“Bah humbug.” Inspector Brown muttered as he stomped his
feet in a futile attempt to force some feeling back. He loathed Christmas. It was
like the bat signal for nut-jobs and he invariably found himself freezing his
balls off in some redneck’s backyard.
At least his partner was the one
having to wrestle the suspect into their car, some pimply kid who kept
screaming about a snowman even when his bloody fingerprints covered the knife.
Inspector Brown frowned at that self-same snowman, which stared contemptuously
back.
“Must be losing it.” He muttered. “Could have sworn he
wasn’t so close before.”
