The late afternoon sun, filtered through the dusty blinds, cast long, distorted shadows across Detective Inspector Davies's office. It wasn't quite dusk, but the light had that end-of-day, almost melancholic quality. It illuminated the side table first. The light glinted off the too polished surfaces of the trophies, making them seem almost oily in the fading light. They weren't just trophies; they were markers of cases solved, criminals brought to justice. Each one represented hours of painstaking work, meticulous attention to detail, a relentless pursuit of the truth. But today, they seemed to mock him, their reflections twisting in the dim light, making them seem less like achievements and more like burdens. The brass gleam of the "Officer of the Year" award seemed to leer at him. Thomas's case was a blank space amongst these achievements, a dark void in his otherwise impressive record. The light shifted slightly, touching the wall next. The framed awards on the wall seemed to watch him, their glass surfaces reflecting the fading light like unseeing eyes, judging him. Medals for bravery, commendations for service – they all seemed to pale in significance compared to the brutal, senseless death he was trying to understand. He had faced down hardened criminals, navigated complex conspiracies, but this… this was different. This felt… wrong. Devoid of the usual clues, the familiar patterns. It was a puzzle with crucial pieces missing, and Davies, a man of logic and procedure, hated loose ends. The shadows lengthened, stretching across the room like grasping fingers. Finally, the light settled on the desk. The framed family photo on his desk seemed to glow warmly in the fading light. His wife's smiling face, his kids' playful grins – they were his anchor, his reason for doing what he did. He picked up the photo, his thumb tracing the curve of his daughter's cheek. He remembered the last time he'd seen her, her laughter echoing in the hallway as she ran to catch the school bus… a memory that felt impossibly distant now, almost dreamlike. He glanced at his watch. Almost six. He needed to get home. His wife had reminded him this morning – it was their anniversary, their Valentine's Day anniversary. They'd met on this day, years ago, during a Valentine's Day duty at the force. He'd been swamped, a rookie then, and she, Tina, had brought him a makeshift dinner: a greasy burger and a styrofoam container of spaghetti, just like the ones they'd grabbed from the late-night diner on their first date. It was a simple gesture, but it had meant the world to him. Now, years later, she'd planned the same meal, a yearly ritual, a reminder of their shared history, their love blooming amidst the chaos of the job. He knew she'd set the table, the same dishes, the same familiar comfort. And of course, the news would be on, a change from the inside force updates Tina couldn't relate to as much anymore, a shared glance at the city's pulse, a way to connect with the world outside his case files. The TV news, always the quickest to get updated. He grimaced. He'd rather stay here, wrestling with the Thomas case, but he knew better than to disappoint his wife. Especially not on their anniversary. He looked back at the case file, the stark black and white photos a stark contrast to the warmth of the family photo. He sighed. He had to go home. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something, something crucial. The image of Thomas's body, twisted and broken, flashed through his mind, a jarring intrusion on the peaceful image of his family. He set the photo down, a sense of unease settling over him. He knew he wouldn't be able to relax at home. The case had its hooks in him, and he wouldn't find peace until he'd unraveled the mystery, no matter how dark it might be.
•The Evidence Bureau
Before leaving, Davies headed down to the evidence bureau. The air in the bureau was cool and stale, heavy with the scent of chemicals and old paper, a smell that always made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. It was a smell of secrets, of things hidden and waiting to be uncovered. He requested all available evidence related to the Thomas case – photos, witness statements, any recovered items. He leaned across the counter, the fluorescent lights of the bureau reflecting harshly off his tired face. "And make sure," he said to the officer behind the counter, his voice low, "that everything is tested. I want to know if there's anything unusual on the body, in the alley… anything at all." He emphasized the need for thoroughness, mentioning the unusual nature of the attack. "Specifically," he continued, his gaze intense, "I want to know if there were any signs of animal activity beyond what's immediately apparent. The wounds… they're… inconsistent. Check if they're consistent with any known animal attack. And," he paused, a flicker of unease in his eyes, "test the recovered items. I want to know if there are any traces of… anything else. Anything that doesn't belong." The officer, a young man with a perpetually harried look, nodded, his pen scratching across a form. Davies could see a flicker of something unreadable – curiosity? Disgust? – in the officer's eyes as he glanced at the case file. Davies knew what they were thinking. Another animal attack, gone wrong. But Davies wasn't convinced. There was something about this case… something off. The brutality, the lack of motive, the fear in the residents' eyes… it all pointed to something more, something darker. He straightened up, a sense of urgency gnawing at him. "And one more thing," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "check for any trace of… residue. Around the victim, at the scene… anything that might suggest… an unusual dispersal of particles. You understand?" The officer looked up, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "Residue, sir?" Davies hesitated, unsure how to explain what he was looking for without sounding insane. "Just… anything that seems… out of place. Any fine dust, unusual fibers, anything that might suggest… a sudden, forceful event. An unexpected spread." The officer nodded again, his gaze lingering on Davies for a moment longer than necessary. "And," Davies added, "if you find anything, run it through every database you have. Pollen, mineral, even industrial byproducts. I want to know where it came from, and how it got there." Davies turned and walked away, the scent of chemicals and old paper clinging to him like a shroud. He could feel the weight of the case pressing down on him, a heavy burden that he knew he wouldn't be able to shake off until he'd found the truth, no matter how disturbing it might be.