Thunder roared ominously in the distance as he exited from the police vehicle he was riding in, a notepad in one hand and a cold cup of coffee in the other. Behind him, the newly-minted police chief -- a balding man named Daniel Wills -- slammed his door shut for him. A line of black and yellow tape sealed off the entrance to the movie theatre where the premiere for Rosemary was supposed to be held. 

Inside, a new case awaited. A case he didn't want.

In his youth he would've leapt at an opportunity like this. When he was younger, when his bones didn't groan when he'd been sitting down for too long and when he still had a full head of hair, he would be practically bouncing with excitement. He still remembered his first assignment and how much time and devotion he poured into the case, even though it was nothing major. 

Now, all Joshua wanted to was to go home and sleep.

"Goddamn," he muttered, looking at the hordes of people gathered around the building. "I need a drink."

Daniel Wills glanced down at the coffee cup that Joshua clutched in his hand. "You need some more cappuccino, boss?"

Joshua chuckled gruffly, "I'd prefer something stronger than that, Wills."

"Ah." Realisation dawned on Daniel's face as his expression morphed into one of mild discomfort. Joshua knew why the man was so put-off by his comment. Police gossiped harder than teen girls in high school. Everyone knew he liked his drink. They probably think I'm one case away from having a breakdown, he thought in amusement. He didn't really mind what the others thought of him. No matter what he would do, their thoughts would stay the same. There was no use trying to convince them otherwise.

He downed the rest of the cappuccino in one go, then tossed the cup into a nearby recycling bin. 

"What have we got, Wills?" He muttered, making his way towards the entrance. 

"Uh, well, it's a murder. Farrah reported that it's a strangling."

"Farrah's already at the scene?" Farrah Quincy-Jones was the head forensic examiner of the police department, and had a reputation for being 'fashionably late' to crime scenes. "That's unusual of her."

"I mean, it is Kevin Sanders' death we're dealing with here. Everyone's talking about it, and everyone wants answers. Even Farrah." Daniel replied, as the two men strode past the black and yellow tape and into the opulent entry hall. Cries of desperate reporters and journalists assaulted Joshua's ears from both sides, and he wished he could've snuck a vial of vodka with him. Alcohol always soothed his nerves. 

They walked through the marble halls, turning a corner and walking past the other professionals investigating Sanders' death, before heading into the dressing room where the murder occurred.

There, Kevin Sanders' body lay. His face was blue, his eyes open unusually wide, blank and unseeing. Streaks of vermillion blood stained the crisp black and white suit that he had donned for the premiere. 

Shame, Joshua couldn't help but think. That was a nice suit.

A woman strode towards him, donning white scrubs, a white mask, and white latex gloves. Her usually frizzy brown hair was hidden underneath a hair net. Her soft caramel skin glimmered in the light. "Took you a while, Josh," she remarked coolly, placing her hands into her pockets. "You've missed all the fun."

He scowled at her words, but he wasn't truly angry. Farrah had a way of getting along with everyone that Joshua knew. She was bubbly, bright, and beaming, but was also unafraid to let slip a few sarcastic comments every now and then. Her upbeat personality made her approachable, and even Joshua, who had initially hated her cheeriness, couldn't stay mad at her for long.

Farrah knew it too, because she simply grinned and handed him a clipboard that she was carrying. "We've got a juicy one, boss."

"Yeah, like I couldn't already tell," he muttered as he skimmed through Farrah's notes. They were of the initial survey and walkthrough that had been done at the crime scene. "By the way, do you know where we can get any coffee down here?"

Farrah shrugged, letting out a sigh. "Sorry, but I'm pretty sure they've quarantined the food section. I was hoping to snag some of the leftover champagne, but oh well, I guess."

"That's a shame. It's not like the killer decided to poison the croissants." He finished reading and gave the clipboard back to Farrah. "So a strangling gone wrong, then."

"Yep." Farrah pointed at the bloodstains all over Kevin's body. "See that blood?"

"Yeah, it's sort of a hard thing to miss."

"That blood's not his."

Joshua raised an eyebrow. "And you've already had time to conduct a DNA test?"

Farrah rolled her eyes. "No, but from initial inspection he barely has any open wounds at all, just a few scratches. Seems like there was a struggle and he managed to injure his attacker before dying. Forensic's going to get a few samples when you're done here."

"Mmm-hmm," he crouched down and eyed Sanders' body. "The notes stated that the attacker is assumed to be a female."

"Yeah, we found a pair of heels." Joshua stood as Farrah motioned her assistant over, who passed her an evidence bag, which she then gave to Joshua. "Feel free to deduct away, detective."

He ignored Farrah's comment, looking at the shoes through the crinkled plastic. They were elegant -- obviously a luxury brand -- and a pale creamy white in colour. He couldn't be sure, but he guessed that it was probably somewhere between a 7 and a 7.5 in size. 

"How can you be sure the shoes belonged to the killer?" He asked, passing the evidence bag back to Farrah.

"It's a hypothesis, Josh, you ever heard of those?" Farrah gave the bag back to her assistant, and crossed her arms. "This is Mark Ulwich's dressing room. Why would there be a pair of heels here?"

Joshua shrugged. "Girlfriend?"

Farrah rolled her eyes. "Ulwich is married, Josh."

"Hookup?" Joshua suggested innocently, getting another eye-roll from Farrah. "I mean, infidelity runs wild in the entertainment industry, Farrah."

"Listen, a lot of things don't really add up here." Farrah ignored his comment, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "Why was Sanders in Ulwich's dressing room? How did the killer even get in? How did --"

"Hey now," Joshua protested, teasingly, "This is my job, remember?"

Farrah rolled her eyes. "You only say that 'cause you think I'm doing a better job than you."

"What, by listing questions out? Anyone can do that, Farrah Quincy-Jones." He took the clipboard, quickly reading through the notes once more. "Mind if I keep that?"

Farrah snatched it back, but there was a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Make your own, you lazy ass." Joshua let out a laugh, and Farrah's smile grew into a grin as she placed the clipboard down on a table. "Don't worry, I'll scan the notes and send them to you after doing the paperwork. Okay?"

"Thanks, Farrah," he said, nudging Daniel Wills' on the arm, signalling that it was time to leave. "Send me what Forensic finds too, okay?"

"No worries!" Farrah gave him a thumbs up, then turned away towards the rest of the forensic team. 

Joshua turned back to Daniel, but not before he let his eyes linger on Farrah's voluptuous body. In his younger days, he would've tried his luck with a woman like Farrah. Not now, though. He was older and weary and tired -- and also married. Married to Jenny. At the mere thought of her, he suppressed a roll of his eyes. Jenny. Jenny Jenny Jenny. His head ached at the prospect of returning home and to her relentless nagging.

He shook away his thoughts and exited the room without so much as a glance at Daniel. Joshua knew the man would follow him anyways. His hypothesis was proved correct when Daniel caught up to him, his shoes pitter-pattering on the marble floor. 

"So boss," said Daniel, as the two men exited the room and back into the extravagant hallway, dodging the clamorous reporters. "Back to the station, eh?"

"Yep," Joshua shivered as he opened the door to the police car, clamouring into his seat and away from the raindrops that fell from the sky. He exhaled softly. "Back to the station, and back to work."

His tone was casual, conversational, but his stomach stirred restlessly, and the skin at the tip of his fingers trembled. There was something amiss in the air, something that didn't sit right with him. 

And deep down inside, something told him that Joshua wouldn't want to find out why.