A Different Perspective

“Trying to get a different perspective again, Carl?” DS Linda Roberts asked, hands occupied by a cup of coffee and a cup of tea from the cafeteria.

In his office, Special Detective Inspector Carl North was upside down, hands supporting his weight as he gazed at the corkboard laden with evidence in front of him. The grim faced member of the Special Investigations Service nodded in thanks as she placed the cup of tea down on his desk.

“Does looking at it upside down really help?” She asked, blowing into her cup before taking a sip.

“It doesn’t not help.” He replied, crossing his legs before rolling forwards into the lotus position. “Got a few ideas though.” Glancing to the shut door, Carl flexed his hand. With a slight shimmer, his cup of tea floated to his hand. “You forgot the saucer.”

Linda snickered. “It’s the station cafĂ©, not the Bone China Tearooms. What are your ideas?”

With an unsure sip, Carl grimaced. “Stewed.”

“Want me to fetch you another cup?” His partner sighed.

“The missing legs.” He replied, before catching her look of utter confusion. “Three aspiring athletes found murdered and dismembered with limbs missing? Betting they were stewed.”

“Wait, you’re telling me someone made stew out of people’s legs?” Linda asked incredulously. “Why on earth would…” she trailed off. Eyes bright, brow narrowed in thought as she searched her memories of her time working with SDI North. “Sympathetic Magic? Someone made soup out of their legs because they thought it’d make them faster? Is that what you’re saying?”

Carl raised his cup of tea in acknowledgement. “Yes. The tea’s stewed, too.”

“Very funny. So, what do we do with this theory of yours?”

Standing up, Carl set his barely-touched cup down on his desk before stretching his legs. “Finish your coffee. We’re going to find a pot big enough to cook six whole legs in.”

Taking a long gulp, Linda glanced to him. “Why do you think they would be whole?”

“It’s the way I’d do it.” Carl shrugged, before a smile crossed his face. “Still up for lunch on Sunday?”

“You’re a sick man, Carl. A sick, sick man.”


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