Skipping the normal pleasantries I was greeted by the grim faced Custody Sergeant by a mere grunt, there is normally a bit of friendly banter, however I put it down to the time of the morning, that is, until I was handed the photo.

After turning the photo several times at different angles trying to figure out what it is was I was suppose to be looking at, I stole a glance at the Sergeant, I could not rationalise what I was seeing, my brain was blocking me but, as it always does, realisation gripped me and my surroundings seemed to dissolve.

Those eyes, the eyes which bore straight into me, glazed and unknowing, these were the only things which told me the photo was that of a person. They called out to me, the only recognisable images out of what I can only assume use to be a face.

The Custody Suite was unnaturally still, no detainees banging on the cell doors, swearing and demanding this and that; these were the usual sounds to meet your ears as you entered the suite but now, it seemed that everyone present were holding a minute silence in respect for the life that had been taken.

Following the disclosure officer to an empty interview room I was told that a call had been made to the police the previous afternoon, by an unknown male, raising attention to what was assumed to be a body dump. Police attended to find what was described as body parts, however, due to the damage of the remains, the victim was a Jane Doe at present. I could not put my finger on what was causing the feeling of unease inside me, was it just the seriousness of the crime and the ferocity of the person who committed it, or was it more, I could sense that there was a ripple of fear throughout the police force which could not only be explained by the severity of the attack, I feared the police were withholding information.

The detainee was one Mark Norfolk, eighteen years old with no previous convictions. Unfortunately he was identified as being in the vicinity in which the body was laid hours prior to the gruesome discovery. To add to matters, when police attended at his address, he was found to have blood on his clothing. DNA would have to wait to determine whether the blood belonged to the deceased.

I waited for my client to be brought into the interview room. I looked around the room which would be my home for the next three days, the smell was always the same, bad breath, stinking feet coupled with bad personal hygiene which could not be explained away by the fact that the detainees had only spent one night in a cell. I hated this room, the wooden table with matching seats, all bolted to the floor in fear that the detainee would lose his head and start throwing things. Only the police had not really thought this through seeing as the closest object to the detainee would be the tape recorder which ironically, was the only thing not bolted down in the entire room.

I heard footsteps in the corridor outside with the low grumbling voice of the detention officer warning my client to be on his best behaviour for me, followed by what I can only assume was a grunt of consent. The door opened to reveal that I had indeed been right as the two men entered the room.

Mark Norfolk was an alarmingly large man, who if I hadn’t known, had no previous convictions, would have had him pegged for a Mafia gang leader. His eyes were devoid of any colour, as if his pupils literally took all the space in their sockets. These eyes locked onto mine as he grunted “who the hell are you”.


The End

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