“Gods damn traffic,” growled Myra as the line of cars ahead of her might as well have reached all the way to another continent. She tapped on the steering wheel to the rhythm of some catchy song on the radio and stretched her head out of the window every now and again.
Convinced she would be trapped there for an eternity, she glanced at the three boxes in the back seat and then checked the glove compartment in search of a new air freshener. She shuffled through forgotten bags of candy, broken sunglasses and lost bullets, but quickly gave up the search when she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket.
“Hey Ronns,” she said, “I’m on my way to the station, but I’ll take a while.” She took the phone outside the window and let the sound of horns and frustration sink into the microphone. “You get the point.”
“Where are you right now?” Ronns said from the other side.
“Ah, just beyond the Joster Underpass. Why?”
“Good. Can you get to the Rivon any time soon?”
“Yes, what’s up? And please don’t ask me to go to that chicken place. I don't care how crispy it is, I am not standing in line for half an hour ever again.”
“That was one time, Tamon. Seriously now, we may have a new case. It's right on the border of our jurisdiction so the captain wants us to take over as soon as possible." A murmuring sound came through to her, from someone holding a speech in the background. It was feint but persistent and she could almost tell what they were talking about.
"Why?" Because he's still at war with Marcil from the seventh? Oh, come on."
"Well I'm still at the conference and they both have very aggressive looks right now. Please don't put my life in danger."
"Oh, fine. What is it?"
"All I know is that something happened at a private clinic on the White Cat intersection. They weren’t clear on the circumstances, but apparently, a woman committed suicide.”
“Suicide? That's it?” Myra took another look at the line, coming to a quick realization that waiting was no longer an option.
“Don't take my word for it but there's probably more to it. Please get there before those punks from the seventh ruin everything, will you?”
“Yes, yes, I’m going,” she said switching on the siren as if all she needed was the smallest hint of an excuse.
***
A crowd of people gathered around the center of the intersection. Several uniformed officers tried to keep them from moving any closer and witnessing the contracted body of a woman. Those who did manage to satisfy their morbid fascination quickly fell back, regretting the idea.
Myra waved at the first of the officers she saw, ordering the crowd to shift to the side. Some did so without question, others took their time observing the proceedings of the criminal investigation.
“Push them as far away from the body,” she said brandishing her brand new badge, which bore not a single scratch and gleamed like the sun itself. “Then I want their statements.”
“Yes, detective. Oh, hold on a second,” he said running off to the other end of the circle.
As the white lines on the asphalt opened up before her, Myra finally spotted the body in the middle. It was not what she’d expected. Most deaths that happen in public places are quick, and even the most chaotic ones often leave a clear answer as to what caused them. The death of the woman in the crossing was not an exception to this rule.
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“Detective Tamon,” said a young officer running to meet her. “I’m Officer Harres. I was the first one to the scene along with Officer Teol,” he pointed to his colleague who struggled to secure the crime scene with red tape.
“How long ago was that?” asked Myra feeling a slight numbness in her index finger. She crunched it several times and then knelt beside the body.
“Half an hour at most. We were on the standard patrol and only a few blocks away when we got the call. We received several reports that a woman ran out into the street and collapsed. All the eyewitnesses said she was running frantically and screaming like she was in great pain. She came from the clinic over there,” he pointed to the other side of the street where a large board advertised affordable plastic surgery. "They are the ones that called us first."
“She ran all the way here?” Myra staggered, shifting her weight to see better. She could not help but notice the smell of her strong perfume and the freshly painted nails that did not belong to a body so devoid of life. It wasn’t just the look of emptiness that remained frozen on her face, but the sheer lack of colour in her skin and the mouth that remained permanently open.
“I haven’t had a chance to see as many dead bodies as you have,” added Harres, “but I don’t think this is something you see every day.”
“You are right. You don't see stuff like this,” she stood up circling the body, carefully observing it from all sides. To her eyes it appeared as if she was a businesswoman in her early thirties, most likely working in one of the local companies, heading to work in the morning. Her clothing was elegant and chosen with care and her hair still retained the perfect glow, but an empty canister of liquid nitrogen beside her did not fit that picture.
“Why are they here?” asked Harres, slightly backing off, as if he’d seen a ghost.
Keeping her head peeled to the ground, Myra continued to observe the victim. It took a moment for her to realize that Harres wasn't talking about detectives from a rival team.
“We meet again,” a familiar voice said, reminding her of those annoying birds that never cared to shut up. She lifted her head ever slightly to notice the edges of a blue velvet coat.
“You are not the forensics team,” she returned with an obvious hint of disappointment.
“Still hard on the welcomes, I see,” returned Estinar with a big, persistent smile. “You can go, now,” he waved his hand at Harres. “Go do your job.”
Harres took a brief look at Myra as if waiting for approval.
“I'll find you if I need anything else,” she returned and nodded politely.
“This crowd makes it hard to think,” said Ori, entering the circle. His presence seemed to sway the reaction of the people from some pleasant delight that Estinar had brought to whispers and murmurs. They quickly disbanded their curiosity and replaced it with quiet disdain.
“Why are you here?” Myra finally said. She stood like a dam, protecting the case from the complicating factor.
“Magic.” Ori returned shortly. He did not even bother trying to examine the body but rather looked around it as if the buildings and the eyes of strangers held all the answers he needed.
She smirked, shoving her hands inside her pockets, the way she does at the first sign of trouble. The sudden influx of spite made her face fill up with blood and gave a decent spectacle to the crowds. “I was here first, magic or not.”
Ori stepped in closer, but having already learned the right lesson from Estinar, he did not overstep himself. Too many eyes were watching, and the game was as old as magic.
“We both know this dance is pointless, Detective Tamon, and yet you still insist on doing it,” Estinar cut in. His voice was almost as cold as the woman's frozen mouth, revealing some other nature and for the first time, he was not playing his role. But, as seconds went by, he fixed his posture and returned the gleam to his eyes.
“I just don’t like the unnecessary mystification you people like to bring to my crime scenes. And I'm quite certain you are once again intruding.”
“This is not the first instance of such a death,” Ori said as if intentionally interrupting them. “It’s been done before, and I'll spare you a lot of trouble by telling you this is not a suicide.”
Despite having a lot to say in protest, Myra could not ignore the sight of the pale contorted hand beside her, as the cameras flashed around it and it slowly disappeared inside a black plastic bag. Her thoughts got stuck on that inevitable idea that death could creep up on you even in broad daylight, even if you planned to have a very good day.
"If you know so much already, then care to tell me why someone decides to drink liquid nitrogen?” she finally spoke as they drove the body away.
“Wait and see," Ori returned in an unbothered tone as if he knew all the answers already.