Chapter One

12:01 am. New Year's day.

The sudden bang of fireworks impaled the silence of the night and the sky became alive with energetic chemical reactions producing garish colors and sounds. Over the explosion of the fireworks and the terrible roar of the wind charging against her, she could hear her phone ringing; demanding to be taken.

She slowed down her Triumph Bonneville and halted it by the shoulder of the road. She ripped the helmet off by one hand with a flair of ease and then pulled out her phone. Not even bothering to check the caller ID, she answered the call right away. "Loxley speaking."

"It's Blaine," greeted the habituated voice of her fervent co-partner. "Where you at, Jay?"

"On my way home from the New Year's mayhem," Loxley scorned in distaste at the chemical explosion in the distance.

"Wait, you're telling me you actually took my word on board and let yourself have some fun?" Loxley could sense his waggish smirk that winded her up half the time right through the phone line.

"Don't jump for joy, Ebony," she said, settling back on the motorbike with an exaggerated casualness. "I'm reminded why I hardly take your advice. Never again."

"Hey!" He chuckled a low amused reverberation as he added, "Don't blame me if you don't know how to have fun, Miss all-work-and-no-play. Speaking of work, there's a dead body reported to be found in a motel at Wymond."

"Send me the location," she said, going into impetuous work mode; perching the helmet back on her head. "And meet me at the site, Blaine. But, first, I need to get out of this ridiculous dress." Loxley cut the call barely hearing his affirmation and an astounded 'you wore a dress?'.

She revved her motorbike at idling, before accelerating it and sped down the lone road; the high-revving whine trailed behind.

Loxley arrived at the crime scene in less than twenty-five minutes. The red and blue psychedelic flashing of the police-vehicle lights had claimed the area. She noted that the local police had already cordoned the site.

The engine died as she withdrew the keys. Loxley hung the helmet on the handlebar and hopped off the motorbike. She leaned against the leather saddle as she scanned the surroundings.

The motel was located on the outskirts of the town Wymond, on a piece of land along the bypass road to the heart of the nearest city. It was surrounded by a peculiar quiet atmosphere; too quiet that it possessed an uncanny and colorless effect.

Loxley's eyes moved up to the sign at the top of the building that read 'Motel 7 Crows' in neon red lights. The motel seemed vintage and run down; by the look of it designed and built in the eighties and appeared to be in neglect of care for a decade.

"This place just screams crime and danger." Approached the bearer of the phonecall voice, distracting her attention. "If you don't get murdered in your sleep, it's plausible you'll be crushed by falling ceiling or eaten alive by vermin. This motel is a freaking fossil." Ebony remarked, his native black accent shining through for a moment.

His tall figure was accoutred in his wonted double-breasted black suit, white shirt and smart shoes, with the addition of pine green winter coat for the weather. Being the penny-wise kind of man he is, Loxley was beyond dispute that whole of the attire was scoured from thrift shops and hand-me-downs. Loxley didn't even try to hide the enigmatic smile that took shape on her face at the sight of the flamboyant tie around his neck. Without doubt, it was chosen and straightened by his grandmother before he left the house.

"Except, the sign. Not a day old." Loxley pointed out.

"You never cease to amuse me." A candid smile took over his face.

"What's the situation, Blaine?" She asked, jamming her hands into her coat pockets; her posture converted to upright and solemn.

"Well, at this point, it's a clear homicide. The local police have secured the scene and the legal medical experts are on the way to conduct appropriate tests," Ebony informed. His face lifted from good-humoured to determination and purpose. "By the way, the officer is a good friend. We can take over the case on the basis of clear information every step of the way."

"We are not that desperate, Blaine," she said to which Ebony chuckled, creating puffs of cold mist. He wrapped his winter coat closer to his neck and inclined his head towards the motel as a silent 'follow me'.

Ebony strode towards a figure standing by the entrance of the motel. "Officer Walker, meet Detective Jamie Loxley," he introduced.

Illuminated by the glow of the neon sign she could make out the features of a middle-aged woman. At a guess, the officer must be pushing forty-three, gathered by the beginning of grey in her dark hair and the few wrinkles on her face. She had the face of a mother, one who understood suffering and showcased maternalistic qualities. The officer shook Loxley's hands; her handshake authoritative and experienced.

Loxley nodded her head as a courtesy, and enquired, "Would you mind if I checked the crime scene?"

Officer Walker stepped to the side, muttering, "This way please."

They walked past three individuals standing in the corridor. Loxley took note that the three people did not even give a second glance to either of them. She concluded them to be guests of the motel.

Officer Walker came to a standstill right before room No.10. There were police tapes stretched across the door, and a policeman guarding; Loxley bobbed her head in polite greeting at the man. Ebony took a pair of black latex gloves from his coat pocket and slid them over his hands, before he handed Loxley a second pair.

Loxley reached for the tarnished handle and with a twist of her left hand, it unlocked. She pushed the door open and ducked under the yellow tapes, the other two on her heels.

The inside of the motel wasn't any better than the run-down outer shell. Only a foot inside the door, Loxley was met with somewhat clean linoleum, eggshell walls and operating lights. The room looked like someone had tried to vacuum but didn't resolve the prevailing unclean feeling of the place.

The body laid in the middle of the room, shielded by a white sheet. After a sweeping glance to Officer Walker and receiving a nod of acknowledgement, Loxley took vigilant steps up to the body and peeled off the protective sheet.

The decedent was sprawled with his back against the floor, his arms extended out to the sides. The head was turned to the left. The victim's left temple was pressed down on the floor and the first thing she descried was the gaping hole in place of the his right eye.

Loxley crouched down, part of her mind attentive to Detective Ebony speaking with Officer Walker and the rest steadfast on what laid before her.

From the pool of blood around the body and the conspicuous spatter pattern of blood and brain bits on the wall and furnitures, the man was lulled into timeless sleep by a single proficient gunshot through the eye.

The blood was reddish-brown, beginning to coagulate and the aroma of rusty copper was heavy in her nostrils.

Loxley tilted the victim's head to the side in a nonchalant manner, exposing the exit wound. Her eyes hovered over the body and rested above the abodomen, where another bullet wound located.

She touched the hands of the body and then slipped her hand through the neck hole to feel the temperature. Her eyes searched the room as she got off the spot on the floor and walked towards the thermostat on the wall.

Loxley noted that the air-conditioning was functioning and the room was at twenty-one degree Celsius.

"What have you got, Jay?" Ebony spoke after a short pause of silence, observing her actions.

"The body is warm, rigor mortis isn't apparent although first signs are detectable at the back of the neck. The death had been recent, I estimate no more than one hour," Loxley concluded, looking up from her wristwatch.

"Judging by the bullet wound, the shot was from a handgun at close range, and by execution style, performed by someone who knew what they were doing." Loxley's eyes darted from Officer Walker to Detective Ebony, who were listening to the conversation carefully. "The bullet that entered his right eye, should have penetrated the base of his brain, and exited the back of his neck. He must have died on the spot."

"A gun was recovered on the breakfast table by the window." Officer Walker disclosed, nodding towards the corner of the room where a little table rested.

Loxley rocked back and forth on her heels as she dragged her eyes across the room once more. A double bed was against the wall in the middle of the room with two nightstands, a sink and a mirror outside the bathroom on the left and the wooden table on the right. At first glance, everything seemed ordinary. Except, the edge of the carpet under the table had been disturbed and one of the chairs were angled differently. It suggested someone had lost footing and used the table to catch themselves.

"His jaw is fractured. A minor fight had to have broken out, before the first shot at the abdomen and the final shot at the eye," Loxley resumed. "There's two 9 mm bullet casings lying few feet away from the body."

She nodded towards the body, her gaze sharp and fixed on Officer Walker. "You got an ID on the victim?" Her lips set in a firm line.

The person appeared no more than mid-thirties, and stood over approximately five feet seven inches, with dark brown hair and three day stubble beard. But, judging by the small streaks of hair around his face and the hair growing at the nape of his neck that's slightly lighter than the rest, it's brown hair dye. The man was dressed for the cold weather, in plain everyday clothes. He don't give off any outward signs of being out of the ordinary in any shape or form. Apart from the shoes on his feet; they appeared to have no wear on them. All new and shiny, like right out of a store window.

Officer Walker shook her head, with an annoyed downturn of her eyebrows. "Unidentified. It's big trouble for a small town, Detective."

"Who called in?" Loxley asked, cocking her head to a side mirroring an owl in curiosity.

"A girl named Niven. She saw the body first." Officer Walker stated, crossing her arms.

"The chief cook and bottle washer of the place, apparently," Ebony tagged on, placing his hands in his pant pockets.

"Starting the year off with a murder... the luck of Job," Officer Walker exhaled noisily through her pursed lips, her eyes grim. Loxley reckoned Officer Walker as old fashioned, but have an enlightened self-interest in serving public.

"Do not worry, Officer Walker. Detective Ebony and I, we'll take it from here," Loxley said, her tone resolute and her right hand that was now ungloved outstretched. "Have a Happy New Year."

Officer Walker shook her hands in a firm yet cordial grip, the muscles on her face relaxed. The officer then leaned in, whispered a few words to Ebony before shaking his hand and walking out the door.

Loxley took decisive steps towards the body and moved the white sheet back over the face.

Just as she was about to unbend her knees and stand up to leave, a gleam caught her eyes. A dull metallic radiance from under the table. She drew a handkerchief from her pant pocket and inched her way towards it. She bent down and used the handkerchief to retrieve the object.

Loxley uncovered the kerchief to discover a silver ring. One corner of her mouth arced upwards as she sealed it in an evidence bag.