A pounding rattled the flimsy plyboard door, threatening to put a hole through it. "Hector!"

Hector, curled up under a thin duvet, rolled over, dreaming of greener pastures than Mystery Cove, literally—Australia was in the middle of a motherfucking drought and the water restrictions were inching up higher than Grumpy Gavin's trouser waist, or Stevoive's hairline. Stoive, or Steve Murray, was his barely-there deputy who lived about an hour out on a cruddy old farm that had seen better days.

"Inspector Hector!" The assailant threatened the door again, huffing, "Open the door."

"Go fucking away, mate. It's too early for teen bullshit." He pulled the duvet over his head and tried to drown out the world, a.k.a. his tiny, one-bedder, cockroach-infested hellhole otherwise known as his living quarters, right above his work.

"Hector! You've gotta come ... quick." The young man outside pounded on the door again.

Hector flung the cover back, causing the book he'd fallen asleep reading—The Murder of Roger Ackroyd: A Hercule Poirot Mystery—to fly off his king-single bed with a thunk. He poked his head out like a meerkat, squinting as a beam of sunlight hit his eye. "What do you want?"

"There's a body on the beach!"

"There's a body on the beach," Hector mumbled to himself, unimpressed. "Then stop going to the beach and, et viola, no body on the fucking beach, Hunt!"

Hunter, who'd run from the beach like a trooper, shook the doorknob. Hector almost wondered if the kid expected it to be open. Like, why would a cop sleep with his door unlocked?

"Fucking morons." Hector stifled a yawn, diving back into his bed.

"Hector. I'm serious. There's a fucking body on the beach. Gavin told me to scream 'blue murder,' whatever that means." The boy peeked through the gap in the curtain next. Hector could almost see his roaming eyeball. "That's why they sent me."

Hector groaned and peeled himself slowly from his bed. The lad wasn't about to go away. He could tell. He pulled his robe on and waddled to the door, stepping on a couple of cockroach carcasses along the way. "Blue murder? I'm gonna kill Gavin someday."

"And watch your mouth. Your mother knows you swear?" He threw the door open and waddled back to the kitchen to make coffee. He liked his coffee as dark as his mother's soul. "It's too early for pranks. Tell your bloody mates—including bloody Gavin—to get off the beach and go to school. You have school, don't you today?"

"It's Saturday, bro." Hunter followed him all the way into the kitchen, which could do with a stick of dynamite as a major facelift.

Hector rolled his eyes so severely that when he felt a pinch of pain behind his eyes, he panicked they would get stuck in there, mid-roll. He pulled the coffee grounds from the cupboard and shimmied a bunch into the plunger, then pressed the button on the yellowing electric kettle. He was pretty sure there was some water in it from last night. Either way, he'd know soon enough if the kettle melted.

When he turned around, the boy was still there in his action-less bachelor pad, a point that was now grating on him with each lonely day spent cuddling his pillow. The animals in the surrounding farms probably saw more action than he had in a year, not counting Hilde a few months back, Hilde, who still called him. Take the hint! You are way out of my league, he often wanted to say.

"What are you still doing here? Run along. Go"—Hector snapped, irritated at being woken up for a prank. "And if I find out that this is a prank, I'll haul your skinny ass into lock up and call your mum to pick you up. Go do something useful," he added. He did not know what teenagers did these days on a weekend. Back when he was younger, they'd sneak into farms and "borrow" things just for fun.

When Hunter continued to grace him with his presence, Hector snapped again, repeating the line Drew Barrymore's stepmother said to her in Ever After. "Go catch a chicken or something," complete with a hand flourish to match Baroness Rodmilla De Ghent's.

It was his favourite film ...

Embarrassed, Hector turned back to the kettle and poured the hot water into the plunger, relaxing only when the coffee aroma hit his caffeine-starved nose. I have got to stop watching that tape ... wishing for that kind of romance ...

"There's a body on the beach, Hector," Hunter said again, peering at him. "Like an actual dead body."

Hector plunged his coffee too quick. "What?"

"A dead body."

"Whose?"

Hunter shrugged. "No one knows. She looks like a stranger."

A stranger? In our town? "Oh yeah? What did she look like?"

Hunter shrugged again. "I don't know. Like a dead body."

Yup, this is a prank! Hector poured his coffee into the mug, careful not to spill it. He was going to need every drop if he was to deal with this ... I bet Gavin put him up to this ... a dead body?! Pfft.

"So, you gonna come?"

Hector sipped the coffee, relishing his first taste for the day. Am I gonna come? Of course, I'm not!

"Hector?" Hunter stared at him, expectant.

"You gonna continue lingering?" Hector sipped his coffee, hoping the boy would say yes and go away.

Hunter nodded.

Hector took another sip. It's too early for this horseshit, honestly! "Fine."

The boy continued to stare.

"What? You want me to come like this?" He pointed at his boxer and his loose robe. "Go. Tell them I'll be a minute," and if by any chance this is real, "don't touch nothing, especially Gavin."

Satisfied, Hunter immediately scrambled out of his place and Hector stood before the sink, watching the sun colour the ground slowly. There's a body on the beach ... He sipped his coffee, repeating Hunter's words, trying to wake up. There's a body on the beach?

... a dead body ...

Hector took another sip, letting the dark nectar quench his thirst.

... a dead "Body?" He spat the coffee out all over the sink and the windowsill, the words having finally registered.

"Shit!" He threw the rest of his barely touched coffee in the sink, rushed to pull on his uniform hanging at the back of his door, slipped his thongs on, and ran out of the place, buttoning up his shirt, keyless and his door wide open. There was nothing in there worth "borrowing" anyway.

His thongs slapped the concrete rhythmically as he ran after Hunter towards the beach, chanting: fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck ... a body ? ... fuck, fuck, fuck ... what do I do with a body ...?

(Chapter 1 continues...)