The 12 Days of Xmas

The Twelve Days of Xmas

Zoe Sullivan proved to be a stellar sleuth. Promoted to Detective three years ago, she solved one hundred percent of her cases within the infamous 48 hours. But did any of that matter. Solving homicides was not a win-win situation. Yes, it ensured justice for the victims and their families, but it wouldn't bring the lost loved ones back.

It was twelve days before Christmas, Sullivan was looking forward to a short respite before the busy Holiday crime rush. Not this year. It all started on December 14.

Partnerless for the night, Sullivan received the call that started it all a few hours into her nap. It was urgent, an anonymous tip to the station. 1000 Halsted St. was the address given with not much else. Allowing her partner a break from the madness of their jobs to spend quality time with his young family, she headed to the scene with uniformed backup in tow. Ascending the stairs of a charming two-story, Chicago style flat, the door was unlocked. Not usual for the inner city.

The home was nicely appointed for the holidays. LED lights outside on the bushes and sparkling garland leading up the staircase to the hearty wreath hanging from the stately wooden door. Entering the house, Sullivan immediately took notice that it was cozy. Warm. Dark, but backlit with Christmas lights and a gentle glow from a tree. The smell of baking pies and a cinnamon apple air freshener engulfed the room. Someone was in the spirit and Sullivan would soon discover the identity of her host.

Visitors were welcomed into the living room by a roaring, gas fireplace also adorned with an enormous Christmas tree. There on the mantle was a head. A head equally decked out in holiday gear. The eyes were open and rolled back, perched on a bed of festive garland, wearing a droopy Santa hat with what looked like a used cotton ball dripping blood down the brick façade of its resting place. Matching the ambiance of the room, Sullivan was clear the mantlepiece was the owner of the house. But where was the rest of her?

December 15 started slow. Still investigating the grotesque find from the previous night, Sullivan found the case moving slowly. She had no eyewitnesses. No ear witnesses. No CCTV footage. Just the caller. With nowhere else to start, the detective was ready to deep dive into her mystery caller when she received a radio call from dispatch.

"We received a call from a tipster. Reporting a strange smell coming from 2000 Diversey Parkway."

"Copy that. Did the caller leave their information?"

"Nope, anonymous. But there is a note here that the tipster called from the same number as last night."

"Hmmm. Copy. Thank you."

Sullivan gathered her bag and called over to her partner. Not knowing what to expect but experience told her that bad smell calls were never good. It was only fair that her partner got to experience what she had the night before. Uncertain whether she could stomach another grotesque find, she wanted to make sure her partner was there to catch her.

Pulling up to the scene, there was nothing festive. Not like last night. The place was a dump. Sullivan took a deep breath, detecting a hint of the rotting, sweet stench the unidentified caller reported. She knew the smell well and tried to shake off her already rolling stomach.

The detectives knocked with no answer. Not surprising, the building was empty. Abandoned. Choosing to enter slowly, both placed their hands on their weapons, prepared for the living that may be waiting for them inside. With every step, the smell of death got stronger. Bolder. Neither were anxious to meet those responsible for the unfortunate stinker's fate.