Martens shone his standard issue flashlight into the workshop pit hoping that he wouldn’t see what he already knew he would see.
He’d got the smell of blood even before he and Rubens had forced open the rusting doors. The toxic cocktail of smouldering tyres, diesel fuel, and motor oil couldn’t hide it.
He knew there would be no prints or DNA to help with the investigation, and even if there had been, they’d soon be lost.
Only he could detect the mayor’s perfume and that wouldn’t stand up in court.
They slammed the doors closed and walked away.
You have been reading yet another episode in the lives of Martens and Rubens, this time prompted by the Friday Fictioneers 100 word challenge. Any information that leads directly to the prosecution of Mayor Clancy will be generously rewarded.