Joyce’s Reviews > Cause of Death > Status Update

But that, of course, is the essential task of our profession: to be detectives, sifting through the lies and errors and the misdirection so that, ultimately, we can arrive at the splendid reality - an approximation of how the events of the past truly unfurled.

I'm not altogether upset that, for a change, I have participated in history and not merely recorded and analyzed it.

Our tech people turned the autodial on your phone into a microphone and transmitter. Simple hack. For a hacker.

I had to get inside a prison. There, the cons don't mind if you beat on your woman. Actually, scores you points.

Professors are forever investigating students' possible plagiarism and cheating; we learn the body language of deceit early in our careers.

Greenville Station is an old town that teeters between shabby and quaint, the proportion hovering around sixty/forty. For every bakery and bookstore and antique shop, there's a dim former mill, a warehouse storing only dust, the eponymous train station, derelict and probably unused since the days of the steam locomotive.

Go learn something.

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New England can get as hot as the South.

A black-and-white Chihuahua, neck encircled with a studded collar, is brandishing its toy teeth.

I'm looking over the wreck. It's totaled. But the designers in Osaka or Detroit or Guadalajara know what they're about, and the roof stands as tall as on that dealership lot in Clemson when we signed the papers ...

Jon, I see this all the time.

What?

Mostly with car wrecks, fires, choking, drowning. God blinks, something stupid happens. The littlest thing, and a dad or mom or kid dies. Pointless. Everybody wants more. A human villain, that's what they want. Conspiracy's even better.