjaj! - vakarózott az apát. - Most, barátom, alighanem megfogtál. Fogalmam sincs, mi értelme volt annak, hogy Bóddhidharma elhozta nekünk az indiai vallást. Ha idáig eljutok, itt én is mindig elakadok - felelte Lin-Csi, és őszintén sajnálkozott. A szerzetes visszament társaihoz, és elmondta nekik, hogy van ezzel a kérdéssel az apát. Mindannyian épp így voltak vele. Hosszan hallgattak, aztán megfogadták, soha többé nem kérdezik meg egymástól, hogy miért is buddhisták.

She settled her head back on her pillow, sighed deeply, and tried to relax, tried to let herself unwind and go back to sleep, but the harder she tried, the more sleep eluded her. Something was lurking there, hiding in a quiet corner of her mind, waiting to ambush her as soon as she started to drift off.

glad he had not been the one to deliver the

The longer we’re alive, the more friends —- and adversaries —- we create, and collect. - Jim Brass

Law gave us Crime Science gave us Forensics Research gave us Hope

Don’t be worried if people talk about me. That’s merely advertising.

Egy balga szerzőt jól megismerni tulajdonképpen tiszta haszon. Ostobasága vagy hamis érzelmei nem sodorhatnak veszélybe, hiszen ostobaságát és hamisságát csak olvasom. Nem társam, szövetségesem, akivel én is együtt sodródom, akinek állításaiban osztozom. Nem bíztam rá magam, csak kívülről, józanul és hűvösen figyelem. Ha eltéved a világban, csak ő látja kárát. Nem megyek utána, nem követek sötétben vakot!

If I could wave a magic wand and have one wish granted, I’d wish for an end to world hunger; the small shit could wait in line. If, however, the god or genie who bestowed the magic wand told me my one wish had to do with American politics, I think I’d wave it and make the following proclamation: “Every liberal in the country must watch Fox News for one year, and every conservative in the country must watch MSNBC for one year.” (Middle-of-the-roaders could stick with CSI.)

Around the time I'd gotten my invitation to the reunion, Smithton had been in the news because of a murder investigation. Two men had been slain in their home and those responsible had been at large for quite some time before being brought in and charged. As brutal as it all was, I followed this story with half a mind of amusement simply because it all took place in a town called Penguin. Once I'd read the headline Penguin police on lookout for murder weapon it stopped being a terrible crime in my head and just became a fantastic episode of "CSI: Antarctica".

There are details about your life I really do not want to know about. You told me he taught you how to fight with weapons, but I guess I never…” “Put two and two together?” Katie grinned. “That’s not like you, detective Jules.” “I know. I guess I overlooked the gory details. Blood and guts have never been my forte. I like action. Give me Mission Impossible and CSI, but leave out the gruesome details.” They stopped upon reaching the entrance to the barn. “Roller skating disco lover turns FBI crime scene investigator. I think there’s a book waiting to be written for you.

All right,” she said. “Inductive reasoning. It’s what those so-called detectives on CSI, SVU, LMNOP and all the rest of them call deductive reasoning, which is wrong and they should know better. It’s inductive reasoning, a tool you will use frequently in geometry as well as calculus and trigonometry, assuming you get that far and that certainly won’t be you, Jacquon. Stop messing with that girl’s hair and pay attention. Your grade on that last test was so low I had to write it on the bottom of my shoe.” Mrs. Washington glared at Jacquon until his face melted. She began again: “Inductive reasoning is reasoning to the most likely explanation. It begins with one or more observations, and from those observations we come to a conclusion that seems to make sense. All right. An example: Jacquon was walking home from school and somebody hit him on the head with a brick twenty-five times. Mrs. Washington and her husband, Wendell, are the suspects. Mrs. Washington is five feet three, a hundred and ten pounds, and teaches school. Wendell is six-two, two-fifty, and works at a warehouse. So who would you say is the more likely culprit?” Isaiah and the rest of the class said Wendell. “Why?” Mrs. Washington said. “Because Mrs. Washington may have wanted to hit Jacquon with a brick twenty-five times but she isn’t big or strong enough. Seems reasonable given the facts at hand, but here’s where inductive reasoning can lead you astray. You might not have all the facts. Such as Wendell is an accountant at the warehouse who exercises by getting out of bed in the morning, and before Mrs. Washington was a schoolteacher she was on the wrestling team at San Diego State in the hundred-and-five-to-hundred-and-sixteen-pound weight class and would have won her division if that blond girl from Cal Northridge hadn’t stuck a thumb in her eye. Jacquon, I know your mother and if I tell her about your behavior she will beat you ’til your name is Jesus.” The

AT THE VOIR dire the judge asks all the potential jurors to swear that even if they regularly watch CSI, Law & Order, Cold Case Files, or any other television show featuring forensic science and criminal justice, that they have a firm grasp on the difference between television—even reality television—and reality itself, in which we are presumably now mired. One potential juror with several small children says that won’t be a problem for her, because she mostly watches the Cartoon Network; the judge quips that an afternoon spent with the Cartoon Network provides as much or more information about the criminal justice system as a full season of Law & Order.

All right,” she said. “Inductive reasoning. It’s what those so-called detectives on CSI, SVU, LMNOP and all the rest of them call deductive reasoning, which is wrong and they should know better. It’s inductive reasoning, a tool you will use frequently in geometry as well as calculus and trigonometry, assuming you get that far and that certainly won’t be you, Jacquon. Stop messing with that girl’s hair and pay attention. Your grade on that last test was so low I had to write it on the bottom of my shoe.” Mrs. Washington glared at Jacquon until his face melted. She began again: “Inductive reasoning is reasoning to the most likely explanation. It begins with one or more observations, and from those observations we come to a conclusion that seems to make sense. All right. An example: Jacquon was walking home from school and somebody hit him on the head with a brick twenty-five times. Mrs. Washington and her husband, Wendell, are the suspects. Mrs. Washington is five feet three, a hundred and ten pounds, and teaches school. Wendell is six-two, two-fifty, and works at a warehouse. So who would you say is the more likely culprit?” Isaiah

when we consider DNA, the genotype is the DNA sequence that contains instructions for the living organism. The phenotype is the observable characteristics of an organism, such as its anatomy, biochemistry, physiology, and behavior. The genotype interacts with the environment to produce the phenotype. To put this in an everyday situation, consider the blueprint as a house’s genotype and the actual house its phenotype. The phenotypic construction process is the building of the house using the blueprint as information about what and how to do it. The phenotype is related to the genotype that describes it, but there is a world of physical difference between the genotype and the phenotype and even the phenotypic construction process. For one, the genotype is non-dynamic; it is a quiescent, one-dimensional sequence of symbols (DNA’s symbols are nucleotides) that has no energy or time constraints. Like a blueprint, it can sit around for years, as you have probably learned from watching CSI. The genotype dictates what should be constructed (perhaps a really cute dog), but the DNA itself does not look or act anything like a cute dog. On the other hand, the phenotype (the cute dog) is dynamic and uses energy, especially if it is a border collie.

How can this tainted world contain us, how can it contain our dreams? At night, in the freedom of my mind, the shackles of this mortal realm fall away as I soar above the fields and the farms, over forests and hills. I have always dreamed of flying – dreams like this are where the spirit comes alive, where we create our own rules, our own reality. Why should we let other people tell us how to live, or what is right and what is wrong? Flex your wings and soar with me, my little ones. Do you see our land below us? Is it not beautiful? The lake and the fields, the river and the trees, the horses running free beneath the sun. This is our world, our home, our sanctuary, and within it we are safe. Is that a dream? No, it is our reality.

If I could wave a magic wand and have one wish granted, I’d wish for an end to world hunger; the small shit could wait in line. If, however, the god or genie who bestowed the magic wand told me my one wish had to do with American politics, I think I’d wave it and make the following proclamation: “Every liberal in the country must watch Fox News for one year, and every conservative in the country must watch MSNBC for one year.” (Middle-of-the-roaders could stick with CSI.) Can you imagine what that would be like? For the first month, the screams of “What IS this shit???” would echo high to the heavens. For the next three, there would be a period of grumbling readjustment as both sides of the political spectrum realized that, loathsome politics aside, they were still getting the weather, the sports scores, the hard news, and the Geico Gecko. During the next four months, viewers might begin seeing different anchors and commentators, as each news network’s fringe bellowers attracted increasing flak from their new captive audiences. Adamantly shrill editorial stances would begin to modify as a result of tweets and emails saying, “Oh, wait a minute, Slick, that’s fucking ridiculous.” Finally, the viewers themselves might change. Not a lot; just a slide-step or two away from the kumbayah socialists of the left and the Tea Partiers of the right. I’m not saying they’d re-colonize the all-but-deserted middle (lot of cheap real estate there, my brothers and sisters), but they might close in on it a trifle.

Colin O’Dea was trying to figure out the fastest way to murder his wife.

Floating up to greet him was the bloated, distorted face of a man, his eyes protruding, skin purple with putrefaction, sewage spilling from his open mouth as he bobbed in the effluent pool.

Sometimes, hate bites so deep that killing someone else is the only way to prise the teeth out of your heart.

Eddie!” Miriam shouted. “Stop it. I’m trying to do my job, here. I’m asking for your help.” Eddie stared at her. She was almost pleading. Most gaffers didn’t want to hear your opinion outside of the crime scene. To them you were a necessary evil, an added extra; you were the heartburn after eating onions, and your opinions were never sought; your opinions were discouraged, drowned in Pepto Bismal.

Both eyes were open. They didn’t have fear in them, no terror. No scream. But they had something in them that Eddie recognised. They wore regret like an old overcoat, as if taking cover in the emotion… no, no, they wore regret like a comfy pair of slippers, like it was good to be home in them once more. This man lived with regret like it was his wife.

The bright flash from the CSI camera illuminated the darkened garden. The temperature had dropped along with the last of the sunlight and there was a chill in the air. Morgan couldn’t take her gaze away from Olivia Potter; even in death she looked beautiful. Despite trying for the last hour Harrison hadn’t been able to make contact with Bronte. Ben had asked for a PNC check of all vehicles listed for the address and it had come back with two: a brand new Jaguar F-Pace, in white, and a slightly older Mercedes C-Class. The Mercedes was parked in the garage, its engine cold, but there was no sign of the Jag. An ANPR marker had been placed on the vehicle to find out where it was last seen. It was strange that they couldn’t find anyone to notify about Olivia, but it happened.

Marcus built the computer in his computer-building class at high school and I bought all the add-ons with the check from my co-star appearance on CSI, where I played a murderer's sister. The part was emotionally draining, but after mom said I could buy Microsoft Word and The Sims with the part of my paycheck she wasn't using for bills, it was worth it.

Firstly, we started the CSI Coders club in seventh grade

I find that people who don’t respect books have a general disregard for keeping things whole.

trading CSI remains for two chunks of what-the-fuck wrapped in oversized leaves.

I hope you don’t ever have the CSI people come over and inspect the place.” The comment was so out of left field, Gumby could only think to ask, “Why?” “Because if they use that luminal stuff, this place is gonna light up like a Christmas tree.

The archive was an incredible repository of information, but given the university’s limited budget for archival material and research, the collection remained uncatalogued and untouched for more than fifty years.

What Ockham’s razor says is that when faced with two theories, when the available data cannot distinguish between them, we should study in depth the simplest of the theories.

I check in with my vagina, because if I got hot and heavy last night, she and I need to talk. I do a couple Kegels, but Lassie doesn't start barking like I should be worried that Timmy fell down the well again. I go full CSI. I'm not sore. There's no evidence of orgasms. I check my hips and waist, no hot-sex injuries of any kind. I touch my lips, nope, not sore from kissing too much.

We were watching videos at night on her Samsung tablet or my company iPad. She showed me the Silvano Agosti 1983 Italian interview with a little Italian boy called “D'Amore si vive, We Live of Love.” The boy was so cute, and his thoughts seemed similar to mine and Martina's. I was so deeply in love with her. The boy on the interview was just like what our own child would be, and we agreed and laughed. “We Live of Love.” What a coincidence! Living. By: Love. I knew the interview from before and she was surprised at how I knew about it. I showed her on my Instagram a picture of the boy I had recently taken a screenshot of and posted. With the subtitle at the right moment under his face: “Descubrir a la vida.” To discover life. Together. With his one and only girlfriend, as the boy explains. I told her multiple times that I was still unsure if she was real, or if it was all a dream; if I had only dreamed of her one night in the dark; if Pinto and I had invented her in my mind. She was a big fan of space, but I thought she liked the mystery behind the endless space with all its questions and secrets for us humans. I thought she liked the sky and space because she recently flew from Argentina to land in my arms. Martina and I were obsessed with Chris Rock and Eddie Murphy; we both knew all their stand-up comedies by heart. We kept replaying the best moments or faces that Chris or Eddie made. We had so much fun watching the same videos over and over that I couldn't believe it. Nobody else ever found the same moments or the same stand-ups as funny as Martina and I did. Nobody before or after found it so amusing. If I showed it to someone, they didn't understand why I was so excited about it or why racist jokes were so funny for an hour from one black comedian to the next. We were obsessed the way Eddie spoke about the „Zebra-Bitch of her dreams, her dream-wife who doesn’t know the concept of money”, saying “she should have an afro, like Angela Davis goes 'God damn it.'“ We were laughing so much. Sometimes I tickled her flat belly or her ribs and she was laughing so sweetly and so much that she couldn't stop. She was begging me to stop tickling her when I barely touched her. She said “No, no, no, no” so many times so quickly and cutely that I had to stop and kiss her; I couldn't resist her lips or her person, I had to kiss and hug her. We laughed so much at particular parts of Chris Rock's stand-up comedies that we could barely stop, almost as if we were tickling each other. We were laughing when Chris Rock was mocking Bone-Thugs-n-Harmony for singing ‘Welfare chariots’ such as „The First of the Month” or when he explained that the government hates rappers, but „only the good rappers get gunned down. They could find Saddam Hussein in a cave in Iraq but couldn't arrest anyone related to Tupac Shakur’s assassination, which didn't happen in a cave in Iraq but in Las Vegas, on the Strip, not one of those side streets, but in front of Circus Circus, after a Mike Tyson fight. Now how many witnesses do you need, to arrest somebody?” We were fascinated with Eddie Murphy, Charlie Murphy, and Chris Rock, but when I showed her Richard Prior, Doug Stanhope, Aries Spears, or George Carlin, she was no longer so impressed for some reason. Her favorite part perhaps was when Chris Rock talked about love and relationships. He said that „you never really been in love unless you have contemplated murder; unless you have practiced your alibi in front of the mirror, staring at a can of rat poison for 45 minutes straight, you haven't been in love. And the only thing preventing you from killing your significant other was an episode of CSI.” He said that relationships are hard and that in order for them to work, both people need to have the same focus, which is all about: her.

We were watching videos at night on her Samsung tablet or my company iPad. She showed me the Silvano Agosti 1983 Italian interview with a little Italian boy called “D'Amore si vive, We Live of Love.” The boy was so cute, and his thoughts seemed similar to mine and Martina's. I was so deeply in love with her. The boy on the interview was just like what our own child would be, and we agreed and laughed. “We Live of Love.” What a coincidence! Living. By: Love. I knew the interview from before and she was surprised at how I knew about it. I showed her on my Instagram a picture of the boy I had recently taken a screenshot of and posted. With the subtitle at the right moment under his face: “Descubrir a la vida.” To discover life. Together. With his one and only girlfriend, as the boy explains. I told her multiple times that I was still unsure if she was real, or if it was all a dream; if I had only dreamed of her one night in the dark; if Pinto and I had invented her in my mind. She was a big fan of space, but I thought she liked the mystery behind the endless space with all its questions and secrets for us humans. I thought she liked the sky and space because she recently flew from Argentina to land in my arms. Martina and I were obsessed with Chris Rock and Eddie Murphy; we both knew all their stand-up comedies by heart. We kept replaying the best moments or faces that Chris or Eddie made. We had so much fun watching the same videos over and over that I couldn't believe it. Nobody else ever found the same moments or the same stand-ups as funny as Martina and I did. Nobody before or after found it so amusing. If I showed it to someone, they didn't understand why I was so excited about it or why racist jokes were so funny for an hour from one black comedian to the next. We were obsessed the way Eddie spoke about the „Zebra-Bitch of his dreams, his dream-wife who doesn’t know the concept of money”, saying “she should have an afro, like Angela Davis goes 'God damn it.'“ We were laughing so much. Sometimes I tickled her flat belly or her ribs and she was laughing so sweetly and so much that she couldn't stop. She was begging me to stop tickling her when I barely touched her. She said “No, no, no, no” so many times so quickly and cutely that I had to stop and kiss her; I couldn't resist her lips or her person, I had to kiss and hug her. We laughed so much at particular parts of Chris Rock's stand-up comedies that we could barely stop, almost as if we were tickling each other. We were laughing when Chris Rock was mocking Bone-Thugs-n-Harmony for singing ‘Welfare chariots’ such as „The First of the Month” or when he explained that the government hates rappers, but „only the good rappers get gunned down. They could find Saddam Hussein in a cave in Iraq but couldn't arrest anyone related to Tupac Shakur’s assassination, which didn't happen in a cave in Iraq but in Las Vegas, on the Strip, not one of those side streets, but in front of Circus Circus, after a Mike Tyson fight. Now how many witnesses do you need, to arrest somebody?” We were fascinated with Eddie Murphy, Charlie Murphy, and Chris Rock, but when I showed her Richard Prior, Doug Stanhope, Aries Spears, or George Carlin, she was no longer so impressed for some reason. Her favorite part perhaps was when Chris Rock talked about love and relationships. He said that „you never really been in love unless you have contemplated murder; unless you have practiced your alibi in front of the mirror, staring at a can of rat poison for 45 minutes straight, you haven't been in love. And the only thing preventing you from killing your significant other was an episode of CSI.” He said that relationships are hard and that in order for them to work, both people need to have the same focus, which is all about: her.

He gave a sudden broad grin. ‘Her footprints’ll be distinctive enough,’ he said. ‘Those sandals she wears. The size of elephants’ feet. The CSI won’t confuse them.’ ‘They won’t find any footprints!’ She didn’t mean to be defiant, but realized that was how she sounded and she couldn’t stop. ‘That’s what I was doing when I found the ring. I was cleaning. I brushed and mopped all the floors, scrubbed the work surfaces. It’s not worth bringing in your experts.

The hottest places in Hell are reserved for those who, in time of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality.

That’s not Dante?’ Reuben grinned. ‘John F. Kennedy, actually. In the Inferno, Dante and Virgil pass by a group of dead souls outside the entrance to Hell. These individuals, when alive, remained neutral at a time of great moral decision. Virgil explains that these neutrals cannot enter either Heaven or Hell because they could not choose one side or another while on earth. They are therefore worse than the greatest sinners in Hell because they are abhorrent to both God and Satan alike, and have been left to mourn their fate as insignificant beings, neither hailed nor cursed in life or death, endlessly travailing below Heaven but outside of Hell.

apartment, stole your ID, could have bloody

In 2013, Great Britain created a new criminal investigative division, the Food Crimes Unit—a real-life CSI devoted solely to this issue. Italy

Choose something which is better and from which you can learn something, ... here I am going to give few examples. CSI:Miami - Good Choice Dexter - Another Good CHoice Breaking Bad - Another Good Choice Person Of Interest - Another Good Choice

Picking up the empty cans, I brought them over to the trashcan Aiden was placing a fresh bag in. “Cleaning up?” he asked, fitting the bag to the can. “This is unexpected.” “I’m a new girl.” I dumped the cans. “Are you okay?” Aiden hooked a finger into the belt of my jeans and led me over to the sink. Then he rolled up my sleeves, turned on the tap and picked up the hand soap. I rolled my eyes, but shoved my hands under the warm water. “Aiden?” “What? You’re going to have sticky hands and be touching everything.” He squirted the apple-scented soap on my hands. “You’ll leave little fingerprints all over the place.” I watched my hands disappear under his larger ones and sort of forgot about what I was asking. Who knew washing hands could be so… distracting? “Are you concerned about CSI visiting the place?” “You never know.” I let him finish, because who was I to stop his OCD at the moment, then I dried my hands.

Kind of like CSI investigating a social error—Here’s the corpse of the situation, what do you think killed it?—with the hope of preventing further fatalities. Often as not, it boiled down to missed cues.

Richard and I exchanged a look, and then we looked back at Jean-Claude. Jean-Claude with all his fancy fetish yummy clothes, standing there nude and covered in more body fluids than a CSI episode.

Mr. Berkowitz clicks open his black American Tourister rolling suitcase. Inside, his tools: a microscope, an old canister with the faded label “vegetable flakes,” and various instruments that look like my mother’s sewing kit after a genetic mutation. He spreads them out on my living room table. Mr. Berkowitz reminds me of an Orthodox CSI. God’s wardrobe detective. He

Consider yourself very fortunate that I don’t have my camera with me today, Mr. Windermere,” she joked. Well, half-joked. Okay, I’m not joking at all. Gimme my camera and I’d walk away with enough photos to process this place as the crime scene of a double homicide. Note to self: explore possible career as a bona fide CSI.

every

gnarled

raked

You like little girls, don’t you?’ Jess challenged. She stepped forward. ‘You want to touch my private parts, right? Go ahead then.’ And with that, she lifted her skirt and

shift the

Why are you smiling? - Horatio to Calliegh

I dreamed of a haven, a place of infinite peace, of eternal beauty and everlasting happiness, and I found it – not in my dreams, but in reality.  It is a place of wind and earth, grass and water, horses and birds.  But what good is heaven when you are there alone? 

with such a distinctly macabre MO. ‘Right.’ She heard him exhale deeply. ‘Listen,

When first I saw it moving across the waves I readied myself, stood steadfast, armed for the battle ahead. But then as she stood before me, the past no longer mattered. I was entranced. Her beauty held me captive, banished the demons that tormented me. Her words gave me strength; I knew what I must do. We had to be together, together in a place free from the pain and misery that had surrounded me for so long. We must find our sanctuary, a place fit for eternal beauty, somewhere the pain and sorrow of this world had no place. A land where I will be king and we will protect the righteousness of youth.

The cruelty of this world casts a spell on the innocents, and together we will punish those who do not know the beauty that lies beneath their nostrils, and who don’t deserve the blessings that have been bestowed upon them. I will revoke those blessings and bring them to a place where they belong –  beside me in paradise.

My dreams are restless, the past rising up to haunt me or delight me by turn. The dark dreams take me back to that place, that hole I was in, the pit of despair. I left that place behind, never to return, but even though my conscious will refuses to go back there, at night it returns to remind me of whence I came. I will not go back …

I feel the weight upon me, the weight of expectation, of fear.  I have failed once before, and now the specter of failure looms over me again.  I have sworn to protect them, to shield them from a toxic world, but the fear has crept into our own world – the fear of uncertainty. Our safety is everything, it is what defines us, what makes us who we are.  We are complete, one family, one being, but now I see that our world is fragile.  Like an egg, our shell is all too precious, and once it is broken it can never be repaired, things can never be the same.

Beyond the walls are cruelty and deceit, lies and pain, ageing and death.  As long as we are strong we can resist these things, but if we let our guard down, all manner of pestilence will enter.

But now I fear the walls may be breached, the shell cracked.  Our family is cracking, fear and anxiety haunt our dreams, unanswered questions hover on our lips.  How will we stay strong, stay together? I have been here before, suffered through this once already – and this is a suffering too much for one man to bear.  And so my failures haunt me. I can see their eyes at night, shining in the darkness, accusing me of my greatest failure, failure to protect those that I love.  What more damning accusation can there be?  How can I sleep not knowing where my darlings are, that they are gone because of me, that in their hour of need I was not there?  But now I must again head out into the wicked world to find another, guide them to our home, welcome them to the bosom of our family.

Stephen and Julia Dignam entered the police station the following morning. Both were in their early fifties but looked older, the sleepless nights and worry taking their toll. Julia linked her husband’s arm through her own and in her other hand she held a ringbinder close to her chest. Written on the spine in faded ink was one word: Megan. The Dignam’s daughter had vanished without a trace twenty years before and every new story of a missing child or unidentified body brought back a new flood of familiar emotions – fear, hope, the possibility of closure after so many years.

But they were realists, and had long stopped hoping for the dream conclusion to their nightmare. They longed now just to know what had happened to Megan, to have a final resting place to visit, a place to lay flowers – somewhere their beautiful daughter could rest in peace. Their lives had ended the day Megan disappeared and finding her was their only desire while they were still breathing. Like so many others who’d made contact since the public appeal about the tattooed girls, the Dignams were compelled to come here, to have somebody listen to their story and to maybe find some truth – even if that truth meant hearing the worst news any parent could ever hear.

They gave the garda on duty all the details they could, showed them photos and old documents from her missing person case. And then the Dignams went home to continue doing the very thing they had spent the last two decades doing – wait.

She had everything here, but like Eve, honeyed words made her want more, want something beyond love and happiness. And so she left us. So now I must again head out into the wicked world to find another, guide them to our home, and welcome them to the bosom of our family.

We must die to one life before we can enter another.

I know that story, when you start a fight, the main idea is one to survive, one to be the victim and one to be the killer. This explains why FBI, CSI and DIA and other departments are here!

Look, all I know is that she didn’t, like, go out with lots of different guys. They digged her but really, she was just as happy on her tobler.’ The detectives both looked blank. ‘Her tobler?’ Melanie rolled her eyes. ‘Happy on her own? Toblerone?

wearily, annoyed by her intrusion into

So sad "Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior" the series ended open and it was made in 2011 and it ended in 2011!

year, is veteran true crime superstar author and forensic psychologist Katherine Ramsland, who has written 47 books and over 1,000 articles on serial killers, CSI, vampires, forensic science, mass murder, sex offenders and ghosts. Joining us also is this year’s winner of

Have you heard of this thing called the Internet?” CSI yells into the echoing abyss.

imagined stabbing her and pretending like it was a robbery. Or perhaps, he thought, he’d take her hiking, push her off a cliff and say it was an accident; that she’d slipped. I wanted to tell him it wouldn’t work, that in those CSI shows on T.V. they always suspected the husband first. Instead, I huddled deep within my down jacket, the diner booth pressing uncomfortably hard against my back. I didn’t dare move for fear of drawing attention to myself. I didn’t want to know his thoughts. I wished

Did not go well at mall. Passerby said, “how’s the screenplay goin’, Steve?” Worried about tomorrow’s performance on CSI… and Emmy.

Rehearsing at home for tomorrow’s CSI cameo, “face down dead body without a chalk outline.” Maid screams. Wife calls lawyer, then 911.

that he’d been quadriplegic

Getting out, they closed the car doors as quietly as possible, then crept across the muddy yard, Kennedy’s torch showing up the maze of puddles.

She was good at languages and spoke near-perfect Spanish, the primary language in many of the southern states back home.

Well, the aunt of course,

bloody end of a milk bottle underneath

It was amazing, he thought, how people were constantly shedding, leaving themselves everywhere. Humans were constantly regenerating. It was a process that had entranced him when he first began his studies. We could make astounding repairs upon ourselves. The body always had an imperative to heal itself. But yet, it was so fragile. Bend it the wrong way, apply too much pressure, too much heat or cold, pierce its outer sacking, and you no longer had a person. Just something that resembled a person in the way that a slaughtered animal resembled a cow.

- Szeretném, ha soha nem lenne kész az életem. Míg dolgozom rajta, csak addig az enyém - szólalt meg Lin-Csi kis idő múlva, majd töltött mindkettejüknek egy csésze teát.

- Ha badarságot írsz, és kiválónak tartod, akkor tehetségtelen vagy, Vej Jin. Ha észreveszed, hogy rossz, akkor van benned tehetség. Ebből látszik, szerzetes. Ha félted a jó híredet, legjobb, ha nem írsz semmit. Bírd ki életed végéig írás nélkül, és akkor jó író maradsz. Ez a legnagyobb esély, Vej Jin! Ragadd meg!