there?” Quinn looked over at Ellie, who suddenly looked a little scared. She’d never been first on the scene for a homicide before. For the month they’d been partners, they’d been working outstanding cases back at headquarters, on the phones, on the computers, in the interview rooms. But this was the real thing and he found himself worrying about how she was going to do.
“Yup, Sylvia, we’ve got it.” She gave them the cross streets. “We’re on our way.”
Quinn knew this part of east Cambridge well. It was the part of the city that didn’t make it onto the walking tours or calendars, a neighborhood where many Cambridge residents had never been and one they probably didn’t know even existed, though, like every neighborhood in the city, it was gentrifying by the day. As a patrolman, he’d frequently responded to domestics and brawls over here, and he knew there had been an increasing amount of gang activity, but there were also young couples moving in and fixing up houses and more and more Saabs on the streets. The dispatcher hadn’t given them much to go on, assuming they’d get what they’d need from the guys on the scene.
He parked in front of a liquor store and followed the line of uniforms to an alley between an empty storefront and a 7-11. “That’s where she is,” he said, pointing.
“What should I do?” she asked quietly, in a way that bugged him.
“Don’t do anything,” he said, too harshly, then added, “Wait ’til I say.”
The small body appeared to be that of a young girl, though on his second look, noticing her hips and rounded backside, Quinn realized she was more likely to be a young woman. She had been dumped—Quinn knew immediately by the way she was lying and because there was a black plastic bag underneath her—at the end of a dismal little alley filled with overflowing trash cans and piles of garbage. She was facedown, wearing black pants that had been pulled down around her thighs and a flowered pink blouse that was bunched up under her arms. Her back was smooth and brown, a small, perfect mole in the very center, between her shoulder blades. The outfit struck him. It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d expected to find, more like what you’d wear to a job interview than … than what?
Face it, Quinn
, he said to himself.
You were thinking she was going to be a hooker, weren’t you?
Because of the neighborhood. He hated it when his prejudices crept up on him like that.
He and Ellie checked in with the young sergeant who was guarding the scene and went to work. Once the crime scene technicians arrived, it was a matter of getting all of the information they could from the people who were still here. She’d been found by a guy who lived on the street and had happened to glance into the alley as he walked by. From the brown bag in his hand, Quinn figured he had gone out for his first drink of the day, but to his credit he’d called it in from the only working pay phone on the block and waited until the cops arrived. Usually you looked at the person who’d reported finding a body, but Quinn knew there was nothing here. This guy was too straightforward, just a sad, out-of-work guy who was now itching for whatever he had in his bag. Quinn was tempted to tell him to go ahead, but he couldn’t very well encourage his best witness to get plastered before they’d had a chance to question him.
Once they were ready to turn her, he told Ellie to join him. “You can see she wasn’t killed here, can’t you?” he said offhandedly.
“Yeah, the bag kind of tipped me off.” It wasn’t sarcastic, just sort of matter-of-fact, but it annoyed him anyway.
“Good.” He brushed past her and knelt by the body, looking at the girl’s face staring up at the hot gray sky. She had light brown skin, and in life she had been pretty, dark haired, dark eyed, small and round. She was wearing quite a lot of makeup, a too-dark foundation that showed along her jawline, apple-red blusher
“Yup, Sylvia, we’ve got it.” She gave them the cross streets. “We’re on our way.”
Quinn knew this part of east Cambridge well. It was the part of the city that didn’t make it onto the walking tours or calendars, a neighborhood where many Cambridge residents had never been and one they probably didn’t know even existed, though, like every neighborhood in the city, it was gentrifying by the day. As a patrolman, he’d frequently responded to domestics and brawls over here, and he knew there had been an increasing amount of gang activity, but there were also young couples moving in and fixing up houses and more and more Saabs on the streets. The dispatcher hadn’t given them much to go on, assuming they’d get what they’d need from the guys on the scene.
He parked in front of a liquor store and followed the line of uniforms to an alley between an empty storefront and a 7-11. “That’s where she is,” he said, pointing.
“What should I do?” she asked quietly, in a way that bugged him.
“Don’t do anything,” he said, too harshly, then added, “Wait ’til I say.”
The small body appeared to be that of a young girl, though on his second look, noticing her hips and rounded backside, Quinn realized she was more likely to be a young woman. She had been dumped—Quinn knew immediately by the way she was lying and because there was a black plastic bag underneath her—at the end of a dismal little alley filled with overflowing trash cans and piles of garbage. She was facedown, wearing black pants that had been pulled down around her thighs and a flowered pink blouse that was bunched up under her arms. Her back was smooth and brown, a small, perfect mole in the very center, between her shoulder blades. The outfit struck him. It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d expected to find, more like what you’d wear to a job interview than … than what?
Face it, Quinn
, he said to himself.
You were thinking she was going to be a hooker, weren’t you?
Because of the neighborhood. He hated it when his prejudices crept up on him like that.
He and Ellie checked in with the young sergeant who was guarding the scene and went to work. Once the crime scene technicians arrived, it was a matter of getting all of the information they could from the people who were still here. She’d been found by a guy who lived on the street and had happened to glance into the alley as he walked by. From the brown bag in his hand, Quinn figured he had gone out for his first drink of the day, but to his credit he’d called it in from the only working pay phone on the block and waited until the cops arrived. Usually you looked at the person who’d reported finding a body, but Quinn knew there was nothing here. This guy was too straightforward, just a sad, out-of-work guy who was now itching for whatever he had in his bag. Quinn was tempted to tell him to go ahead, but he couldn’t very well encourage his best witness to get plastered before they’d had a chance to question him.
Once they were ready to turn her, he told Ellie to join him. “You can see she wasn’t killed here, can’t you?” he said offhandedly.
“Yeah, the bag kind of tipped me off.” It wasn’t sarcastic, just sort of matter-of-fact, but it annoyed him anyway.
“Good.” He brushed past her and knelt by the body, looking at the girl’s face staring up at the hot gray sky. She had light brown skin, and in life she had been pretty, dark haired, dark eyed, small and round. She was wearing quite a lot of makeup, a too-dark foundation that showed along her jawline, apple-red blusher
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