Constable Watson's Big Break

Monday 28th September 2025

0800hrs.

Detective Sergeant Mills bangs her fist on the desk by her side. The murmurings of multiple conversations die down in seconds, as a sense of readiness fills the room.

'Right. Good morning, Constables. As always, I am about to assign you each your first case of the day.'

A few scattered glances and groans can be felt throughout the room. But no one dares make eye contact with Sergeant Mills on the prowl.

Her voice only increases in volume in response to the silent glances.

'As I was saying, once you have completed your first case, you are to come and report back to me on your results. Should I see no issues with your handling of the case, I will assign you your next one. Do I make myself clear?'

An echoing of 'Yes, Sergeant' is heard throughout the expansive office. Constables are scattered throughout the room, with some leaning on each other's desks and some by doorframes, all with mugs of steaming coffee in their hands.

'Good.'

Sergeant begins her walk around the desks, ready to start delivering cases.

'Case number one. Thompson.'

Cajoling starts up in the room as Sergeant Mills reaches Constable Thompson, held up by the doorframe leading out into the main police station. With sunglasses on and his hand in a vice-like grip on his coffee cup, everyone in the room knows the type of weekend he has had.

Sergeant slams down the folder on the desk nearest Thompson, causing him to jump to attention.

'Missing trolleys at the local supermarket.' Sergeant eyes up Thompson’s groggy appearance. 'I've got a very keen Mr Brown waiting in reception, just chomping at the bit to give a lovely constable his full and very detailed account of the events that led to his precious trolleys being nicked. Think you can handle that, Thompson?'

Over a backdrop of hushed laughter and mockery, Thompson says as commanding as he can, 'Yes, Sergeant.'

'Good.' Thompson visibly deflates as Sergeant Mills turns to deliver her second file.

'Next.'

'Jones.'

A nerdy, too-eager-to-please stick of a man shoots up from his seat near the whiteboard at the front.

'At ease, soldier.' Mocks Sergeant, to sniggers from the room.

Sergeant raises her voice over the mocking. 'Another break-in at the Whitestone estate. The fifth one this month.' Sergeant takes a sweeping glance of the room. 'Maybe you can be the one to finally solve this spate of burglaries. Eh, Jones?'

Heads tilt down or to the side as previously assigned Constables on the Whitestone burglaries look away in embarrassment.

'I'll try my best, boss,' chirps back Jones, all too eager to snatch the file from Sergeant's hands.

'I look forward to hearing your findings, Constable.'

'Next up.' Sergeant Mills turns to scan the room, seeking out her next prey.

‘Constable -

‘Ma’am!'

All heads snap to a Constable towards the back wall, suddenly doubled over with her hand slapped across her mouth.

Squinting her eyes, Sergeant Mills responds, 'Yes…Constable Watson? What seems to be the matter this fine morning?'

‘M-m-ma’am, if y-y-you don’t m-m-mind.'

Mocking echoes of Constable Watson's strained voice can be heard scattered across the ever increasingly stuffy room.

'Constable Watson, you are clearly in dire need of the ladies, am I right?' asks Sergeant Mills.

Her question is met by more snide remarks and a feverish nod from Constable Watson herself.

'Very well then. You are excused. I'll leave your case on your desk!' Sergeant Mills adds to Constable Watson's retreating figure, now rushing out the back door and down the hall.

'Someone's got the shits.'

'Shit case for the shitty Constable.'

'Enough! Now, where were we? Ah, yes, Constable Cross, since you have so much to say for yourself this morning, why don't you take the drunk‘n’disorderly from the weekend, eh?'

A groan is heard from the general direction of the back wall, where Constable Cross is looking anything but pleased.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday 28th September 2025

0830hrs

Constable Watson makes her way back to her desk, smoothing down her slightly sullied, once pristine black trousers and the stray wisps from her previously slicked back ponytail.

Sighing, she flops down into her seat and takes an overview of her desk. The usually neat and tidy scene is now a sea of sticky notes, empty coffee mugs from the morning meeting and a thin manila file.

Swiping all other things to the side, Constable Watson reaches for the file and flicks it open with a quick prayer that today's case will be a big one.

'Please let this be the one. My big break. To really show what I can do.' She whispers, not yet daring a glance at the case.

As soon as her eyes land on the file's contents, there's no containing the shock that escapes her lips.

At the top of the page are the words, 'BODY Found: UNKNOWN FEMALE.'

Watson can't quite believe her luck. After eight long weeks of petty shoplifting and "missing" cats found in owners' back gardens, to now have a real-life, unknown dead body!

She quickly scans the rest of the page to get a better idea of what she's working with.

Dead Body: Female, 34. Jane Doe.

Found by a dog-walker in a local park at 0800 hrs, Saturday 26th September.

Last seen alive - leaving club, Summer Nights, at 2100 hours on Friday, 25th September, by a club Bouncer, who raised the alarm with a local Police Officer over suspicious behaviour.

Constable Watson glances at her phone. 0845hrs. Just over forty-eight hours since she was found. Tough, but not impossible.

'Ok, first things first. Call the club.'

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday 25th September 2025

9:30pm

I reach down to take off one shoe. Lifting it up to the light, I see that the heel is broken, hanging off at a wonky angle. Tipping it upside down, pieces of gravel scatter onto the ground like raindrops.

I snap off the rest of the heel and put the shoe back on.

Lifting up my other shoe, I do the same.

No sense walking on uneven shoes.

Two broken ones level it out.

Stumbling forwards, I find a park.

It's still open.

The gates long since graffitied and busted in by drunken youths, so no one bothers to properly close them anymore.

I push on the gate, leaving a raw red line across my right hand.

It squeaks in protest, as if it were a good Samaritan urging me to go home rather than enter the unknown of the local park.

But I don't have a choice.

I slide through the busted gap, pulling my handbag in after me.

I wish I could have stayed at the club.

I know I should have.

The Bouncer by the door was very kind.

So concerned when I came out stumbling like a newborn deer.

But I didn't have a choice. Had to shirk him off, act drunk and insist I had called a cab.

Sadly, he believed me.

I can feel the gravel digging in through the broken stumps of my shoes and stumble every few steps from the pain.

Now I really do look drunk.

I've never been in the park at this time of night. Never dared. But there is a quiet beauty to it. There are no lights on. Only the overhang of light cast from street lamps on either side of the fences illuminates my way.

It glints off a pair of fox eyes.

Darting past me and into the hedges.

I think I must follow it. When in doubt, copy the regulars.

So, into the hedges I go.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday 28th September 2025

0900hrs

'Yes? What is it?'

'Hello, this is Constable Watson calling from the Oakshire Investigative Police Headquarters. I'm phoning in regards to a call-in your Bouncer made about a woman acting strangely at your club. And I -

'Look lady -

'Constable.'

'Whatever. Look, I'm just the manager of the club. I don't see what goes on night to night, alright? I've no idea why my Friday night Bouncer called, but I hear the daft girl got herself killed on the way home anyway, so a fat lot of good your type did with my Bouncer's concerned call. He was just a good soul doing a good deed. Now, we at Summer Nights have nothing more to say on the matter, alright? Don't call back.'

The call ends before Constable Watson gets the chance to say another word. Not wanting to under-deliver on her first real case, though, she readjusts and checks for CCTV in the local area.

Striking gold, Watson discovers a local newsagent on Google Maps, with CCTV cameras overlooking the area of interest.

Within five minutes of calling, the bored teenager on the till has asked his mate in the back room to send over the last 48 hours of footage from their two cameras, out front and back.

'Now, was that so hard, club manager?'

Opening her police emails, Watson clicks on the latest email from a ‘[email protected]' and finds four giant files, each twelve hours in length.

With bated breath, she clicks the first one, her other hand gripped tight, crossed fingers.

'Please let this show me something.'

But, after 6 long hours of scouring through CCTV, through every hour of Jane Doe’s final movements, Constable Watson has nothing. No glimpse of a coat, no flick of hair, no hooded figure following behind. Not a speck of suspicious activity. Or any activity for that matter.

Trying to quell the rising panic that is now threatening to overwhelm her, Constable Watson forces herself to think of the next logical step.

'If I were a woman, on her own late at night. And I needed someone to help me, where would I go?'

'And how would I end up dead in a hedge?'

It hits her. Local hostels. Maybe they met her on her desperate walk through town.

It's a start.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday 25th September 2025

10:15pm

It's quieter inside the hedge.

A lot damper too.

I thank my lucky stars and the few others that I can peek through the gaps in the hedge, that I managed to grab my coat on my rush out of the club.

Small mercies.

Unfolding it, I set down my bag and sit myself in the middle of my coat. Taking off my shoes, I rub at my damp, aching soles. Wishing I could soothe my other soul, too.

Every snap of a twig or brush of leaves makes me jump out of my freezing skin. But the sounds never amount to more than a fluttering bird or tumbling crisp packet.

I sit there for as long as I can stomach the deepening freeze. But soon it becomes almost unbearable.

My fingers ache from the cold. Only matched in pain by the despair inside me for the chance to call for help.

But I know it's impossible.

They have eyes and ears everywhere. Even in the local shelter, there could be one of them.

I could risk it. Try the local phone box. Call for an ambulance?

No. Too much attention. The noise and the lights. It would draw them out like moths to a flame.

No.

I'm trapped now.

The most I can hope for is a clear head by morning. Then I can plan my next steps.

Adjusting myself, my quickly plummeting body temperature taking over, I manage to shimmy my coat out from under me. With blue hands, I toss the coat across my side and curl up to get fully underneath it.

My eyes turn to a soft focus, and soon my view is shrouded in icy breath.

Just a few more hours. Just a little rest. Then I'll have a new plan.

I shut my eyes to the cold.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday 28th September 2025

1730hrs

Constable Watson knocks on Sergeant Mills' door.

'Enter.' Sergeant Mills commands from inside.

‘Take a seat.’

Shuffling into the room, Watson sits on the edge of the seat, opposite the Sergeant's desk.

'Now, what can I do for you, Constable?' asks Sergeant Mills, her attention still gripped by something on her computer screen.

'Well, first off, Sergeant. I just wanted to thank you for the opportunity that you gave me today to handle such a highly sensitive and time-sensitive case. I know I have spent the last eight weeks on lower-level cases - obviously just as important - and have followed through with those cases to the best of my abilities, and am honoured that you have taken note of this and have chosen to reward me with a case of such magnitude.'

'Yes, yes. And what's your point, sorry? I really need to get this paperwork done before 1800hrs, and I'm running out of time here. We both want to be home before midnight tonight, don't we? Otherwise, the men out there will think we'll turn into pumpkins right at our desks, eh?' Sergeant Mills keeps glancing between her computer screen and her pad of notes, nodding along to Watson's comments as she continues.

'Absolutely. Sorry Ma’am. Understood. It's just that I have spent the last 9 and a half hours working tirelessly on this case, and I know without a doubt that I have tried every possible avenue and chased every possible lead that there is to be found. I've called the club, Summer Nights, multiple times to try to interview the manager, but with no success. I've checked the available CCTV across from the club and haven't found anything of note. I also called the local shelter to see if they remembered seeing anyone like her combing the streets overnight. But nothing. It's like our Jane Doe just walks out of the club and disappears into the night, only to be found the next morning by a now traumatised dog-walker.'

Constable Watson takes a moment to catch her breath.

Sensing the silence, Sergeant Mills pauses in her typing and turns to take in Constable Watson's bedraggled, overworked appearance for the first time since she entered the office.

'I'm sorry, Constable. What was it you wanted to ask me? I'm up to my eyeballs in paperwork here, and with my assistant off on PTO, I'm screwed if I don't turn these in to my superiors by EOD.'

Sergeant Mills places her hands clasped in the middle of her desk.

'You said you were working on something?'

'Yes, the file you left on my desk this morning? I was just saying how I've been -

'Oh my goodness, Constable Watson, I do apologise. I completely forgot to assign you a case this morning. With it being Monday morning and all, I got side-tracked by the endless questions from all the other constables. But what more can you expect from their first year in the department?'

Sergeant Mills starts to dig through the papers and files on her desk, with one hand raised in an appeasing gesture.

'I must still have your case file here. Just give me a moment to grab it for you. If I remember correctly, it's another bout of shoplifting at one of the local co-ops again. Teens these days, eh? Someone needs to get them off our streets and doing something productive. That's what I say.'

'But, Ma'am.' The confusion and adamancy in Watson's voice are enough to pause Sergeant Mills in her search.

'Yes, Constable?'

'Ma'am, you gave me a case file this morning.' Watson lifts up the file she has been fiddling with on her lap and waves it in front of the Sergeant.

'Right here. I came back to it after I was excused from morning assignments.'

Sergeant Mills hesitates, glancing back and forth between the file in Watson's hand and at Watson's face.

Suddenly, the confusion clears like clouds disappearing from the sky.

'Oh, I see. One of the other Constables didn't fancy their assigned case and slipped it to you, did they, eh?' Sergeant Mill's mouth settles into one of determination and injustice.

'Right, give it here. Let me see which Constable I need to bring in here and have a word with then.'

Reluctantly, Constable Watson hands over her fleeting grasp of what she once thought was her golden ticket to bigger and better cases.

Flicking through the file, Sergeant Mills' anger seems to dissipate out the window behind her.

And the heat along with it, for the office suddenly feels frigid.

'Ma’am? Is there something wrong? Have I not followed protocol correctly?' Constable Watson grips the armrests, ready to jump forward and defend her actions.

Sergeant Mills leans back, keen to keep Constable Watson in her line of sight.

'Watson, am I right in thinking you've spent all day on this case?'

Suddenly unsure of herself, Watson leans back in her chair.

'Ah…y-Yes, Ma'am. It was left on my desk, like I said. So, I assumed it was for me… And I got right to work…'

Seeing as Sergeant Mills is wary to respond, Constable Watson feels the need to fill the void.

'But as I said, every lead I've followed has led to nothing, Ma’am… So, I was just wondering if you had a different approach I could use to -

'Constable Watson.'

'Yes, Ma'am?'

'This dead woman.'

'Yes?'

'Is you.'