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Jamie nods and heads off; Adam’s attention is caught by someone picking their way toward him. A young woman. Contrary to the rest of the crew here, she walks with a bounce in her step, her enthusiasm in stark contrast to the eerie surroundings. Curious, he walks toward her, ducking under the cordon, then pulling his hood and mask down, removing his gloves.
She smiles eagerly as he approaches, cheeks flushed. He hasn’t seen her before.
“DC Ellie Quinn,” she says once she’s next to him. She thrusts her hand out formally in front of her, and Adam shakes it, amused. Her palm is sweaty.
“What are you doing here, DC Ellie Quinn?”
“New to Major Crimes. Was due to start on Monday but I heard something was going on. Thought I could help.”
Adam has a vague memory from a few weeks ago: Jamie mentioning a new member of the team. “Where are you from?” he asks.
“Fraud, Boss. But I wanted something a little more … exciting.”
“Well, you got that.” He smiles at her. She’s petite, with bobbed strawberry blonde hair, pale skin and a freckled nose. Wide doe eyes that make her look like a character from a Disney movie.
She couldn’t seem more out of place. Here, in the dead of night, the wind whipping through her hair, turning her cheeks baby pink. An innocent fawn unsullied by the haunt of the newly departed.
He hears movement behind him and Adam glances back to the homeless guys. Most have wandered away, but one remains; he doesn’t want to lose his chance of a witness.
“Report to DS Hoxton,” he says to Quinn, pointing toward the c
ar park, where Jamie is exploring. “He’ll show you the ropes. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
“Yes, of course,” the girl hastily agrees, and Adam turns his attention to their bystanders.
The homeless man hesitates when he sees Adam approaching. Adam walks slowly, eye contact averted. The man’s as skittish as a nervous dog, dressed in a long dirty overcoat, torn boots, a black beanie low over his eyes. Adam pulls out his packet of cigarettes, puts one in his mouth, then offers the box to the man.
The man snatches one with dirty fingers, still half turned away. Adam lights his own, then passes the lighter across, his arm fully outstretched before the man takes it.
“Was it you who called us?” Adam asks. He takes a long drag, blowing the smoke out into the cold night air.
“Yeah.” The man’s standing at an angle to Adam, glancing over to the homeless encampment of boxes and sagging tents under the bridge. His safety. He hands the lighter back then sucks at the cigarette hungrily.
“Adam,” he says, holding his hand out to introduce himself.
The man looks at it suspiciously, then rests the cigarette in his lips and returns the gesture. He quickly takes two steps back again.
“Harry,” he replies.
“When did you notice it?” Adam asks.
“Only a few hours ago. Jim mentioned it.” The man tilts his head to the group sheltering under the bridge. “Don’t want to get him into trouble.”
“Not at all,” Adam replies, although he mentally notes the names. “Did he see anyone? Do you guys ever see anyone hanging around?”
“Nah.” He edges further away from Adam.
“No vans? Trucks dumping rubbish.”
“Some.”
He pauses and Adam can tell he’s holding something back. “Please? Anything might help.”
Harry takes another drag, then is gripped by a bout of coughing that consumes his whole body. When he’s finished, he looks at Adam from jaundiced eyes.
“Is he …” he starts. He looks down, scuffing his boot in the mud. “Is he dead? Should we … A doctor …”
“No, mate. He’s very dead.”
