the bit after the intro

At the end of the intro my editor told me that we should, and by that he meant I should: describe my detective instead of going on a wild mad and fun to write chase scene. I tyred to convince him that to describe the detective would ruin the immerse feeling the reader had. I mean 'I wouldn't be able to imagine myself as ugly and you wouldn't be able to imagine yourself as handsome.' I reasoned with the misshapen nosed bastard. He seamed to take this the wrong way and after a heated argument about his hideous visage and the fact that his wife isn't that bad to look at, he threw me out via the educationally crippled security men.

Whilst dusting myself off and descrity giving the finger to said security mans back, i hit upon a brainwave.
'What if i don't describe my detective but rather do something better?'
With this in mind i set about on my task.
But unfortunately making a page in my book out of glass was 'unrealistic' and 'stupid'. Which just goes to show how damn narrow minded my editors wife can be. Makes me wounder why I bother going round to see her at all. But then again, she does have a terrific rack.
So we are back where we started. In the dingy bathroom with a corpse. A place I know we've been many times before and will be again.

the intro....

The body was nessled in the bathtub. Just like the last three. The pale flesh burnt by the harsh packed ice. So many cubes... The faceless head looks at me. It has no eyes. Not anymore, but i feel its phantom eyes. Staring out from beyond death. Mocking me, just as the killer mocked life when he took this mans face.

I shrug and look to the small shrine left beside the toliet. The candles have been extingushied but the photo frame and passport are still there. My eyes pull me back to the corpse. He even removed the fingerprints....How do i even know this is 'Seamus Murphy'?. Because the bastard left a passport? But of course its Mr. Murphy. Same as the last time... missing person found the next day....

The police photographer baths the body in bright light. The pale body somehow becoming smaller in the flash. Less real for an instant. Then the colours become real again. The dryed blood on the green tiles fades from brillent scarlet to dark brownish red. The skin becoming less plaster white and more jawndice yellow.

Dr Pauls' Memoirs

the following are extracts from the self styled memoirs by Dr. Paul Kelliher PHD... the following is dated 4th August 2009, this date was of course hidden in a complex mathematical code involving the poss ion of guitar strings.




4th August 2009

Mr J,
Today brend bought a sledge hammer and a microwave...
I can see his 'experiments' into the versatility to these nuclear machines knowes no bounds. When his fabled, 'lets see what tinfoil does inside it' one was such a huge success (to his twisted view anyway. I still haven't been able to remove the shrapnel from the wall) two years ago he has constantly tyred to outdo that one magnificent time with a variety of apparatus and liquids... But never before has
he tyred to microwave a 15kg sledge hammer...

I can hear him now cursing and panting trying to force a tool for driving rail road spikes into a box no bigger than an energon cube. I tyred to explain to him that no amount of 'heaving it in there boy' will be sufficient. But he just looks at me with those big dull puppy dog eyes and trys again. This is exasperating...

In other news i received a letter from the Academy of advanced learning. Those bastards have once again refused me my proposal to replace Dr. Death as head of the Laser research department. Don't they understand that the reason we keep finding British agents in the lab after dark with the doctors daughter is because all the file are tagged 'Death Laser'.

Well J, i must be off. I hear brend screaming, he must have hit himself with the sledge hammer....again....