Det. Alder - the crime scene

As the upcoming traffic light signalled red, I took the opportunity to glance at myself in the mirror. God, I looked like crap. I ran a hand over the shadowy skin of my jaw, wondering when I’d next get the chance to shave. My green eyes were shrouded with red - a consequence of yet another late night.
 The light changing to green failed to catch my attention right away, and in my hurry to make a speedy getaway from the honking horns of the drivers behind me, I stalled the car.
 “Damn it!” I growled to myself, turning the key in the ignition a little too aggressively.
 I knew I should have just taken the train that morning, since the station was where I would end up anyway. I was on my way to investigate the second death that had occurred in the borough that week. Perhaps to some that might not seem so shocking, but both of the victims had been teenage girls, and the department suspected a serial killer was to blame. The first murder was a poison, and today a young girl had been found dead in the early hours of the morning by one of the train station’s cleaning crew, her throat slit. I hoped the platform had been cordoned off by the uniformed officers already - a busy place such as this was bound to yield a fair amount of morbidly curious spectators.
 Pulling up outside, I grabbed my coat from the passenger seat of the Rover and slipped my arms though the sleeves as I got out, wrapping my scarf around my neck for extra warmth. As I approached the murder scene I had to nudge my way through the thick crowd that had gathered, muttering the occasional “excuse me, please,” as I went.
 As I reached the last line of people I let out a deep sigh; that poor girl lay stone-still on the cold floor of the train station, all colour from her skin drained along with the blood that had pooled around her lifeless body.
Gathering my senses, I held my badge out to the crowd as I ducked under the police tape.
 “My name is Detective Alder,” I boomed, my voice carrying the intended sound of authority. “I’m sure you’ve all got somewhere to go, so if you’d all kindly be on your way I’d be grateful.”
 I know that even if I hadn’t been a police officer for seventeen years, I wouldn’t have stared at the dead body of a young girl with such a thirst for gossip as they seemed to.

 Once all of the formalities were over, I watched as the body was zipped into a black bag and loaded into the back of the vehicle destined for the morgue. With my notepad in hand, I set off for the worst part of my job: Notifying the family and friends.

The End

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