The Mysterious Incident of the Glass Eye - Part 1
“Aye
Aye! What's going on 'ere then?” Inspector Bailey's voice boomed
into the waiting room. Completely inappropriate, in the
circumstances. As he took in the scene, he began to wish the ground
would open up and swallow him.
When
Jones had called him, at the station, to say there had been an
'unfortunate incident' in the local doctor's surgery, involving a
glass eye, he couldn't prevent his inner comedian from dancing the
foxtrot in the darkest recesses of his mind. Thus, he had wandered,
unbidden, into the worst social faux pas of his career to date.
Before
him, was a scene of absolute horror. Two elderly ladies sat on one
side of the room, clutching their handbags with both hands – hands,
which he noticed, were much shakier than you would expect – even
from the elderly. As he made the observation, Bailey made a mental
note to put his name down for that course he had seen advertised back
at the station – 'Banishing your prejudice – open minded policing
for a more peaceful community.”
Again,
that evil, foxtrotting comedian reared his waxy moustached head.
“Imagine a version of the London riots,” he leered, “where
pensioners tore round the city, burning things because of some
terrible police related injustice – probably involving tea and
biscuits.” Bailey shut him out, focusing on the task at hand; two
old ladies shaking, their eyes focused glassily on the centre of the
room, where a pool of blood was slowly congealing, forming a sticky
crust on the parquet flooring. In the pool, lay a man – or at
least, he used to be – slim build; might have been six feet tall,
had it not been for the unfortunate absence of his head. His sharp
pinstripe suit was a write off; his glossy shoes – redeemable.
“Bailey!”
He yelled at himself. “Never mind the suit or the shoes. Where
the Hell is the man's head?”
Looking
around him, the answer was obvious. It was sprayed all over the wall
adjacent to the old ladies – and all over a poor teenager and a
little boy seated in front of the wall. Their silhouettes formed
white figures within the fine spatter marks. It looked like a
graffiti artist had spray painted the man's brains onto the wall.
Both youngsters stared vacantly at the headless corpse, their jaws
hanging open in disbelief. This was going to cost psychiatric a lot.
At that
moment, Jones walked in, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
“Ah,
Bailey,” he beamed. “What do you make of all this?”
Bailey
paused a moment. “Different.”
“Just
had a chat with the receptionist,” Jones revealed. “She's a
hottie and the only witness who's not catatonic. Did you know she
met one of the men from her little black book at the weekend?
Apparently, she was on a spa weekend and he just walked in with his
big ...”
“The
case, Jones!” Bailey snapped.
“Right.
Sorry. She reckons it was the weirdest thing. This guy – the
headless horseman over there – walks in, demanding to see a doctor.
He's not a patient here so she pesters him for his details and he
just shouts at her – all aggressive like – and demands to see a
doctor. She notices he has a glass eye which has a light blinking in
it. He screams this bloodcurdling scream and his head explodes –
just like them fembot things in Austin Powers, only ...” Jones
indicated the carnage behind him, “bit messier.”
Bailey
was incredulous. “You telling me his glass eye blew his head off?”
“Cool
huh!” Jones loved a gruesome crime scene.
“Hmm...”
Bailey grunted. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket
and tugged them onto his hands, satisfaction filling him as the
flexible material snapped against his skin. He examined the
reception desk and noticed a small, circular object. Pulling a pair
of tweezers from his inside pocket, he picked it up and dropped it
into a transparent evidence bag. He glanced at it. It glanced back.
Bailey jumped. It was a hazel iris with a minute circuit board on
the reverse side. “Jones!” Bailey yelled. “I've found the
detonator!”
© Annie Bell 2012
