Moscow City

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The smell of fresh death hit them when they opened the door. Both detectives had smelt it before, but neither had got used to it. A neighbour had heard strange noises coming from the flat the previous evening, but had waited until the next morning to call the police. One of the uniformed officers that arrived to investigate was bent over, dry retching into the front garden. The other was sitting on the wall with his hands clasped together, trying to stop them from shaking. They were both young. Every copper will see a body eventually. The lucky ones see something natural the first time, but these two weren’t lucky.

DS Cohen and DC Russell stepped into the hall. The carpet was old and worn with elaborate red patterns. A large pile of unopened post had been pushed to the side. Cohen bent down and picked up a few of the letters. Most of it looked like junk and there were a few obscure academic journals. They were on a variety of subjects: physics; maths; politics. Everything was addressed to Simeon Cavendish.

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