He had earned his gold Detective’s shield the hard way, night school and in a uniform. Now the tall man who carried a weapon that was not standard, but could shoot through a car door, had a record of closing more cases with some of the toughest criminals on the streets.
It would be dawn soon and this world would change. Like part of the shadows, a drunken man stumbled across too much debris in the side street. The high street lights only gave a hazy glow to the cluttered sidewalk. He was fumbling in his pocket for his phone, with his puddled attention anywhere but where he was walking, when he fell flat over a low barrier on the pavement.
Rolling over with a groan as he felt the pain in one knee, he came face to face with a woman who looked in worse shape than him. Pushing himself away from the pale face, he worked to stand up, but accidently placed a hand on the lady. She felt cold and didn’t move.
“Damn,” he muttered, sick from his own breath. This woman was dead. Again, he worked to bring out the phone and punched in the 911. All he could do now was move over and lean against a wall.
Although the sirens could be heard in the distance, the drunk leaning on the wall was surprised when another man appeared out of the shadows and approached the death scene.
“Stay back. I’ve called the cops.” The drunk held up his phone as if it were a weapon.
The man with a light grey fedora low over his eyes, pulled his jacket back and flashed a badge attached to his belt. Then he began to pull on some latex gloves and knelt down next to the head of the lovely dead lady.
The drunk took a few steps sideways, glad for the wall for support. He really wanted to get away from this whole mad spectacle. He was looking at a beautiful dead woman and a cop who had appeared out of nowhere as if by magic. He thought he was going to be sick.
“Walk out to the corner to heave. We don’t want the crime scene disturbed.”
The drunk was surprised at the low order from the man down on his heels. But he understood the strange cop’s order and holding on with one hand move to the end of the building before everything in his stomach hit his shoes. Even with all the unusual smells in this dark neighborhood, his vomit made him heave again.
The glare of flashing red and blue lights made him close his eyes and wish he could close his ears from the loud sirens. There was more than one cop car with bright headlights on him and now down the side narrow street.
From the cars poured a number of people in the dark blue uniforms, some with weapons in their hands. A couple grabbed the drunk and others worked in alert motions toward the body. At that point the man in the grey fedora stood up and pulled his coat back again to show his gold shield.
“I was in the area and heard the 911 call. We need a Supervisor and a Crime Scene Unit. She has been dead for a long time and she was not killed here.” He spoke as he looked down at the body.
A couple of the uniforms approached and turned bright flashlights on to highlight the lady. One of them reached down, but the detective stopped him.
“Put gloves on. Don’t contaminate the crime scene.” Now he pulled out his own flash and began to look at the body’s feet and the area of the sidewalk.
The contrite uniform stood up and stepped back. “I need some gloves to check for body temperature.”
“What, idiot,” another uniform standing behind him spoke in a low voice. “You think she is still alive with her head bent like that? I’m putting thru the calls.” With that the smarter cop stepped away and spoke into his mic on his shoulder.
His buddy who was watching the detective work the sidewalk, turned and nudged his friend when he was done on the mic call. “Who is the detective that got here before we did?”
“Ah, he is a legend.” The second guy pulled his friend back away from the tableau. “That is Detective Damian Walker. It is whispered that he lives on these streets at night. Always seems to get to a crime scene before anyone else. He’s a real wild card.” The uniform tapped his weapon that was back in its holster. “His last two partners were killed on the job, so now no one will work with him.”
The first guy turned and looked in the brightness of the headlights at his buddy. “Good story but you are full of shit. I’m going back to the car for my coffee.”
Dawn did bring a different picture to this particular cross street. The flashing lights of the cop cars were everywhere as uniforms were going from door to door and upstairs to question individuals for information. A large Crime Scene Unit truck was now up front and in center position with all the yellow tape marking off a large area on both ends of the street where the body was covered by a sheet. Over the body was a portable tent on metal legs to prevent any moisture from the dawn’s mist to settle on the area.
Only two people were near the body and they were covered from head to toe in light blue protective clothing. On the back of the open doors of the Unit’s truck sat the detective and the supervisor.
The supervisor held out a fingerprint scanner. “We got a hit.”
