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photo credit:

‘How’d you describe,’ began Cassidy tipping her police bowler to one side to scratch her bald scalp, ‘the victim?’ She let her eyes travel over the crossed sabres on the wall, down to the smouldering fireplace and back up to Vincent, his heavy lidded eyes studying her with mild boredom.

‘Acephalous,’ said Vincent.


‘Acephalous.’ Vincent leant against the mantelpiece and his pointy elbows threatened to penetrate the fabric of his suit. ‘Headless.’

‘I saw that. We’re still looking for the bloody head.’

‘Look at the essay he left on the table,’ said Vincent, ‘that should paint you a vivid image.’

Cassidy turned and picked up the three closely written pieces of paper. After a while she grunted.

‘In the rare cases where he expressed any sort of thinking,’ said Vincent, slipping a sabre from the wall with a sound like an inhalation, ‘it was never clear what part of his body he used to do it, but I very much doubt his head was involved.’

‘What?’ Cassidy shuffled the pages.

‘Finding his head is irrelevant,’ he stepped closer to Cassidy.

‘Not to find the bloody killer, it isn’t,’ she said.

‘I assure you it is,’ he raised the blade as she turned.

Leave a comment


  1. Great start. All the best!!

  2. Alright!!! 😀


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