Above me

Alice on the phone [PROLOGUE]

It seemed, to Orika at least, that for every damn case she was assigned, Misha was her partner. Maybe it was an unpleasant coincidence, or maybe her boss just wanted to see her suffer; but at the moment, it didn't much matter to her. They were both driving down the road in the pitch black darkness, the sky overclouded and the streetlights casting a dirty fluorescent light onto the wet pavement, both of them waiting in silence for instructions. A voice rang from the inbuilt phone.

"It's on Caesar street, the large alley next to house number 5. We have 4 cops on the scene already and a paramedic."

"Thanks Alice." Orika replied, bluntly, to Alistairs information. Misha sat in the passenger seat, scoffing in response to the call and leaning back, his obvious distaste for murder cases showing through, but for once in his life he kept his mouth shut. They reached the location in a few minutes, a band of yellow and black tape across the alleys entrance and two police cars parked on the street. Orika slammed the door shut behind her, almost locking the car before Misha stumbled out, immediately walking towards the limp corpse on the ground. The blood that had been running from a bullet wound in his head was still shiny and wet, giving off a pungent smell of iron, though the filthy stench of the alley made it less apparent. Misha gave it only one glance before talking to one of the cops there, though Orika crouched down and studied the body closer.

A man in his early twenties, unshaven, wearing a tank top and jeans, knuckles bloody and an old bruise on his face, not from this night; he also had several scars, meaning he was often exposed to violence, his knuckles suggesting that he fought back. Her gaze lowered. His arms were thin, and there were bandaids placed on his wrists and in the crooks of his elbows, a drug addict, probably. Further down, in his back pocket, a tiny slip of paper peeked through, completely white and not very wrinkled, so it must have been new. She pulled on her gloves and carefully took a hold of the note. Turning it around, she found messy handwriting written in ballpoint pen. A number, and a name: 'Hilda'. Maybe his girlfriend, a hookup, or a friend, in any case, incredibly valuable evidence.

Misha turned his head towards her. "Found something?"

"A clue, maybe." Was all she responded with.