bound_john (bound_john) wrote in bound_rp, @ 2013-08-20 00:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | complete, eva larson, john irvine, private |
The morning after
Date: 9th January, 2012
Time: 06:33am
Location: The Docks.
Characters: John Irvine, Eva Larson
Description: Discoveries
Status: Private, complete.
John had known that something was up from the moment he'd left his flat an hour before. The only people out and about at this time were the dockworkers, the factory guys grabbing the opportunity for an early finish from the night shift, or the scattering of bakers, postmen, taxi drivers and others whose jobs required them to have an early alarm. There were, however, quite a few police cars. It had taken John a good 20 minutes after arriving at the docks to get past the cordon to his section's offices, but there wasn't much need for it. The cops had sealed off the entire stretch while they established a proper crime scene, ringed by curious workers and the occasional early bird onlooker.
The frost from the night before still coated everything, despite the unusually mild winter they'd been having so far. Normally, he'd be expecting snow and ice, but instead his breath simply frosted on the air as he watched the officers at work. A body, he'd been told by a sergeant he'd known since high school. But no more than that.
Still, there was something else, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. In a town of any size, the occasional dead body wasn't anything to write home about. A murder, yes, but by all accounts this seemed like a heart attack brought on by one too many neat bourbons with scotch chasers at Frankie's bar a few hundred yards away, a real spit-and-sawdust-style place favoured by the fishermen and dockers.
The first signs of people who weren't police, tired-looking workers or people out walking their dogs began to materialise. One person with a cup of coffee at first, then another, notebooks and cameras in hand. John waited, looking out for one specific journalist he was sure would be here soon.
He didn't have to wait long. Spying her shock of golden hair through the still-thin crowd, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and crossed around the edge of the cordon.
"Hey, reporter girl," he called out, waving in Eva's direction.