Ok, an attempt then, hopefully with a reasonable story. I know there’s only limited worldbuilding in this one, but does it count as “real” worldbuilding if the world the story is set in is so similar to our own?
Joshua was the one to find the body. Just like the others, she was a young, pretty girl. Just like the others, her hands were bound behind her back. And like the last three, this one was dead. Dark streaks of mascara covered her cheeks, where tears had undone all of the hard work that the girl had gone to making herself beautiful. Her last moments had clearly not been happy ones.
With a glance across the warehouse roof, Joshua signalled to the rest of the boys that they no longer needed to carry on searching behind the square air-conditioning ducts and the stairwell blocks.
They’re hardly boys, he thought.
I guess none of us are after what we’ve seen over the years.
“Hey!” he called out. “Guys, she’s over here.”
The three other detectives ran over, footsteps echoing off the felt-roof, each of their mouths set in a grim line.
“Call it in, Lewis,” Parker said. Then, to Joshua, “how’s she doing?”
Joshua screwed up his face and shook his head. “Our intelligence was right. She’s been up here a while.”
“No sign of the suspect?”
“Not over here. He’s run away. Again. Look, you and the others check the rest of the rooftop. I’ll stay with her till the team get here.”
Alone again, Joshua looked up to ensure no one was watching him. Happy he was unobserved, he opened the fingers of his right hand and held it six inches above the dead girl’s chest. Breathing slowly, Joshua closed his eyes.
The images that appeared were hazy; a jumbled mess blurred by tears. Amongst the confusion, Joshua saw the familiar figure of a fat man leaning in close, jowls wobbling and lips puckered up for a kiss. An enormous kitchen knife glinted in his hand. It was the same man that the three previous corpses had revealed to him. Only this time, Joshua had a clear view of the murderer’s face. He stood, slightly weak at the knees after his exertions. Walking closer to the edge of the roof, Joshua took in a view of the city; the gloomy, grey buildings, the layer of smog that sat above the busy roads. The world had become a crazy place. When the handgun ban had been enforced, every low life scumbag Joshua came across had done their utmost to get their grubby hands on a firearm. Such was what Joshua had to deal with on an almost daily basis.
The station was livelier than usual, with different suspects being dragged in and out all afternoon. Joshua made room on his desk by shoving a pile of as-yet unread paperwork over to the side and opened the first of the mug shot books. Eventually, he managed to ignore the low hum of chatter and the occasional raised voice, protesting innocence.
Bingo. Third book in and the man from his vision stared back at him, wobbly jowls frozen in a frightened expression. George Porgie. A quick search of the database revealed he had been prosecuted for stalking in the past and cleared of serious assault against a woman. There were several restraining orders slapped against Porgie; all from women several years younger than him. Joshua felt his blood boiling. He grabbed his coat off the stand and nodded to Parker. No further communication was necessary.
The corridor outside Porgie’s flat stunk of urine. Joshua banged on the door then banged again, louder, when there was no reply. Joshua cursed, wishing he’d taken the time to get a warrant. A curious head, belonging to the next door neighbour, kept poking out from behind her door.
“Ma’am,” Joshua said, “Do you know the gentleman who lives here?”
The neighbour emerged fully, barely able to contain herself that she had the opportunity to be of some use. Judging by the tatty, grime-smeared dressing gown and odd slippers that she wore, Joshua suspected that the woman was just happy to have the opportunity to talk to another human being.
“Little Georgie?” Joshua raised an eyebrow. Porgie was hardly little. The woman continued. “He goes down to the Bristol cafe on the corner for lunch every day. Are you friends of his?”
The two detectives shared a glance, didn’t answer the woman, instead offering her a, “thank you, Ma’am”. Once on the stairs, both men broke into a run. Joshua barely noticed the purple and green graffiti daubed over the walls.
Porgie sat at a table, pouring salt onto some sort of pudding or pie before cramming crusts of pastry into his mouth, flakes of it spilling onto his sweatshirt.
“You sure it’s him?” Parker asked, peering through the greasy window of the cafe.
“It’s him,” Joshua said. “He’s made his last girl cry.”
I did have another idea, but the nursery rhyme it is based upon has already been used as the basis for a story here. Would it be bad manners/unimaginative to use the same rhyme as somebody else? I think my interpretation has a very different style and setting and it actually does what this exercise was intended for; a decent bit of worldbuilding!
