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brows, awaiting some sort of reply.

Kris finally told us the truth, meaning she was out of the running as a potential suspect. She genuinely had no idea where Gavin went after their argument. Who could have intervened between Gavin leaving home and the arrival of his body? Friends, as McCall suggested, but were already busy working on that. Gavin’s father remained imprisoned. Perhaps Gavin had a girlfriend or significant other, at least?

“Did they find out whether Gavin was in a relationship?” I wondered, licking my dry lips. DC Taylor negatively shook his head.

“Don’t think he did, Sir. No mention of anyone special, not according to his neighbours. Never seen by locals with one. I checked all those statements on your desk, but feel free to read over them for anything I missed.” DC Taylor looked uncertain, motioning towards my office.

“Will do.” I agreed before continuing to shut myself away, hermit style. I felt a bit guilty about the way I’d treated DC Taylor. After all, he was the only guy in our office who bothered communicating nicely with me. “Actually, could you do me a favour? DS McCall delved into Gavin’s friendship group yesterday. I need your help to find out who they are and alibis for the night Gavin was murdered.”

This was my own version of apologizing, by trying to prove last night’s nightmares wrong in teaming McCall and Taylor together. There were other factors too. McCall and Taylor had a natural flair for investigations. They worked well together.

“Yep. Thanks, Sir.” DC Taylor said politely, slightly oversized teeth out on full display. He strode away, beginning to tap his keyboard out of furious determination. Not that he needed to prove himself, but everyone felt a natural pressure to shine, especially now.

Holding down the on button for my computer, it flashed brightly, a ton of flagged emails awaiting me. Anyone would think we had been away for months. Thumbing through the paper door-to-door statements DC Taylor discussed previously, I decided they should be our first port of call. No minor detail left unturned.

Initially, I reread the neighbours' statements, getting some worthless background information on Gavin. Gavin lived there since he was a nipper, and they often saw him returning home late or gallivanting around town. Emma Wells, at number fifteen, spoke of Kris’s nature. ‘Often came around to talk about Gavin. Felt she’d failed him as a mother. Especially after he was taken to prison.’ Most mothers of felons felt similar.

Sammy Davis’s report stayed on top of my next pile, having completed his statement as required. A bit of compliance was always nice to see. ‘He was on his way to work, when he noticed Gavin lying on the sand. It was only when he neared Gavin that he realised the true nature of his situation.’ Nothing overly suspicious. Only a lucky find, or unlucky, it depended on how you viewed it.

Next, I rifled through the other statements of those living nearby. Similar information, just different people.

Annie Smith, early forties. Lived with her boyfriend and two children. Came home from work to eat and watch a film. Didn’t know Gavin.

Ian Lai. Runs a café in town with his daughter. No recollection of a boy named Gavin. Certainly wasn’t a customer.

Then, there was an elderly woman. Shirley Cann. Lived alone but has regular visits from a hospital nurse. Rattled on an awful lot about her cat, Mr Tiddles. Could barely get out of bed and believed our officers were saying ‘Marvin’ instead of Gavin. What a fat lot of use that statement was.

Jack Harper. Worked a night shift at the medical centre and did not return home until nine. After ransacking through reports on dog walkers, babysitters and couples alike, I concluded nothing was of much use. None of those people stated to have known Gavin beforehand, nor wanted to.

My head spun, trying to connect some dots to create a worthwhile lead. A thud echoed nearby, announcing McCall’s presence. Her cheeks seemed contoured today, almost too glamorous for work. Strands of berry hair split apart from her ponytail to frame her cheekbones delicately.

“You look like shit,” she quipped belligerently. Still not forgiven then. My tie felt unusually taut.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” I scribbled out a graphically rude picture an officer drew onto a statement. Boys would be boys. She invited herself in, floral-scented perfume overbearing. Within one hand, she clutched a blue compound folder of sorts.

“Did you even get any sleep last night?” McCall’s face dropped. Clearly, I looked as much a wreck as I felt.

“Of sorts,” I kept my reply vague, concealing all mention of those strange nightmares. Her and DC Taylor. Gavin and that never-ending car, hurtling towards me…

“Me neither, so suck it up. Take a look at these,” McCall snapped apathetically, thrusting the folder over, creating a loud wallop. A backlash of wind blew theatrically. I pulled the folded wad closer and opened it up to see developed photographs, printed on special glossy paper staring back.

“Photographs from the scene. Thought you’d want to have a proper go over them.”

“Could have given me a bit of warning,” I mumbled, grimacing. The pictures were exactly as we’d seen Gavin yesterday. Shuffling through the lot one by one, we were treated to various close-ups. Graphic wounds, tattoos, his face. Nothing left to our imaginations. “I’ll fine comb them.”

McCall squinted, observing her superior. “Alright. We’ll carry on searching through Gavin’s inner circle of friends.” McCall made her own, eager way out, passive-aggressively.

Gavin’s developed photographs squeaked underneath my thumb. Analysing them closely, I spent a moment to line them up in succession. A systematic approach made it easy to pick out clues such as blood patterns or fibres CID couldn't spot. I tried to do the job of forensics myself, too impatient to wait much longer.

Thinking of those buggers must’ve sent a message out into the universe, because my computer dinged from another email, flagged ‘urgent’. Hovering over their link, I clicked and a whole new page opened to reveal documents sent

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