Avin's was a love-hate relationship with winter. His very first winter had enchanted him with its otherworldly beauty. The white expanse was something he never could look away from. But ever since he joined the department, he had come to also hate his favorite winter. What was it about the cold that dialed up people's insanity? And why did he have to get so affected by the numbers and the people, and start to feel depressed as well?
He paused at the gate of his house to afford himself a minute to enjoy the whiteness. At six, the sun was still somewhere beneath the horizon, but it was light and the light was white as if it was born from the fog. Of course, more beautiful than the fog was the old family home standing tall and proud in the heart of the fog. In its fifty-seven years, the two storied house had truly embraced the seasons, winter especially. The sight always brought a smile to his face.
He took a good long look at his cellphone and started off. As wonderful as the cellphone was, it wasn't free of evil. Until a year ago, he had to be at home or at his desk in office to be reachable. As a policy, calls weren't made at home unless it was an absolute emergency. The cellphone, however, changed all that. Forty-five minutes ago, he had been woken from a nice, warm slumber to be called out to the scene. A woman dead. Possibly murder. Considering that he was an inspector in the serious crimes division, it should have been a normal call. But there was something ominous about it. Maybe the fact that it was the first time the cellphone woke him so early. Or possibly because it was the first such call. He couldn't shake off the feeling and that was what mattered most of all at least for now.
"Please god, let it not be so," he prayed.
As much as he enjoyed the motorcycle he had bought with the department's allowance, it was for summer only. He would have to be a madman to even consider taking it out in the winter. And this was when the cellphone proved to be a delight. He had only just started walking down the long street, feeling like he was wading through a maze where everything beyond ten meters or so was swallowed up by the fog, when the black brick started ringing, its scream sounding like a banshee screeching in hunger. It was his partner, Rove, who strangely enough couldn't drive even though he had earned a license, and was thus always asking their junior and constable, Hazar, to be their driver.
"We're here," Rove spat. The man was a warm-blooded creature with an intense dislike of the cold winters. "Come out already."
Avin couldn't be bothered to even try suppressing the smile breaking out on his face, and certainly didn't try keeping it out of his voice. He was picturing the scowl on Rove's face and the sight tickled him further. "Just keep driving on toward eleventh and you'll see me. Drive slow. Don't run me over."
"What're you doing walking? Do I have to remind you that you're human?"
"Not everyone's you. Some of us can actually enjoy the terrible white."
Hazar was laughing as Avin got in the back. Rove had to sit in the front, always. The three men with thick jackets over their uniforms greeted each other, and Hazar fell silent as the conversation turned serious.
"What do you know?" Avin asked.
"Not much yet," Rove answered. "But it's not good. Woman, id'd Aria Sales, thirty-nine, reporter at The Evening, was discovered near the crossing of Filling and Greer down south. Happened sometime last night. Ben warned that it was bad."
Avin swore. "Just how bad must it be for Ben to give out the warning."
"Bad," Rove said, sounding grim. It took something truly horrific to bring out the grimness from Ben. That was indisputable.
The silence that fell upon the car was heavy. Thankfully, it wasn't a very long drive. And it was the part of south that wasn't densely populated. And it was winter. There was almost no one outside of the police.
"Some good news," Avin commented drily, and no one responded.
Hazar stayed with the car, as the inspectors walked over to the scene. The deebs, as those from forensics were referred to in the serious crimes division, seemed almost done. Ben, the medical examiner, ME as they were more fondly referred to, preferred being at the scene and liked having an eye over the proceedings, greeted the inspectors who he had worked with many times and who he was rather fond of, at least more than the rest from the division though he would never openly admit that, especially since Rove was so obnoxious and Avin was such a tease. There were no smiles today, however. That was probably the worst sign there could be.
"How bad," Avin asked the bespectacled ME.
"Very," Ben answered, with a shake of his head. "It's not good, you two. Really not good. I'd recommend you prepare yourselves. I asked them to wait for you before moving the body. I think it might prove important to see it for yourselves."
It didn't take long for the inspectors to agree. "Photographs really wouldn't do justice," Avin said, as Rove nodded.
The woman was pretty, even in the state she was in. She was in a state of undress, her dress torn from the slashes of the blade. "Eleven slashes," Ben said. They were easy to spot. Blood had frozen around the cuts, like red crystals with a dash of white on the outside. Seven were on the torso, one each on the limbs. Her eyes were stabbed and dug out, looking like pools of red and black. A red line was drawn across her neck, the sharpness of the line making it seem like it was drawn with the blade. Her hair was spread around her head like a crown. And the blood had pooled under her, frozen through the night like a bed she was resting upon.
"This wasn't personal," Rove noted. "He didn't touch her."
"And that's the most troubling," Avin said.
Avin could hear his heart thumping like a beast trying to break down the cage locking it in. The chill dug into his blood. He felt light-headed, like he was swimming through a dense bog. And the ominous feeling returned with much greater strength. "I don't like this," he said.
Ben and Rove nodded mutely.