The stooped figure of Winston Evans shuffled into Voce's office, appearing uncomfortably conscious of being in the strangeness of an alien environment. Displaying the timorous behavior of a broken man, his eyes shifted furtively from one detective to the next.
which made it difficult not to pity him. The marks of countless losses were etched deeply into his wizened face, a feature often visible in life’s perennial losers. Despite only being 52 years old, he'd aged well beyond his years, looking closer to 70.
'How are you enjoying the NYPD’s legendary hospitality Winston?'
Voce asked lightheartedly, in an effort to put him at ease.
'It'll be good,' he replied.
'Those steak and fries I ate in the canteen tonight was the first proper meal I've had in days.'
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'I'd be much obliged if you could tell us everything you remember about tonight's accident. In your own good time of course.'
Voce said in a Tennessee drawl. The vagrant's unkempt appearance clashed with the smartly suited detectives. Greasy tufts of shaggy unwashed hair stuck out around his neckline, taking on a life of their own. Slumping inertly into a chair, his body language seemed to bear witness to every blow life had dealt him. Judging by his oral hygiene he hadn't been to a dentist in decades, his few remaining front teeth hung by a thread. A permanent hang dog expression dominated his jowly countenance. Drooping eyes, reminiscent of a freshly whipped dog's, peered cautiously out at a malignant world.
'Ok let's begin,' Voce started.
'Tonight at approximately half past midnight you witnessed a head on collision on East 125th Street between an ambulance and a SUV?'
Winston nodded in