Detective Constable stood in the middle of the small flat, surveying the damage. Another man might be unsure whether the carpets were originally beige with red splotches or originally red with beige splotches; Detective Constable, being a respected member of the South Yorkshire constabulary, knew that blood was not beige.
He’d often mused on the reasons for him becoming a policeman. He would tell people that the driving forces behind his joining the police force were average grades at school, his natural charm and his love of hitting people (although he’d be sure to smile whilst mentioning the last point so that people thought he was joking). However, in recent years as the novelty wore off and the endless paperwork took its toll, he’d considered more outlandish reasons. Call it poetic license, or nominative determinism, or just fate, but Terry Constable was always going to be a policeman when he grew up.
An officer that Constable had never seen before interrupted his train of thought.
“So, what do you think, Detective?”
Detective Constable looked at him blankly then turned his head back to survey the room again. A stack of DVD cases stretching all the way to the ceiling. A closed laptop that had been left on stand-by, one blue light blinking intermittently. A mug of cold tea sitting next to it. A body of a twenty-something male slumped in the corner, his neck slashed one end to the other, a trail of blood leading from him back to the laptop.
And a half-inflated balloon animal.
“Detective? What’s happened here?”
Detective Constable looked again at the young officer.
“Beats me kid. Let’s just write it up and get those strawberry floaters from forensics to sort it out.”
With that, the two men left the room.
Meanwhile, in his bunker in the heart of a hollowed out volcano somewhere in the Pacific, a mysterious figure in a white cowl and cape cackled and congratulated himself on the successful completion of his evil Tasks of the Week plan.
To be continued...?