Ashes

2.

November, 2018.
Detective Atella, Sydney P.D.

"Atella," I state my surname into my work provided phone, taking several steps away from the body in front of me. The voice on the receiving end crackles into my ear and I listen for several moments, before replying, "we'll be right there."

"Who was that?" I glance up at the officer who'd spoken: Lee Castro.

I shove the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. "Cameron," I tell Lee, naming the man in charge of the branch of the Sydney Police Department that we waste our lives slaving away for. "Fire down near the Jordan River." I see Lee's eyebrows climb several centimetres upwards. "Wants you to go down there."

Lee hands the file he'd been mulling over to the forensics analyst still bent over the body. "And you?"

I lift one shoulder before letting it drop again. "May as well come with," I answer, digging my hands into the pockets of my thin leather jacket.

After all, Lee's my ride.

+++

It's almost too hard to believe that anyone at all inhabits the neighbourhood along the Jordan River. Three houses stand that still have a roof over the structure, and even then, they're next to unliveable.

Flames avariciously lick at the indistinguishable structure, thrashing towards the thickly set cloud of smoke blanketing the sky. Men in soot mantled yellow ensembles surround the blaze, hoses poised on the ground circling the place.

"House is so small, kind of looks like a huge bonfire," Lee comments, slamming his car door shut.

I hum in agreement, stepping out onto the desiccated soil. Grass has become scarce in the previous months since the rain deserted this part of the country, leaving sunburnt land aching for the clouds to burst. As Lee seeks an update on the fire, I allow my eyes to skirt my surrounds. The trees stand tall and with few leaves varnishing their branches. The vegetation that remains are not the bottle green that you'd colour them if drawing a tree or a shrub on paper. Instead, they are the paper bag brown that you'd find littered amongst a rubbish tip. Arms folded, I lean back against the car bonnet, breathing the smoke laced through the air in shallowly.

"Not much to it," Lee reports as he doubles back around to where I stand. "Fire's been going for 'bout half an hour an' no one's been able to get any closer than that."

My eyes latch onto the shadowy figure of a person before I have a chance to answer Lee. I narrow my gaze as the figure remains still, as if transfixed on the blaze. I briefly nudge Lee, who follows my stare, his body tensing like a dog trained to attack.

"It's a kid," he murmurs, taking a single step forwards as to not scare the newcomer. "I think it's a girl." Lee moves again, more slowly this time.

"Looks like you're stalking her," I comment, the left corner of my lip turning upwards slightly.

That's until the kid begins to run. Not run, sprint. Lee's after her in a split second, but she's faster than anyone I've ever seen. Twice as fast as Lee. Luckily for him, one of the firefighters grabs the kid by the excess material of her hoodie before she can reach the house on her short-lived suicide mission. Regardless of his obvious strength, the girl twists, kicks, and punches at the man holding her down. Lee wraps his arm around the girl's waist, hoisting her up over his shoulder with ease and heading back in my direction.

"Get the hell away from me," I can just make out the desperate plea of the grey-faced kid. Lee sets her down in front of me, handcuffing her skinny wrists in several swift movements. "Please," her voice escapes as a mere croak. "My brother and sister..."