‘Harry? Hey, Harry, where you going?’
The man didn’t reply. Just bustled his way past a cop standing guard at the door.
Landers glanced down at the body again. She was barely beyond her school years, naked except for a blue-green silk scarf wrapped round her neck.
‘Fuck.’ He hurried from the house.
Harry had almost reached their car, a clapped-out Ford that looked at home the neighbourhood.
The big man yanked open the driver’s door. ‘He’s a fucking dead man.’
‘Take it easy, will you.’
‘A dead man,’ Harry repeated, dropped into the car and sped off.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words