Human Remains

Trigger. I wasn’t in the mood for him today, Trigger and his ever-changing moods, cheerful one minute and grumpy the next. But the office was deserted. As usual, the milk carton I’d bought on Friday and used once only was empty in the fridge. I needed a cup of tea, and the theft of the milk, such a petty thing, made me want to cry. It was the early turn, probably, who started work long before the shops opened, and needed a drink to keep them going through the dark hours before dawn. But that was no excuse for being too lazy or thoughtless to bring in their own milk. The fridge in the kitchen that served the management corridor actually had a padlock, and that was the reason.
    I made a cup of green tea instead and logged into the system. I opened my email. Twenty-four new messages since I’d logged off last night. Where did they all come from?
    I scrolled down, looking for ones that were interesting, and my eyes were drawn to one name: Sam Everett. I ignored it, working my way through all the intelligence reports and requests to log out of systems I didn’t use anyway because they were going to reboot the servers. There was an email from the Force’s Recreation Association asking me to join the monthly lottery, an email about a sergeant from Tactical Operations who was planning to run a marathon in Tibet and wanted sponsorship, and a request for additional copies of the bi-monthly Violence Profile from two people who had just joined the Strategic Planning Department.
    That was it. I couldn’t put it off any longer. Sam Everett – newsdesk,
Briarstone Chronicle
. The title of the email: ‘Recent deaths’.
    Dear Annabel,
I hope you don’t mind me contacting you directly. I had a meeting with DI Andrew Frost recently and he told me that you might be able to provide me with some additional data with regards to the recent increase in – still not sure what to call them – undiscovered bodies? Decomposed deceased? You know what I mean, though, don’t you? I realise I am supposed to be putting enquiries through the Force’s Media Services department but so far I’ve met with a big blank every time I’ve called or emailed. Please get in touch and maybe we can meet to discuss.
With kind regards,
Sam Everett
Senior Reporter, Newsdesk
Briarstone Chronicle
     
    Below that was a landline number and a mobile phone number. I closed the email and went back to the others, working my way through them methodically, before putting even that aside and starting work on the next sex offender profile.

Colin
     
     
    In the kitchen at work someone has left a copy of today’s
Briarstone Chronicle
on the table. It’s covered in crumbs, has a smear of butter on the front page, and in normal circumstances I would lift it between finger and thumb and deposit it in the waste paper bin before wiping the surface down with disinfectant and washing my hands.
    But today the side bar on the front page catches my eye. I stand over the table, reading. It’s about their pathetic ‘Love Thy Neighbour’ campaign which they launched on Friday – and it seems to be an exhortation for everyone to knock on their next-door neighbour’s door and check they are still breathing.
    If I weren’t within earshot of the two people sitting at desks just outside the kitchen door, I would probably have laughed out loud. What good do they think it’s going to do? At the very best, all it will achieve is to find the ones who have still not been found. I don’t know how many that is. I don’t always see the paper, and many of them wouldn’t even make the news.
    And suddenly I have a bright idea. A wonderful, glistening, delicious and dangerous idea. I could ring them up, the people at the newspaper, and tell them where to look. Save them the trouble of their campaign. After all, the good people of Briarstone have better things to do with their days than to bother with checking up on their neighbours. Surely it would be a kind thing for me to do, to let them know (without troubling the police, who, let’s face it, are already under tremendous pressure to solve burglaries and assaults and all manner of other horrible crimes) where the others could be found?
    I find myself shuddering with excitement and, to my surprise, sporting a sudden and huge erection.
    I sit down at the kitchen table, something I never usually do since you don’t know which of the scutters has sat there before you, in order to disguise the disarrangement of my trousers. Could