Off Topic - Inspired by the Melbourne Cup

I don’t know what motivated me to do this but… A story using the first 13 place winners in the Melbourne Cup 2009.

It was a shocking crime scene at the Mourilyan household. The gruesome death of Master O’Reilly had left the family in shock. Senior Detective Harris Tweed (just Tweed to his friends) quietly sipped his alcopop as he viewed the macabre setting. Tweed’s colleague, Detective Marnes, crouched down near the body and leaned over to get a better view at the wounds.

“It looks like the same MO.”

“C’est La Guerre” muttered Tweed lost in his own thoughts. Tweed had spent 4 months on a Kibbutz commune just north of the New South Wales border, although he had kept this detail out of the lunch room rumour mills. His mind was still reflecting on the tranquillity he had left behind.

Marnes looked up. “Pardon?”

Tweed stepped closer to the body and looked it up and down. “We shall not give up the chase.”

Marnes cast a quick look around the room before standing. “Hell of a thing to confront on your first day back from leave. Was Newport interesting?”

 “Just the same as always.” Tweed slowly lowered himself and carefully lifted the daffodil left on the chest of the young man in his latex gloved fingers. He carefully looked the flower over.

“So, do you think this is another Munsef Killing?” Marnes almost sounded excited.

Tweed slowly placed his drink on top of a coaster on a nearby coffee table, then withdrew a plastic bag from within his coat before placing the flower within. “I’ll wait for the Coroner’s report.” He said simply still looking intently at the flower.

A uniformed officer approached from the hallway with a small parcel. “Senior Detective Tweed? This was found up stairs in the boys room.” He hand the parcel over to Tweed. On the cover was written in meticulous hand-written print ‘To SD H. Tweed.” Tweed stood and looked at the officer. “We’ve had it scanned. It’s a book.”

“Thank you.” As the officer turned and left, Tweed slowly opened the parcel. Within was a novel - ‘Gallion’s Reach’ by H. M. Tomlinson, and within the brown leather-bound cover, the same meticulous hand-writing presenting a confusing jumble of words, but to Tweed was the now familiar cipher already left at three previous murders. “Looks like I won’t have to wait.”