The Curious Case of Cordelia Davies

Detective Drew Rose

The whole room was eerily cold. As though it was not cold at all. Not like a spring evening in January that brought a chill to your body. A cold that caused your blood to freeze in your veins and the hairs on the back of your neck to stand to attention. This was a cold that was undeniable.

The fear the room resonated was completely unfamiliar territory. In all the cases I've ever worked none stirred up such a feeling.

Flicking my eyes across the scene I took it all in, four lots of blood splatter to the left, six to the right and a pool of congealed blood under the body.

No brains. No rotting flesh. No dismemberment. So why was this one so different? Why did the scene before me make me want to run?

The body, a five foot six? Maybe five five, brunette Caucasian female, around 100 pounds wet, although the medical examiner and paramedics that would shortly have to carry her out would disagree.

Dead bodies were dead weight. Easily ten times heavy than normal and even worse, rigor mortis would have set in. This body had been here at least seven hours. Seven hours alone in an abandoned warehouse.

My mind wandered back to the years in college, being at a party on the top of a cliff. Four hours, not alone but may as well have be. Not being murdered but maybe worse. At least dead there are no thoughts to linger.

"Verdict?" A loud voice boomed to my left. Causing my body to jump and my eyes to close and send away the thoughts of last night.

Turning my head, I laid eyes on the county sheriff. Sheriff Puffin. I worked hard to suppress the smirk that was attempting to appear on my face as my mind agreed he looked like a puffin. His large round face red as beetroot and his body just as round. His large hands landed on his stomach as though he was going to jiggle his belly like Saint Nick.

"Murder,"

"Well I thought as much," he rolled his eyes and almost chuckled. Did he find murder funny?

"LA will be here short...." but he was cut off by a handsome dark haired man making the door creak as he entered, "now,"

"Detective," I nodded in his direction, a common welcome, to the man. The dark hair atop of his head spiked subtly with gel suited him. It was slightly longer at the sides, flush against the sides of his head. He was tall, six foot six I'd have guessed with broad shoulders and this man was certainly not shy of weightlifting. A slight blush hit her cheeks as she quickly realised she had been staring at him.

"Detective Drew Rose , you must be the Chicago ME?" A small smile played against my lips. He was almost right and at times I wish he was. My job would much simpler.

Quickly I turned back to the reason we were both here. Neither of us looked suited to the warehouse. His tailored suit hugged his body, stretching over his impressive upper arms and his boots, shiny. Well kept.

"Almost, I'm Detective Davies,"

"So Detective Davies, how would you like to go about this?" I immediately lifted my eyes to look at his sculpted face, to study the body language he was giving off. To decipher what he meant. His arms hung loosely by the sides of his suit pockets, an open gesture. His face, however, was completely unreadable. The Detective In Charge had never before asked me how to go about the case.

"I'm the forensic on this case, you're the Detective in charge. Where do you want me?"

For a split second I saw the smirk on his face before he quickly dragged his tongue over his bottom lip.

"Let's start with a run down." Nodding briefly I obliged.