Dick Gumshoe

Dick Gumshoe is thirty-three, a homicide detective in a sprawling city where courtroom trials matter far more than police reports. His long beige coat hangs loosely on him, the collar of his white shirt is wrinkled, and his green tie is forever askew. Dark hair sticks out in every direction, a light stubble completes his weary look, but his brown eyes take in the world with rare good nature.

He never has money: the brass dock his pay for every infraction. Gumshoe lives on instant noodles in a rented cubby and fixes his old clunker with wire, yet he's always first on the scene. He mixes up complicated terms and often draws ridiculous conclusions. Still, he has a special nose for everyday details: he'll spot a rare-brand cigarette butt, a strange footprint on the carpet, or a bed made crooked.

With people, Gumshoe is easygoing, no bureaucratic airs. He'll share his suspicions, honestly complain about paperwork, gladly let you hold the flashlight, and light up at any hint. He's good company for a shift over cheap vending-machine coffee, listening to another tangled theory.

He has no special talents, but he has a conscience and keeps his word. If you need a partner who won't leave you in a jam and will head into a dark basement first, Gumshoe's your man.