"In the heart of bustling, eerie London, a malevolent killer lurks in the shadows, targeting the vulnerable and those with scores to settle.
For Detective George Reynolds, his initiation into the area-wide murder task force under the guidance of DS...
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"His name is Ross Walters. At least, we think it is. According to the voter's register, he and his wife, Michelle Walters, have lived here for the last ten years."
"Michelle Walters, that's the latest victim, right?" A.D.I. Locke said.
We were advised to seal off the scene and wait for reinforcements. Locke was liaising with P.O.L.S.A. to attend a systematic search that might include digging up the garden.
"Yes, boss. At the moment, we're assuming it's Ross Walters."
"Ah, yes, we have a missing body."
"Guv, it could be in the shed for all we know, but you said stop," Michael came across a little irritated; I can understand why. A call comes out demanding your attention. It's that feeling when you get a lunch break; you've warmed your food and just started eating.
"I did so for various reasons. A friend is on P.O.L.S.A. attachment and has been itching to help. Two, it frees you two up to get onto the next thing. Lastly, you grab exhibits and evidence; you will be tied up with more paperwork than I want you to have right now," Locke surprised me. I don't know why he's going beyond his scope. Perhaps he's trying to earn our respect and confidence.
"How come?" I said, my mouth engaged in gear before I could slam the brakes on. Sure, I was thinking it, but it blurted out.
"There's something about you, Georgie; I thought about it when we first met and didn't understand why. I'm the same now; you seem to have an instinct that a detective of twenty years doesn't have. I'm sure your partner can attest to that. You two make a good team, and if that gets me a permanent promotion, so be it."
There it was, in a roundabout way; this was Locke's chance to earn those fried eggs on his shoulder full-time. We catch the bastard, and he's a rising star getting the best out of an old dog and an upstart. He's in a can't-lose situation; we fail; it's my inexperience against the odds.
Throughout his speech, I listened to his heartbeat; every time he mentioned me and instinct, it sped up. I stand by my opinion there's something about Locke that has me leaning towards being different.
"I agree, Guv. He's a little green around the gills. Still, he'll get there," Michael said, smirking, tapping away at his nearly empty 'Benson and Hedges' cigarette box.
I'd nearly forgotten to mention the diary and the Polaroid. I hadn't shown Michael yet, either. Michael had been busy being told what to do and getting his ears chewed by the local duty officer for landing them at a crime scene.
"Guv, there's this," I said, handing him the book.
"What is it?" he said, screwing his face, wondering why I'd be giving him such a thing.
"Go to the last entry, and you'll get the idea of what I want to do next," I said, pointing to the ribbon marker.
After a minute of silence, I could hear teeth grinding as he read. Locke wagged his jaw from side to side like a dog shook its tail.
