Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 7 - Harry

"Take your bloody time, why don't you," the Chief complains as the squad pile into the briefing. He starts speaking in spite of people still strolling down the hallway.

Clearing his throat, the Chief calls, "Grant and White—" he pauses to ensure he has their attention, "you take the stabbing victims. Seems like a bar fight gone too far but the superintendent thinks it's got something to do with this drug case so I want you two down at the ICU taking statements and seeing if and how they link in.

"Marks, Foster and Baker, you're going to be on the rape case from last week. Catch up with Grant before he heads off to see where we're at with that.

"We've got a murder victim on South Street in one of the apartment blocks. From what the local PD described it's looking like another GR case so I want you two," Chief points at where Harry and James are standing, "down there in twenty."

"Everyone else carry on with your daily duties." He glances down and moves pieces of paper around as an indication that the briefing is over and everyone should leave now.

Harry walks out with James and nudges his shoulder. "You can drive."

When they arrive at the crime scene it is difficult to determine what smells worse; the Jane Doe or the apartment itself.

The place looks forgotten. There isn't a spot of floor that isn't covered in clothes, food or mould. The robust fragrance of an uncleaned dog floats around in the air and makes it too thick to breathe. The kitchen corner is barely distinguishable, with both dirty dishes and soaking pieces of clothing thrown in the sink.

The crisp aroma of death radiates through the surroundings, so strong it would stand the hairs upright on your arms and send spiders scuttling up your spine. The atmosphere is hard and cold like slabs in a mortuary, and the mangy green walls are smeared with sticky, scarlet blood smeared in the form of words.

You can practically see the waves of odour emanating from the body. The scent comes to rest in Harry's mouth and removes all the moisture from it, leaving his tongue like cotton wool. Still, the Jane Doe only just overpowers the other pungent stenches of the flat – well, what's left of her.

Suddenly, Harry is taken away from the scene entirely.

The lady sitting across from me has a warm face. It's comforting. I suppose that's why she chose this profession.

She sees the nerves surfacing in my eyes and reassures me, "it's going to be okay. I know it hurts now, but you'll get through this. I'm going to help you get through this."

"Mate." James jolts Harry back to the present and directs him to the police constables who had taken the call, so they could get filled in on the scene.

"Morning, gentlemen," Harry greets them. "What's the situation here, then?"

The less timid of the two replies, "we got a call about a noise complaint from the neighbour upstairs. He's called the council several times over the past month about a dog howling, so they handed it over to us. We came here expecting to have a short, easy discussion with the owner of the dog," the PC pauses and gestures to their surroundings, "but we came here to find this."

Both detectives nod and James announces, "We can take it from here."

The forensic team have gotten there before them and are swiping for prints and any possible remnants of DNA. Harry knows that they won't find any, though. He has seen this crime scene time and time again and they never do.

"Bad luck, DC," one of the forensic team directs at Harry, "no prints, no hairs, no skin cells. Nothing." The man adds, "If there ever was any, they made damn sure that we wouldn't find it."