Indira Mukherjee did not think the 999 call would be anything serious. Not really.

Gwaywe was just not in that kind of place. Now, don't get her wrong, petty crimes happened here. Thievery, vandalism, the occasional runaway teen, happened from time to time. Sometimes people drowned in the sea or went missing in the forest, never to be recovered. But the percentage was so small that it could be called negligible. And the last murder case? Must have been at least several decades before Indira joined the force.

It was an idyllic, if not a boring, morning in the precinct before they received the call. Indira was at her desk, toying with a pendulum, and cursing fate for being stuck in this obscure small town that was barely a dot on the map. Nobody knew its name. Nothing consequential ever happened here, something that would make her feel that she was making a change. There were only thirty officers, herself included. After all, that is why she had joined the police as a naïve twenty-year-old with stupid and idealistic dreams — to make a change. Was it because of her colour or her gender that she was she stuck here? A combination of both? Indira kind of knew the answer, but admitting it had become more and more difficult as she neared her forties.

And then came the call.

Though she was quite certain it was not a human remains that was discovered at the bog behind the Reed House, Indira indulged the harried caller. Taking a few of her men, they had gone to borrow a few peat cutters before riding the damn jeep into the forest. The thing was ancient and sputtered like the phlegm clad lungs of an arthritic grandpa, but at least it had not broken down in the middle of the road as it was prone to. And when she reached the site, she was proven so utterly wrong that she wanted to slap herself hard. Because peeking out from the bog was a human hand which seemed to be attached to what they assumed was a body caught beneath the layers of peat.

So here they were, Indira and two senior inspectors named Freddie Lawrence and Andrew Starc, while the constables cut through the peat to recover the body. Their caller, a certain Raisa Thorne, lay huddled on the ground a few yards away from them alongside an officer, shivering despite the blanket that Indira herself had draped over her body. Starc, meanwhile, was lathering an insect repellent all over his body.

“There ain't a thing here,” Indira snorted in amusement. “What are you doing that for, Andrew?”

Andrew gave her a sheepish smile. “Nothing, chief. Just be careful. The wife will be mad if I come back home looking like pepperoni.” He was a good-natured young fellow in his early thirties with a clean-shaven face and hair as yellow as wax. He was a local.

“Oh come on now, Starc, don't blame it on your wife,” Freddie teased. “You are one of those people who obsess over getting sick. It's a phobia, ain't it?”

“I don't have a phobia!”

“You totes do.”

Ah, boys. Indira shook her head fondly. Despite never being into the whole concept of marriage or having children, she adored these young men like her own sons. They were her boys. Good boys at that, much like the rest of this town. It might be boring and the people a bit too into gossiping, but at least they did not go berserk crazy about people's skin colours or who they wanted to kiss. She could not say the same about certain posh and cosmopolitan areas; trust her, she has experience. With a huff, she turned her attention back to what might become a potential crime scene.

Renée Holmes, the blue-haired and heavily tattooed forensics expert, stood a little distance away on top of a squashed mound as the men who hacked at the peat. It had revealed what they had a sort of expected; a headless torso with its left hand contorted in a way that looked painful. The other was pressed against its slightly flattened rib cage.

The corpse’s skin was a dark brown, not unlike the peat from which it had come, as with most bog bodies for which Europe is known. From her vantage point, Indira could tell that there was not a thread of cloth on the body. More hacks from the peat cutter revealed the lower part of the body. Save for the shoes on its feet, there was nothing on the lower half of the body, too. Testicles, shriveled up like stale pickles, found out that the cadaver belonged to a man. A muffled gagging noise from behind them confirmed that their distressed caller had thrown up yet again.

Indira could not help but pity the poor girl; seeing dead bodies did not get easy even when you are dealing with them daily and that was why she had made respect for morticians, coroners and the lot.

“Seems like a recently deceased,” Holmes said, walking up to Indira while ripping off her gloves just as the men carried the body out and put it on a stretcher. “And by that I mean it is not ancient, as most of these bog bodies are. This did not happen yesterday, of course, given how well preserved the corpse is. Cannot be sure until I cut open the bad boy, but I am pretty sure it is only a few years old. I don't think a guy from say the first century would land into a peat bog wearing a pair of Clarks’ shoes.

Freddie snorted. “That is not very reassuring, you know.”

“It is the best I can do right now, with nothing but my eyeballs to rely on.” Renée rolled her eyes. “Honestly, what do you think I am? But this time you should know that forensics is not exactly child's play, newbie.”

“Don't call me that.”

“Pfft. You are a newbie.” Renée stuck out her tongue. “At least compared to me.”

“Come on guys, not now,” Indira intervened. “We must focus on the task at hand instead of bickering. There will be lots of time for that after we are done with this.”

“Aye, aye captain.” The two said in unison. Indira and Andrew sighed like two exhausted parents of cheeky little rascals.

“Tell me more about what you think might have happened here.” Indira said after a moment’s pause. Her tone had changed in an instant from indulgent to all business-like. “Other than this man being deceased in recent times.”

“As you can see, the head is missing. The men poked around a bit but could find nothing. Maybe cutting deeper would help, but we are not getting into that,” Renée replied. “I would rather talk about some other things I noticed on the body that struck me as strange.”

Indira frowned. “What are they?”

“The incision around the neck. Seems like the chap was decapitated. Again, I cannot be sure if it is because of natural pressure or some ante-mortem injury until we run some tests.” Renée said. “Also, all major joints of the body were broken. Elbows, knees, ankles, you name it.”

“God, that is grisly.” Andrew muttered. “Who would do that?”

“So, is this a murder investigation now?” Freddie did nothing to hide the glee in his voice. “Really?”

“I don't know for sure, but we just might,” Renée smirked. “Death has come to your little town, Sheriff.” She winked at the three of them, quoting Loomis from the 1978 Halloween film. This lady loved her horror movies, alright.

Indira too smiled, as her teammates high fived each other. She could understand where they were coming from, and why people outside of Gwaywe might find it strange and downright offensive to see law enforcers getting so happy because a crime had occurred. But these people were young still, hoping police work is thrilling like what the tv shows portray. Even she who knew better could not help but stop the little flutters her heart was giving. This. This was her chance to prove herself and get that long due promotion which she knew she deserved. Maybe the higher ups would finally stop seeing her as that unpleasant brown girl and recognise her as a detective of merit.

Somebody had died in this bog, probably under unnatural circumstances, and Indira Mukherjee did not know whether to be horrified or to be excited.

***

After seeing that the recovered corpse was taken to the morgue of the local hospital, where Renée would conduct her tests on it, Indira paid Raisa Thorne a visit. The new owner of the Reed House had discovered the body, after all. She had come alone, feeling there to be no need for companions.

She was seated opposite Raisa on one couch in the latter's house. Gone was her stained jogging gear. Now, she was wearing a short-sleeved blue dress with polka dots. Her hair was messy, her eyes bloodshot. Raisa's fingers still trembled as she clenched and unclenched them on her lap.

“I understand you are the new owner of this house,” Indira said. “Can you tell me how you gained it, Ms. Thorne?”

“I inherited it. Alice Reed was my great grandmother.” Raisa replied, digging at a hangnail which looked very tender. Indira winced.

“I am sorry for your loss.” She said, “You must have moved here recently, am I right?”

“It's okay. We were not very close,” the younger woman muttered. “And no, I have not moved here permanently. This was…this was meant to be a break.” Raisa sighed before slumping against the couch.

“What do you do for a living, Ms. Thorne?”

“I am a professor of psychology at King's College in London.”

A shrink, huh? Indira had met with a few in the course of her career and truth be told, she had formed an image about them; composed, unshakeable and maybe cold. Probably a mental stereotype, yet that was the trend amongst these people, at least in her experience. But this was not the case here. Perhaps it was because this woman was a professor and not a full on practitioner who took patients. Nope, not patients. Clients. She wanted to know the difference, but decided now was not a good time.

“Can you tell me how you discovered the body?” Indira asked instead. “I think you might have told it already to one of my junior officers, but it would be great if you could repeat, Ms. Thorne.”

“Alright, I can tell,” Raisa gave her a small wistful smile. “And please call me Raisa. I prefer being called by my first name.”

“Okay then, Raisa. Tell me what happened.”

“I was on a walk. It was such a pleasant morning, and I wanted to get out of the house and get some fresh air. I was talking to a friend of mine on the phone when I tripped on a branch or something. At first I understood what happened, but then I noticed that hand.” A visible tremor traversed through her body.

“Did you see anything else before this? Any suspicious activity on the property?”

“No, I don't think so. But I have been here for only a week.” Raisa said. “Why do you ask? Do you think I am in danger?” She sat up straight, her eyes widening.

“No, do not be worried. There is no concrete proof that this person was murdered. Could have been an accident too,” Indira said. “Besides you, does anybody come or stay here?”

“There is a housekeeper. Miss Rose. She lives downtown, I think.”

“Please tell me her address. I need to write it down.”

“Okay.”

As she scribbled on her notepad, Indira looked at the younger woman. Raisa's lower lip was trembling. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. It made Indira’s heart clench. The poor thing is still scared, she thought. If it was any other time, she would have held the girl and let her cry on her shoulder. Her mom might have served Raisa Thorne a scrumptious meal, complete with pulao and her signature mutton curry. But Indira could not. It was not just because she was a horrible cook, but this situation could turn into a murder investigation, as Renée Holmes had hinted. That would make her seem like an unprofessional for coddling a potential suspect.

“Alright,” Indira said, standing up. “I will go now. If we get any updates, I will inform you. Try not to go out of town, as I do not know where this might go.”

Raisa stood up as well. “Do you think I am safe here, officer?” Her voice had turned so soft that it was almost inaudible.

“You are.” Indira put a hand on her shoulder. “There is no need to worry. And if you feel you are unsafe, you know you can call me. I will help you.”

“Thank you.”

“Just doing my job, ma'am.” Indira mock saluted.

Yet the smile that Raisa gave her made Indira realise that some connections, no matter how fleeting, are worth their weight in gold.

***

It had succeeded. The bait was a success and out in the world. Now all it had to do was wait and watch how the dominoes fell one after the other. It would have laughed if it still had its vocal chords. But it did not matter; its plans were finally coming to fruition. Soon it will have its prey in its grip.

This time it would not let that idiot girl win.

~•~