Morning Shadows...

With the medieval seeming a whole lot like work at the moment, here’s an opening chapter in the style of a standard Americanised crime/thriller, written with very little actual knowledge of modern day law and order.

Autumn had got a jump on them this year. A few weeks before and the morning light would have already heralded the start of a new day, but now the street lamps had only just begun to wink out and all that was promised were the long and dark nights ahead. She shoved her chilled fingers into the meagre protection of her jacket pockets as her impatient stride ate up the pavement coloured copper by fallen leaves. The brisk walk and cool slap of air were a deliberate choice to cleanse the remnants of the nightmare from which she had been woken. Once the instinctive jolt of fear had ebbed she would be ready to confront death again.

For Detective Isobel Martin violent death was an everyday reality. She had thought after all her years on the job she had seen the worst that human beings could do to one another. Yet there were still depths of evil to be plumbed, as her last case had so savagely reminded her. Her pace hitched slightly as she took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on the new crime scene that lay ahead. Nothing about her appearance betrayed any of the loss in confidence she may have felt. The grey of her eyes remained as impenetrable as the fog that dampened the air. An untidy halo of pale waves framed a strongly angular and determined face. Her slim, athletic form was straight and dignified beneath the plain outfit of cotton and denim. Nodding efficiently she held up her identification and passed beneath the tape.

It was a busy crime scene, despite the early hour. Half the city’s press were already braying on their doorstop intermingled with the crowds of curious and gawping. Death always liked to have an audience. Isobel frowned at the proximity of the crowd, but she could see that the uniforms had done their best to push them back. The out of hours phone call from her captain had been enough to alert her that this case was going to be both sensitive and played out in public. Screens had been erected to preserve the area and she could see the flash of the photographers cataloguing the scene beyond and the crouching shadow of the medical examiner. There were a lot of personnel on site, indicating that she hadn’t been the only one to receive a call. One nameless figure stood frozen and she felt an answering tug of pity and understanding.

“If you’re going spew the contents of your gut Officer, would you kindly do it away from my crime scene and those damned cameras.” She addressed the young man sharply, his uniform she noted still bore the shine of the Academy. He coloured violently, but her words had at least shaken the glazed horror from his youthful eyes.

“Tactful as ever I see.” The familiar amused voice had her fighting to keep the scowl from her face. She turned on an abrupt heel to confront Detective Frederick Thorne. Elegantly masculine in a three-piece suit he was the poster boy for the police department. His dark hair was swept artfully back from a face that smiled all too easily. Suave charm, however, disguised the perceptive intelligence of a good detective.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She didn’t pretend to be anything but annoyed. She’d managed to avoid him for several months. The last time they’d closed a case together there had been far too much alcohol, far fewer clothes and what could only be described as a bolt on her part. It only annoyed her further that the thought now occurred that she wouldn’t mind seeing him naked again.

“I got a call the same as you I imagine. Our murder is politically...delicate, shall we say.” Her eyes narrowed at the implication of his words. Though her tough bluntness was well respected, he had clearly been assigned as her partner for this case because diplomacy was required. “Darling Isobel –”

“Call me that again Thorne and I can promise you that your face won’t end up looking quite as pretty as it does now.” She struggled to contain the instinctive flare of aggression at his soft endearment. Even she was aware that the media would have a field day with a public disagreement between the primary investigators.

“You know there is something undeniably attractive about hot-headed females.” His arrogant smile definitely became more of a smirk and she rolled her eyes.

“Bite me.”

“There is nothing that would give me greater pleasure. Where would you like me to start?” He was left with the last word for her attempt at a fierce retort was cut off by the medical examiner’s efforts to gain their attention.

“Detectives! You’re going to want to see this.”

Smug was the only word to describe Thorne’s expression as he turned away and ambled toward the smartly polished doctor. Isobel did not immediately follow him, taking instead a moment to settle the nerves that had jerked to attention with the medical examiner’s ambiguous statement. The protective gloves remained clenched in her fist, her fingers playing restlessly with the rubber until it split. Murder was never clean, but there were some scenes that were worse than others. The mutilations from her previous case were still fresh enough in her mind to disrupt her sleep and trigger waves of clammy nausea. A shrink would undoubtedly tell her to take some time out, but work helped to push the lingering fear aside. Reaching for control now she allowed herself a pause to finish observing her surroundings.

Extra attentive in order to justify her lapse she saw something that had originally been overlooked. The face towards the back of the crowd was neither shocked nor curious. It was pale and anxious with a sheen of sweat and a knowing look in the eye. Instinct told her that he wasn’t the perpetrator of the crime, but he was probably a witness. Edging away, she made her approach stealthy and casual in order not to spook him. The sudden loud hail from a uniform made her wince. Her gaze met and held the panicked wide eyes of the suspect. He ran as if someone had sounded a starting gun.

“Shit.” She muttered with frustration before breaking off in swift pursuit.

The man was nimble, she gave him that. He weaved a route through the crowd and then amongst stationary cars before nipping down a back alley and shoving over a garbage bin to disrupt her path. Essentially she was fitter and faster than him, but the obstacles presented by city streets and deserted buildings only increased the likelihood of his escape.

A door was slammed shut in her face and the impact of her booted foot on the lock made little impression. Racing for the stairs she hurdled two or three at a time until she reached an exit. Bursting out onto a fire escape her eyes tracked the man’s course calculating that the delay had almost definitely cost her a witness. Undeterred she continued to charge full pelt down the rickety metal structure. Surprised she watched as her quarry halted mid flight and began to move back toward her. Confusion turned to irritation as she realised that Thorne had also pursued and now blocked the man’s exit. Seizing the opportunity, however, she leapt from the final platform and tackled the suspect to the ground. They both bounced and tumbled on the hard concrete and she grimaced as her knee took the brunt of the fall. The man struggled beneath her, lashing out with hands like claws. Exasperated she clipped him in the jaw with a solid fist.

“You crazy cop bitch.” He spat around a fat lip, his earlier anxiety melting beneath anger and the heat of pain. Isobel examined the rip in her jeans and the drops of his blood that now patterned her shirt. For the first time that morning she felt her spirits rise.

“That’s Detective Bitch to you, asshole.”