Thank you to -bxlieved for the gorgeous new cover. 

The police station in Alwaye is not without its fair share of bustle. Young men walk in and out, their faces hidden from bored, second-unit media cameras. These boys are caught for all manner of mostly-harmless vices. Drugs. Petty thievery. Vandalism.

The potbellied men and prim women that make up the small-town station view these specimens with a degree of affection and even pride. One kilo less than the last week. Something's probably getting to them. A rehabilitation enforced through blows, beatings and heart-to-heart talks.

Today, a man sits in the corner of the waiting area. He is dressed in a plaid button-up shirt with a mandarin collar. His blue chinos are neatly pressed. Blue light from an iPhone reflects from his rimless spectacles. He looks far too clean for this place.

The DySP is slowly working his way through the pile of cases sitting in front of him. He does not want to see the smart, patient young man waiting outside. This man is an enigma. He could very well be Satan. Death. The Grim Reaper come to take his soul. The DySP is a short, balding man. He has never seen his penis, let alone his belt buckle for the past forty years over waves of flabby flesh that cover his lower body. He is an efficient man, nonetheless and dispenses with case after case of land disputes, marital disputes, missing children and one major drug bust.

It is close to four 'o clock when he calls the young man in. He has been waiting for close to five hours. The DySP can't help feeling bad. He is only doing his job, after all. This grim angel of death.

"Coffee?" he asks.

"No, thank you," the young man says and stands politely in front of him.

"Have a seat then. And tell me what this is about."

The young man sits and surveys the items laid out on the desk before them. His lips are slowly rubbing against each other, dry and chapped. "Can I smoke in here, sir?"

"Against the law, I'm afraid. Public ban and all. You don't read the newspaper much, do you?"

"It's a standard test I run," the young man says. "I wanted to see how far you'd be willing to bend the rules."

"And how far will I be willing to bend the rules?" The DySP is amused.

"I don't think you bend much, sir," the man smiles. "I think you either adhere to them or you break them."

The DySP does not allow himself to laugh. "What can we do for you?"

The man hands him a business card. He puts his reading glasses on. "Akshay Nair. Private Investigator," he reads.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir."

"Hey, listen. If this is about the Sasi case, you can just leave the way you came in. That has been documented more than well enough by investigative reporters."

"I'm not an investigative reporter, sir. I'm not interested in dirty little secrets. I'm interested in making money. Regardless, I'm not here about that. I'm here about something that happened much long ago."

The DySP sits back. He does not want to entertain this. But at the same time, he cannot admit he isn't a little curious. "Okay," he says. "I'm all ears."

"From what I've managed to dig up on my own, you were around during the Grace Jiji Jose case, sir?"

"Refresh my memory."

"Local reverend's wife shoots her husband and the electrician's daughter. '83."

The DySP remembered very clearly. He knew the electrician. They had been to school together. He nodded.

"I'd like to dig around a little further, sir."

"Who's paying you?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, sir. Rest assured, I am only seeking the legally available documents from the time. Whatever's lapsed into public record, at least."

The DySP remains silent for a long while. He wants a cigarette as well; public ban be damned. He tosses the young man a Marlboro Light and they share a lighter. "That was...well that was something. Maybe the one time too many things happened here at the same time. Far too much for us to handle anyway. You can get your records at the library. No authorization required. But that's not why you're here, are you?"

"I'm here for the story, sir."

The DySP got up and put his cap on. "Dinner?"  

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you've been enjoying this twisty little tale. Let me know where I can improve. That's what I'm here for. Cheers.