Telltale crimson trail

I'd seen gray snow, I'd seen brown, mushy snow on the highway. I'd seen yellow snow too, but this was the first time I had seen pink snow. The sight of it turned my stomach. The crimson stain had grown into a shadow, an outline, like an island. The spatter from the blow had left a telltale bloody trail leading away from the gaping wound in the victim's head.

Nausea welled up inside of me. You'd think that, as a seasoned homicide detective, I would have gotten used to this kind of thing by now. I never did. Violent death always made me want to vomit.

I turned away. Looking over the pristine, white-blanketed hills, I felt calmer. Taking deep breaths, I drew in great draughts of clean air, until my nostrils stung from bitter cold.

Pulse rate under control, I flipped into investigation mode and put on latex gloves. Reaching carefully inside the jacket, I pulled out a large, transparent bag. Weighing about half a kilo, the package contained what looked like fine grains of sugar, but I knew to be cocaine. Street value around $80,000.

Wading through the snow drifts, I returned to the unmarked car and called it in. It would take 10 minutes for the duty team to turn up. During which time I would conceal the bag under the seat and toss the jagged lump of ice I'd used to slug the courier into the storm drain. It would be washed away before they arrived.

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READ the next action-packed instalment: Ten minutes to mask a murder

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