“They haven’t found the body yet, Ron,” Jim Morrisey told his partner, Ron Hayden. “Until they do, we have no jurisdiction. It’s only a suspected homicide.”
“I know,” said Hayden. “But they found her clothing laid out on that bench over there. Unless she went skinny dipping, the likelihood is that foul play is involved.”
“We’re homicide detectives, Ron,” Morrissey said. “All we have at this point is a missing persons case. They’ve taken her clothing to the lab and they’re going to start dragging the pond within an hour. We can check again for any evidence that the uniforms might have missed, but that’s just busywork, I’m afraid.”
“Dammit, Jim, we can’t just do nothing,” Hayden argued. “We’re detectives, for crissake, so let’s detect.”
“There’s no point in chasing our tails if the alleged vic was so high on something that she stripped and ran naked into the woods.”
“C’mon, Jim,” Hayden said, “what does your gut tell you?”
“They’ll find her body soon,” Morrisey admitted.
Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers from Priceless Joy. Photo credit: wildverbs.