The aroma from the alley way is repugnant to most people, but I’m used to its sweet, sickly smell. I have worked as a detective for more years than my breakfasts going cold. I always grab something on the go anyways.
A doughnut normally.
‘So what have we got here?’ I ask my colleague.
‘Male, early forties, stab wound to the chest.’
‘From the smell of the body its been here a while.’
I can’t be sure, but this situation feels strange, like I have walked in this space before. The alleyway, away from prying eyes, is the perfect location. Depending on the time of day it is normally empty.
Now it is full, like a pack of cards. When one is pushed the whole lot come tumbling down to take down the joker who committed this murder. I’ve not lost a case yet, and I don’t intend to start now.
Writer Ravenclaw 