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Description
"Get up Whittling."  The dingy sheets moved a little, but that was as far as it got.  The lanky officer hovering above his bed rolled his eyes before moving to the end of the bed.

"Whittling, you're worse than my daughter." The man grunted as he lifted up the flimsy mattress with Whittling still in it and flipped it over.

"What the hell?!" Henry Whittling crawled out from underneath the mattress to confront his attacker.  "How'd you get a key, John?" Whittling scratched the dark, dirty hair resting on his head as he stared up at what he guessed he would consider a friend.

"Your room manager gladly offered me an extra key.  You owe him three months of pay, Whittling?"

"Haven't had any jobs." Henry mumbled, getting off of the dusty floor and standing before John Gilding.    He brushed off the dust that had collected upon his suspenders and stood up straight, attempting to look as presentable as possible.

"You have one now.  Lets go."  John commanded, grabbing one of the straps that laid against Henry's chest and pulling him out the door, objections flowing from the mouth of the undistinguished detective.
----
"Jesus, what happened to this poor fellow?" Henry asked, wiping off the perspiration that had suddenly gathered upon his brow with a dirty handkerchief.

"We were hoping you would be able to tell us that."  Amos, one of the fellow officers attempting to keep a stable environment at the scene of the crime, whined, glancing around to make sure nobody was attempting to get closer than they needed to.

"Do we even know who he is?" Henry leaned over the corpse, coming to the conclusion that he wouldn't be able to recognize this man even if he were his best friend for the rats had eaten too much of his distinguishing features.

"Luckily, his missus reported to us right before the body was discovered.  We already brought her down, had the waterworks going, and then immediately went to find you.  Names James Black." Amos reported, attempting his best to look anywhere but the rotting corpse that had yet to be placed yet.

Whittling scratched his head uneasily as he glanced from Amos to John.  He already knew that this case was going to be one of the hardest cases he had ever encountered; just the sheer carelessness of the entire crime confounded him.

Slowly and grudgingly, Henry examined the body as closely as he could without touching it, occasionally moping his shiny forehead with the small piece of fabric he kept wadded in between his fingers.  "These marks weren't made by any ordinary blade." He finally concluded, standing up and turning slightly to the two gentlemen before him.
"The ones in his chest and neck are too deep and rugged; they had to be made with some long and slightly dull blade.  My guess is a sword." Whittling reached out his foot and gently kicked James' limp arm, "The scratched there aren't from the rats.  Same weapon."

He paused, gauging both of their reactions, John's unreadable while Amos' incredulous, before adding, "An outdated weapon, but effective."

"Who the hell would use a sword in this day and age?!"  Amos cried, his light blue eyes wild with fear.  He couldn't even begin to fantasize about using such an antique for murder; they had better technology for a fairly decent price offered now.

"Sounds to me like this guy's dangerous." John commented, biting the inside of his cheek while staring down at James Black's body.  "He is reckless and careless.  Every action he has made so far, from his weapon of choice, to the slashes, to the disposal of the body is just so simple.  He had to have had no course of action."  John switched his attention to Henry.  "We need to get rid of this guy, quick.  Who knows what else he's capable of."

"Right…" Whittling's voice trailed off as he followed the bloody trail that their killer had left behind.  "This is no normal case, Gilding."

"Why do you say that?"  Amos blurted out, engaged in the entire conversation.

"Well, due to his carelessness, our killer left us a bit of a clue."  Henry bent over once more so as he could point out part of a bloody boot print. "Either this was some oblivious passer-by, or this is him.  Obviously it doesn't go all that far out, but it sets a general direction of where he was going."  He had taken several steps west, ignoring all of the trash on the streets before stopping.  "Anyone know what's this way?"

"A decent part of the city." John muttered, having not budged from his spot.

"Do you really think a killer would live with all those decent folks?" Amos asked, a bit startled.

"They say that there's always a murderer lurking in the streets, whether a friend or a stranger you happen to pass in the streets." Henry scornfully stated, walking back to the body.  He turned to look at Amos, studying him severely.  "How long have you been a cop for?"

"Uh, about a year now."

"Alright, well, just as a tip, don't let your inexperience show.  It makes you seem dumber than you already are."

Description
"Get up Whittling."  The dingy sheets moved a little, but that was as far as it got.  The lanky officer hovering above his bed rolled his eyes before moving to the end of the bed.

"Whittling, you're worse than my daughter." The man grunted as he lifted up the flimsy mattress with Whittling still in it and flipped it over.

"What the hell?!" Henry Whittling crawled out from underneath the mattress to confront his attacker.  "How'd you get a key, John?" Whittling scratched the dark, dirty hair resting on his head as he stared up at what he guessed he would consider a friend.

"Your room manager gladly offered me an extra key.  You owe him three months of pay, Whittling?"

"Haven't had any jobs." Henry mumbled, getting off of the dusty floor and standing before John Gilding.    He brushed off the dust that had collected upon his suspenders and stood up straight, attempting to look as presentable as possible.

"You have one now.  Lets go."  John commanded, grabbing one of the straps that laid against Henry's chest and pulling him out the door, objections flowing from the mouth of the undistinguished detective.
----
"Jesus, what happened to this poor fellow?" Henry asked, wiping off the perspiration that had suddenly gathered upon his brow with a dirty handkerchief.

"We were hoping you would be able to tell us that."  Amos, one of the fellow officers attempting to keep a stable environment at the scene of the crime, whined, glancing around to make sure nobody was attempting to get closer than they needed to.

"Do we even know who he is?" Henry leaned over the corpse, coming to the conclusion that he wouldn't be able to recognize this man even if he were his best friend for the rats had eaten too much of his distinguishing features.

"Luckily, his missus reported to us right before the body was discovered.  We already brought her down, had the waterworks going, and then immediately went to find you.  Names James Black." Amos reported, attempting his best to look anywhere but the rotting corpse that had yet to be placed yet.

Whittling scratched his head uneasily as he glanced from Amos to John.  He already knew that this case was going to be one of the hardest cases he had ever encountered; just the sheer carelessness of the entire crime confounded him.

Slowly and grudgingly, Henry examined the body as closely as he could without touching it, occasionally moping his shiny forehead with the small piece of fabric he kept wadded in between his fingers.  "These marks weren't made by any ordinary blade." He finally concluded, standing up and turning slightly to the two gentlemen before him.
"The ones in his chest and neck are too deep and rugged; they had to be made with some long and slightly dull blade.  My guess is a sword." Whittling reached out his foot and gently kicked James' limp arm, "The scratched there aren't from the rats.  Same weapon."

He paused, gauging both of their reactions, John's unreadable while Amos' incredulous, before adding, "An outdated weapon, but effective."

"Who the hell would use a sword in this day and age?!"  Amos cried, his light blue eyes wild with fear.  He couldn't even begin to fantasize about using such an antique for murder; they had better technology for a fairly decent price offered now.

"Sounds to me like this guy's dangerous." John commented, biting the inside of his cheek while staring down at James Black's body.  "He is reckless and careless.  Every action he has made so far, from his weapon of choice, to the slashes, to the disposal of the body is just so simple.  He had to have had no course of action."  John switched his attention to Henry.  "We need to get rid of this guy, quick.  Who knows what else he's capable of."

"Right…" Whittling's voice trailed off as he followed the bloody trail that their killer had left behind.  "This is no normal case, Gilding."

"Why do you say that?"  Amos blurted out, engaged in the entire conversation.

"Well, due to his carelessness, our killer left us a bit of a clue."  Henry bent over once more so as he could point out part of a bloody boot print. "Either this was some oblivious passer-by, or this is him.  Obviously it doesn't go all that far out, but it sets a general direction of where he was going."  He had taken several steps west, ignoring all of the trash on the streets before stopping.  "Anyone know what's this way?"

"A decent part of the city." John muttered, having not budged from his spot.

"Do you really think a killer would live with all those decent folks?" Amos asked, a bit startled.

"They say that there's always a murderer lurking in the streets, whether a friend or a stranger you happen to pass in the streets." Henry scornfully stated, walking back to the body.  He turned to look at Amos, studying him severely.  "How long have you been a cop for?"

"Uh, about a year now."

"Alright, well, just as a tip, don't let your inexperience show.  It makes you seem dumber than you already are."