Out of the darkness of the night a strong and bitterly cold breeze finds its way inside Max's jacket. He wraps his arms tightly around himself to keep warm. Should have brought a scarf. Alan seems oblivious to his colleague’s discomfort as they stand in the middle of an alley which smells less than fantastic and seems to funnel the dark breeze into the bone chilling monster it has become.
Blocking the entry to the alley hangs a thin white and blue plastic strip acting as a 'keep out' to anyone without a Police badge. Two police officers stand guard at the strip to keep gawkers under control. The detectives stand halfway down the alley next to a collection of wheelie bins and dumpsters. At the far end a crime scene photographer does her work. She steps lightly around the body of a late-twenties aged woman lying underneath a white sheet, still and cold. Towering over her are a pair of foul smelling dumpsters overflowing with waste.
The body was found by a young cook from a Vietnamese restaurant which backs onto the alley. He’s currently speaking with officers, through broken English, as he leans against a wall at the point the alley meets a cross road. At his feet is a collection of cigarette butts as he smokes a continuous chain of them trying to forget what he found when disposing of a bag of garbage. A friend stands with him, a comforting hand on his shoulder.
The photographer finishes her work and gives a courtesy 'thank you' nod to Max and Alan as she heads off. The two detectives step respectfully up to the lady hidden under the white sheet.
Max lifts the sheet to reveal her face. Chemical burns surround her mouth match the ones on the old man they recently saw with Dr Will. He lays the sheet back over her face as Alan uncovers her hands from the sides. Both palms have the horrible burns leaving her with scarred, melted skin and no finger prints. Something else catches his eye. At her wrist begins a white sleeve with pink love hearts. He lifts the side of the sheet a little further to view the rest of her arm and some of her torso. She’s wearing flannelette pyjamas.
Alan says quietly, “She’s in her night clothes. She was dumped.”
While Alan is talking, Max gently lifts one of the woman's tiny hands and shines his torch on it to get a clear view of the burns. Alan stands over him, watching. The younger detective hesitantly lifts the sheet further and begins to lift her shirt up to reveal the lower half of her stomach. In the torch light both can see blood staining the pink love hearts of her flannelette top. Lifting an edge of the blood stained top reveals the beginning of a knife wound on her skin and the detectives look to each other as Max lifts the pyjama top the rest of the way. ‘DETECTIVE MAX MYER’ is carved into her flesh.
Max drops the sheet and stands before pacing around the dark alley, rubbing his hands together for the nerves and muttering to himself. The spasm up his back and the sick feeling in his stomach that he had at the morgue return. He places one hand against a wall and bends over ready to throw up. “What the hell man!” He finally says out loud.