Project Main Details
2013-01-03 22:38:01 GMT 2013-01-07 09:37:37 (GMT -06:00) Central Time (US & Canada) Yes (click here to learn more about ) Closed - Note: This project was manually closed by the voice seeker before it reached its original deadline. 0 0 0 direct invitation(s) have been sent by the voice seeker resulting in 0 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far. Voice123 SmartCast is seeking 50 auditions and/or proposals for this project (approx.) Invitations sent by SmartCast have resulted in 0 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.
• Audio files must be delivered via FTP/Dropbox/Google Drive/cloud
Silence returned as quickly as it had been destroyed. Not even dogs barked in the area. As the night progressed, rain came and cleansed the city. Blood mixed with the water and washed down into Seattle’s drainage system.
An early morning jogger heading through the park discovered the body. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, called 911, and then waited for the police to arrive.
A detective’s car rolled up and stopped, its red flashing light cutting through the misty conditions. A tall, powerful man exited. His stern face settled into grim lines as steel-gray eyes flickered around the crime scene, taking in the yellow tape defining the perimeter. He noticed an officer taking a statement from a man in running clothes. The coroner stood in the drizzle, beside a gurney and the sheet-covered victim, waiting on him.
The detective sighed. Nothing worse than starting a Sunday morning with a dead body. Being a detective was hard. However, Ian Cavanaugh added onto this by being in Homicide. Carrying his Starbucks coffee with him, he went to the victim.
“Sorry for the hold up, Parsons. Won’t take me but a minute and I’ll let you get the vic back to the morgue.” His deep voice stopped the coroner in his conversation with his assistant.
“Morning, Ian,” the old man said as he wiped some moisture off his face. The morning drizzle had picked up, becoming a steady rain.
“Whaddya got?” Ian crouched beside the dead body. His hand reached for the sheet and slowly drew it away so he could see the face.
Gil Parsons answered, “Multiple shots. Some through-and-through, some not. With the rain I don’t know what trace has been ruined and lost, but I’ll let you know, what I know, as soon as I know it.” The man sighed and waited for Ian to look.
“Thanks.” Ian glanced down at the unseeing eyes staring back at him. “Ah, hell,” he muttered.
“You know him?”
Running his hand down his face, Ian didn’t answer right away. He closed those sightless green eyes and recovered him with the sheet. Ian drained the remainder of his coffee before crushing the cup in his fist.
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