The Bridge

The two of them went back and forth for several minutes, the artist coaxing and praising as his pencil moved swiftly across the page in front of him.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sean sauntered to where Davros sat hunched over his sketch pad, the tip of his tongue lodged in the corner of his mouth as he further defined the nose of the suspect.

Sean squinted at the face. Would someone be able to recognize him without the beard and moustache? Davros’s job entailed drawing another picture without the facial hair and glasses, perhaps with shorter hair.

“That’s close to what I remember.” Elise tossed her ponytail over her shoulder as she leaned over the drawing.

A sharp rap at the door interrupted them, and before Sean could even offer an invitation, it swung open and banged against the wall.

Sergeant Curtis from homicide, his eyes bugging out, thrust his head into the room. “We just got a call from patrol about a dead body, and I think you’re going to want to head out there, Brody.”

Sean’s heart slammed against his rib cage. “And why is that?”

“It’s the girl in the picture.”