Chapter One

The view from outside of the room showed nothing. Not a thing out of place. No ruffled lounge seats, nothing spilled. Just plain ordinary. Ray Striker had expected more, much more. The caller to the emergency line specifically said,
"They are trying to kill me"
They meant more than one. More than one, meant some mess, some violence, something more.

He walked to the phone. Still cradled, and a lift of the handset from the cradle confirmed it was still connected. No markings on the wall. No signs of a struggle. A hint of lavender wafted across his progress. Why?

His eyes followed the staircase to the second floor. Perhaps the answers waited there. He started his ascent. The creaking of the stairs was a giveaway, if anyone was still there. Reaching into his coat to locate the familiarity of his pistol, he instinctively crouched when hearing a loud cracking sound. Not being sure from which room it had come, he progressed cautiously.

Upon reaching the first floor landing he viewed three doors. Bedrooms, he thought, as he weighed up his options. Call in for backup now or just continue with his search. He had already breached the standing rule not to attend a scene of possible violence without another officer. But rules were made to be broken. Sometimes it was necessary.

The sound of voices, though faint, again had him crouching and listening. There it was again. Perhaps a television? It appeared to be coming from the first door on his left. A soft approach or a more dramatic entry. He chose dramatic entry, chancing that the door remained unlocked. He rose and strode to the door and quickly turned the door handle. It was free and he was inside the room and hearing his voice boom.
"Police. No one move"
There was no rush to the windows or shots fired, simply because there was no one in the room. A total anti-climax.
"Bugger" he muttered to himself.
Quickly surveying the room, he located the source of the noise. A sixty-five centimeters television showing what appeared to be an old movie. There was also a king bed with a shape of some sort, on the left-hand side. He could not make it out at first. What was clear, is that it was covered with lavender plants. The perfume was pungent. He reached for his mobile and hit speed dial. An answer was quick to come.

"Boss, where are you?"
"Rankin, I am in Bel-Air, the address is on my report sheet on my desk. Need you to get here. Bring a couple of the forensic people."
"Why are you there by yourself? You know it is not the go."
"I understand that completely. While you are at it, stop and pick up some hot chips. Plenty of salt."
"Jesus, they are not good for you. You've got to take it a bit easy"
"Of course I will, I will sit on the bed until you get here. Now stop the questions and get on the road. This one is a bit bizarre."
"Okay, be there in about fifteen. Depends how long the chips will take."
"Ring ahead to Penzo's. It is on the way. Ask for the Ray Special. It will be in your hands as you walk in."
"Right. I am bringing Jenny, our new assistant. Any problem with that?"
"None at all, as long as she does not eat my chips."
He terminated the call.

Rankin had been right. He did have to take it a bit easy. A quadruple by-pass six months ago had saved his life but put his career in jeopardy. A thorough physical passed him fit, but he knew the top brass were looking for an excuse to retrench him. Bugger them he thought. He would show them how good he could be.

His attention returned to the immediate scene. Other than the left side of the bed there was no evidence of disturbance of any drawers or cupboards. A window nearest the bed remained open. Perhaps that is where the sound of the crack had come from. Too early to tell.

The walk- in pantry might provide a more lucrative search zone. Sliding the central wardrobe door proved to be more interesting. A large black handbag sat atop a chest of drawers. Bugger, with no one else there he was reluctant to open the handbag and search the content. He already knew, that he being alone, may prompt some curly questions from a defense lawyer. For now, he resisted the temptation to open the bag. Rankin could do the search. It was important to follow protocol at this point. Of course, it was also important for the chips to be consumed whilst they were hot.

He returned to the bed and bent forward to the top end of the lavender "garden". The face was human. A female, probably around fifty years of age. That estimate could change after all the dirt and flowers were removed from her face. The shape of her shoulders also suggested she was rather slim. Again, the removal of the dirt would confirm. The mouth had been utilized as a planter box. How sick was this?

A lot of trouble had gone into the preparation of the body. Was this a ritual? Never had he seen anything like it. Twenty years as a police officer, fifteen as a detective. His promotion to Detective Inspector two years ago, had been a sort of reward in his mind, for hard work. Now he stood on somewhat shifting sands.

His thoughts were broken by a familiar voice.

"Boss, are you up there? The sound of many feet followed. The team had arrived.
"Yep. First door on your left."
He heard a scuttle up the stairs and Rankin was first through the door followed by two others, carrying forensic bags. Rankin stood still.
"Shit. This looks weird." He wandered to the end of the bed.
"Some sort of ritual. Maybe sending a message?"

"Lots of questions Rankin. I also have one concerning my immediate pleasure. Where are my hot chips?"
"Right here, Detective Inspector" the voice came from behind him. He turned and guessed,
"And you would be Jenny I presume?"
The hot chips were close, so close that he wanted to grab them instantly. But for the moment he played it calm.
"You would presume correctly, Detective Inspector. I hope I can be of assistance."
Ray smiled. "If you would kindly release those chips into my custody Constable, you would have achieved a great deal already.
They both smiled at each other. The passing over ceremony proceeded.

Striker instructed,
"Rankin, take Jenny over to the walk-in wardrobe. You will see a black handbag. Please carry out a search of the contents. Report back to me as soon as you can. Remember to wear gloves."
Rankin hesitated." Where will you be Boss?"
"While the forensic team do their job, I will keep well away. Downstairs at the kitchen bench. We will make it our temporary investigation headquarters."

The descent to the kitchen allowed him to mull over a few of his observations. The main door to the house was open upon his arrival, and the ground floor did not exhibit any evidence of violence. Perhaps a very thorough clean up could have occurred, but the frantic call suggested there was much more going on. In fact, that is why he took on the call out alone. No time to waste waiting for his partner to return from a training session. The fifteen minute response time from the call to his arrival would not allow such a clean-up. Possibly the call was staged. But why?

The salted hot chips provided the perfect comfort food, allowing his body to relax. Penzo's had also provided a bread roll with butter to allow for the ultimate hot chip roll. Yummy. Rankin's voice delivered a blow to Striker's comfort.

"Boss, could you come up here. There are a few things you should look at before we go further"
Striker quickly swallowed the last piece of the hot chip roll and reluctantly replied,
"Be there pronto" as he wiped his hands with the supplied serviette. Time to do a bit of brainstorming.

He found Rankin and Penny still in the walk-in wardrobe.
"What you got?"
Rankin replied.
"An expired drivers' license under the name of Melody Lavender Singer. Forty-five years of age. Strange middle name given the circumstances. Also, a bunch of keys, that seem to have no relation to anything we have viewed to date. We will check downstairs before we go."

Striker turned to Penny,
"Before we go any further, can I have your surname, Penny."
"Of course, Sir, it is Charmers. How should I address you Sir"
"So, Constable Penny Charmers, you can call me Sir or Boss. Rankin has attached to Boss so perhaps it is best we keep it to that."
"Yes Sir, oh, I mean Boss. Can I say that it is something we have not found, that poses a question."
Striker looked at her with a blank face. She went on.
"Well, there is no mobile phone. Not in the handbag or anywhere in the bedroom. We will search the other rooms."
"You do that. Have you noticed any CCTV up here or downstairs. It would be handy if there were."
"No sir. It seems this lady was a very trusting and open person. Very little awareness of security at all. Perhaps her trusting nature was her Achilles heel?"
Striker paused awhile before replying.
"Perhaps so, but I am getting the feeling that the perpetrator was not going to stop, whatever the security. A revenge killing, with a message for others. It's a possibility."

At that moment Rankin broke into the conversation,
"We also found a business card that may assist in the investigation. One from "Pretty Flowers and More". They have a shop not far from here and also at Galston. About fifty minutes away."

"Well, they are certainly worth visiting, as are the neighbors around here" Striker requested.
"Can you also find out as to what time the television was turned on and what programs were playing during the time?"
With that Striker walked over to the television which was still playing and peered into the screen. He muttered to himself,
"Pity it cannot show us what happened. Guess we have to do it the old fashion way."

His face was not lost though in the darkness of the screen. It was in full view to someone who had been watching him since his entry into the bedroom. A hand went to the face and ran down the raised skin which started from under the left eye to the mid cheek. A permanent reminder of bad times. A loss of looks. a look that used to turn heads.
"So, Mister Striker, you have come some way since we met last. I certainly have not forgotten you. This scar reminds me every day of the pain you caused me. But you probably do not remember. You will. Oh yes, you will."

Striker left the bedroom and descended the stairs. The first call would be the immediate neighbors and then perhaps the florist. He would need to have the full forensic report by the morning and then the task force that would be assigned to the case, could start formulating some propositions. His first impression of Constable Penny Charmers had been a good one. She appeared confident and respectful. He enjoyed both of those traits. Rankin was pretty easy going, so he did not envisage any conflict between the two. There would be another two constables from the beat to be appointed to the task force. Any thought of more was wishful thinking.

Why was it? The politicians called for action but gave the police inadequate resources. Sometimes it appeared that those making the laws, cared little about them actually being enforced. There had to be a better way. For now, he directed his frame through the door and turned towards the neighbor's home. More foot slogging ahead. The old way but still the best way.


2181words

Characters
Detective Inspector Ray Striker Protagonist.
Detective Rankin Striker's sidekick
Constable Penny Charmers Assistant to Striker/Rankin.
Voice in the Television Antagonist. (yet to be identified)