First of all, I apologise because I've been making Tony call Smithy 'Sarge', when in fact, he should be calling him 'Sir' because he has been promoted to Inspector. I wasn't sure what he should be called, so I'll rectify this for future chapters. Thanks for this and all other reviews, please enjoy this next chapter x
Reflections – Chapter 3
As dawn fell on Sun Hill, people everywhere were waking up: in their beds; in their lover's arms; on a friend's couch; in their tents; on park benches and just about anywhere they could find. The crisp morning air bit at the faces of those on the streets, slapping their cheeks as they busied about their daily business. To everyone, this was what seemed to be a normal, average day in the city of London. Nothing significant, just your run-of-the-mill morning. It obviously had not occurred to anyone to check out the third garage from the left. On the Larkmead, just beside the youth club there. That morning, nobody felt the need to question the rats gathered around the garage, or the odd smell that was emitting from it, or indeed the pool of water gathered at the bottom. It never seemed to bother anyone walking past, not one person asked any questions that morning. Had they, and they might have gotten the answer that no one wanted to hear. But no one did, not until one young boy – aged about six – let his curiosity get the better of him. Walking past, he had noticed the rats, recoiled at the smell and stepped in the water. This intrigued him, and so on that fateful morning, young Kieran Hayes walked over to the door of that garage and pulled, so hard his little hands got sore, but he kept trying because he wasn't one to give up. He stretched and he tugged until eventually the door began to slide upwards, revealing such a stench that Kieran gagged upon smelling it. However, he persevered until finally the door was completely open, and that's when Kieran stopped. That day, the day that little Kieran Hayes died inside. The day he stopped believing, because what he saw that day, in that garage, was so inhumane it broke his little heart in two. No one there to comfort such a small child, as the silent tears slipped down his cheeks.
"Sir!" PC Mel Ryder ran into the canteen upon seeing Inspector Smith. He had just sat down to enjoy his refs – he didn't often get to take them – but instantly upon hearing her voice he knew he'd still never be able to enjoy them.
"PC Ryder?"
"Sir. A call's just came in from a woman on the Larkmead. She wouldn't give her name." Smithy's heart sank. He knew what was coming next. "Another woman has been found, and this one in particular is in a bad way." Smithy grimly nodded.
"Ok Mel. Let's go." As he stood up to leave, he turned to her and asked; "Who found the woman?" He looked as Mel's face fell further.
"A little boy Sir. Six years old, wandering on his own, found her in a garage. It was only when a passer-by spotted the open garage did they look in and see the boy there."
Smithy's heart sunk down further until he could feel a lead weight in his stomach. A six year old boy? Someone that age should never have to see anything so vulgar, but then nobody on this earth should, and it made Smithy shake with anger every time he thought of the lowlifes out there who created this madness. The madness they had to contain, and the mess they were left with. As he ran out to the patrol car – Mel hot on his heels – Smithy tried to mentally prepare himself for the task ahead. Despite being 10 years on the job, he still struggled to detach himself emotionally from the sights he saw. It made him a hypocrite of sorts, because he preached everyday to his team not to let their feelings get in the way, yet on more than one occasion Smithy himself had let emotions mess with his judgement. This case was one of those, the ones that break your heart piece by piece til there's nothing left, and if you couldn't forget it when you went home, it would drive you insane. Pushing his thoughts to some outer part of his brain, Smithy slid into the car and focused on getting himself and Mel to the scene as soon as possible. So reversing out into the drive, he sped off into the street, determined more than ever to uncover the missing piece of his puzzle.
Arriving upon the scene, it was sheer chaos, with ambulances and police cars all over. Passers-by were stopping to stare, whilst the journalists slinked around like insects, sucking onto the first piece of juicy gossip they could get to. It was not a chaos they were unfamiliar with, but it always hit you when you arrived on a scene just how bad it was going to be, simply by how many people were there. This one was particularly bad. Stepping forwards, Smithy was beckoned by the scene examiner, Eddie, who proceeded to show him the body. It was awful; she was badly beaten and bruised all over her body, clothes ripped off and discarded, forgotten. She was bound by the ankles and wrists with barbed wire, cutting deep into her pasty white flesh, having drawn blood but now dried up and crusted. Her hair was covering some of her face, but Smithy could still see bite marks upon her lips and a cut on her cheek. The smell surrounding her, clouding the garage, would make even the strongest of stomached people gag at first, and it combed Smithy's nostrils as he gazed in disgust at what remained of the young woman. He couldn't imagine her being anyone other than their dead body, but she was once somebody; with family, friends, a job maybe, and possibly a boyfriend – not a husband, no ring – who missed her. Or she could have been alone, leading a life undesired by most. Drug taking? Prostitution? She had been somebody, and now all she was was a mutilated body discarded in a garage like old junk. Eddie quietly surveyed the back of the garage, checking for anything that would give them a lead, but Smithy didn't hold out much hope. This guy had been meticulous so far, leaving nothing that he didn't want to, and Smithy had been clutching at fine straws for too long. He longed for that breakthrough, where the suspect messed up and gave them a little gift of evidence, but as Eddie turned to look at him, the grim expression he wore suggested today was not that day. As Smithy turned and left the garage, he made a silent promise to himself to find this guy in the next few days. Not a week, not a month, but the next few days. He would not let this go on, would not let this creep hurt more innocent women. He just had to find that evidence. As he watched the journalists swarm over the scene, he gave them the one-finger salute on passing.