The Art of Being Right

"Possible concussion, a broken wrist, fractured collarbone... Christ, Wilson what did you do to the poor sod?" Hart exclaimed - almost impressed - at the young man sat in front of him on the hospital gurney, while a nurse milled around him absently.

"He wouldn't stop running," Wilson said casually, "so I tackled him." The follow up left Hart speechless. The twenty five year old detective was tall, and had enough muscle definition to turn a few heads, but the suspect he'd taken down was immense. He was easily twice Wilson's own weight, brawnier and stockier - a complete Neanderthal in general.

"You...tackled him?"

Wilson held his free hand to his chest mockingly, "I'm hurt you'd doubt me like that, Superintendent."

"Sorry, sorry. It's just, well-" he trailed off, arms flailing as he tried to find the words he needed. Wilson raised an eyebrow and Hart threw his arms in the air wildly, "I mean did you see the size of that guy?!" Wilson laughed, "I mean don't get me wrong, you're pretty strong, but he's in another league."

"It's fairly easy to take someone down when their attention is otherwise diverted." Wilson smirked, his bright green eyes lighting up at his change in mood.

"Oh for the love of God what did you do?" Hart asked, running both hands through his greying blonde hair. He knew Wilson didn't always go by the book, but more often than not he was willing to look the other way because of the results he got at the end of each case.

"Don't be so dramatic," he scolded, "I didn't do anything wrong, just something clever."

"Stop avoiding the question then. And can you at least try to be a little modest?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Answer the damn question, Wilson."

Wilson chuckled, a deep rumble that echoed round the white room, "Alleys, full of shadows as I'm sure you're aware? All it takes is the right lighting at the right angle and your suspect goes running in the right direction."

"...Go on."

"The streetlights; the walls of the alley provide the right sort of seperators. By standing on one of the walls I was able to cast my own shadow onto four of the alleys, giving the illusion to our poor old robber that there was no way out. It was dark, he couldn't distinguish the real from the shadow - to him it seemed there was an officer at the end of each alley."

"But how did you know which way he'd go? Surely that was just a fluke?"

"Do I ever get a 'fluke', Superintendent?"

Hart rolled his eyes and Wilson laughed again, seemingly oblivious to anything else in the room as the conversation continued.

"Go on then, how'd you know?"

"Murray was right handed, his right limbs were naturally stronger. He wasn't all that stupid, if it came to fighting his way out he wanted to be at an advantage. He had to go to the alley to his left, so the corner wall further along wouldn't obstruct his best hand if it came to fighting his way out, and seen as the majority of the population is also right handed, the chance of him running into a right handed officer would be most likely; the wall would hinder them but not him. But he didn't expect anyone to be there, he thought the officers were behind him; Murray was off-guard."

"But he's so much more-"

"Muscular? Stronger? Yes, both true, but he was expecting an attack from his left - seen as that's the way the alley turns - but what he wasn't expecting was one from above. It was too easy to knock him off balance, although I overestimated it slightly, which is why we both ended up falling through someone's garden wall."