Fear Of Broken Glass

Light Rain

Light rain pattering his shoulders, Hasse Almquist removed the box of matches from the depths of a heavy gray coat, removing a match, glancing below him, his police cap sheltering it from the rain. He held it firmly yet delicately between thumb and forefinger and applied pressure, forcing his fingers backwards. The bulbous head of chlorate caught against the binder of powdered glass and red phosphorous striking, igniting, erupting into a small fireball. He cupped his hands around the flame and let it take until the splint burned evenly, drawing it towards the end of the cigarette hanging from pale, uneven lips. He sucked, igniting the tobacco bright orange and took two pulls, raising his bearded face to the darkening sky, letting out the smoke, relishing its familiar calming sensation. He lowered his head, the sound of a light rain upon peaked cap, experienced eyes below sagging eyelids scanning the scrub below. He turned towards a long steep flight of wooden steps; a crude affair made for the sole purpose of providing hikers access to the summit. One continuous flight of thirty-one steps, wet and slippery, lethal for those without the right footwear. But that wasn't why the man was dead, he knew that already.

Cigarette in mouth, Almquist removed his rain-dusted glasses, placing them in his top coat pocket and took hold of the pair of black rubber binoculars hanging around his neck, raising them to his eyes. He turned the ribbed dial so an image shifted into focus, taking form out of the blurred shades of sodden earth. The corpse had the look of the damned, he thought, laying in a heap in a puddle of muddy water. One leg was folded impossibly under the other, bent upwards at the knee, shards of jagged white bone showing pink where it emerged from sodden faded blue jeans.

'His spine probably snapped before he hit the ground. Leg, back and skull are shattered.'

Almquist nodded at the woman's voice as he panned slowly to the right, away from the twisted upper torso towards the rock and scrub. He stopped at a solitary boot. It was caked in mud.

'He didn't have a chance.'

He moved the binoculars back towards the body again, down to the head and could see why, stopping at the mess of the poor man's face. The side of his jaw hung at a lopsided angle as if in a last, impossible scream. Then downwards, to once fine white feet without their shoes. Smooth; unused to walking, filthy and soiled in a way only Almquist really understood, despite the rain.

Elin Vikland was dressed in blue service clothes; red-brown shoulder length hair flicked out at the sides and a surprising amount of jewelry. A large silver-looking ring on her wet finger with a smooth stone in the centre and five or six bracelets of silver around her wrist; a small hunting knife in a polished black leather scabbard at her side. He reminded himself to have a word with her about that.

She sighed. 'I'm sorry Hasse. They are making it our case, even though the body lies inside Skaraborg County. They insisted.'

Insisted? They had never insisted before. Insisting was enough to dampen the mood of anyone on his team. He was going to be busy before he could get home to the football and a TV dinner followed by a malt.

Cursing silently, Almquist watched his staff processing the scene, going about their jobs, words few and actions many. He lowered his binoculars and held his cigarette for a moment just taking it all in. He took another long pull, raising his head, blowing the blue-gray smoke into a miserable dark-gray October sky. With a sigh, shoulders sagging, he flicked his rain-damp cigarette butt to the ground. He didn't have a choice, he knew that. He had thought it was all over. And now, he was cornered. If he said no, it could mean a premature redundancy without a pension. The murder was one thing, the reason why they had gone out of their way to make it his case something else. Reluctantly, he turned away, knowing he was being used like a doormat, something upon which could be wiped someone else's shit. After all, they had gone out of their way to make it his case.

***

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