Solve It Squad Quotes

I'm at my best when I break and solve a case and...a woman.

I don’t like that I didn’t know this essential truth about Theo. I know there’s more to him than I can ever capture and keep close to me, like his fleeting thoughts or his conversations with other people, but this is bigger. It’s so central to his heart, one of my favorite things about him—the way he loves me, the way he loves his parents and sister, the way he loves the squad, the way he loves discovering life’s mysteries and solving them. This

Impressed, he watched her disappear into the hellish brew. She was gone. Forever, he thought. Problem solved. He turned from the edge of the platform and dusted off his hands, but then he paused and touched his heart. “What is this? I feel something. Pain? Maybe. Food poisoning? That’s a possibility. Love? Impossible. No way. Could never happen.” The pain was in his heart, and it wasn’t going away. “Nonono… This can’t be. I do not fall in love. Certainly not with a crackpot. I don’t need someone to complete me. I’m loony enough for two families.

From the outset of the program to solve the Jewish question there had arisen certain psychological problems for the executioners. Once the classic method of the firing squad had been dismissed as inappropriate, it had been replaced by a single bullet in the back of the neck. The victim would kneel before a ditch that he himself had dug, the pistol would be fired, and he would fall into his grave. Simple and quick. This had been tried for a few months in some marshy fields outside Warsaw, but the SS soldiers who did the job began to complain of lack of sleep. “They had bad dreams,” Vogl said. “They truly suffered.” It was the necks. The muscular necks of the men—the slender white necks of the young women. The wrinkled necks of the old that reminded a man of his parents… the frail necks of children, even the fleshy little necks of babies. The memory of the necks began to haunt the executioners. The soldiers began to miss the targets at point-blank range. A bullet would plow into a shoulder, or slice off an ear, or even strike the earth. “Then

When I boarded the plane, I found to my surprise that Tatum had decided to return to Norman with the team rather than go to Maryland. .... When I saw Tatum on board, I had momentary regret that I had abandoned [my other flight]. I had no desire to spend several hours on the flight with him; I had learned from past encounters that he could talk endlessly, with exhausting intensity. Hoping to avoid him, I walked to the front end of the DC-4 and took a seat on the right side next to the window; but I had scarcely sat down when Tatum plumped down beside me. He spent the first few minutes telling me how unethical he thought I had been to offer one of his assistant coaches the head coaching job at OU before he resigned and only hours before his team was to compete in a bowl game. He was offended and hurt, he said, by such treatment. I listened patiently, with the unhappy thought that there would be several hours of such conversation before I could find relief at the journey's end. However, shortly after takeoff we ran into turbulent air. The plane rose over a series of updrafts and dropped violently between them. Tatum, who was not a good air traveler, soon began to feel the effects. When he stopped talking for a moment, I glanced at him and noticed that he had begun to turn a little pale. The paleness soon turned to a greenish cast, and I had a feeling that my problem might be solved. Finally, when he became noticeably ill, I signaled for a hostess and suggested to my sick friend that we remove the armrest between the two seats so that he could lie down. I would find a seat elsewhere. He accepted the suggestion, and when I left him he was in a semireclining position with his head on a pillow, holding a sick sack. We soon got out of the rough air, and I enjoyed most of the rest of the trip, visiting with as many members of the squad as I could.

Within minutes of Vidocq’s death in 1857, a squad of policemen rushed to his house in the Marais and removed his files, leaving not a single clue by which to solve the penultimate mystery: when news of his death reached the newspapers, eleven women turned up at his home, each carrying a signed will that made her the sole heir to his fortune. The old convict had remained slippery to the end. Some of the people who attended his quiet funeral at Saint-Denys-du-Saint-Sacrement in the Marais might have been forgiven for wondering whose body was in the coffin. The gave in Saint-Mandé cemetery, marked with the half-erased inscription, ‘Vidocq, 18–‘, is now known to contain the body of a woman. (pg. 110-111)

Louis Eliopulos, who works on cold cases for the Naval Criminal Investigator’s Service, is fond of saying, “If they were easy cases they would have been solved already.