Technological Harassment

A large hand smacked the back of the opaque black plastic housing that secured the tablet.

Maintaining his peripheral attention on the small tablet, Huiir's main focus shifted to the tent, which was rustling in the frigid gusts of wind; the camera function failed to operate as the screen flickered in and out; and a crackling sound emanated from the mono-speaker. The small, six-point, five-inch screen crashed to a bright blue blank screen, until a lone box popped up in the middle. The annoyed complexion of Huiir stared daggers at the short line of text.

Tablet: *Error! Programme: $%Camera/File$%789-908 not responding. Rebooting in five seconds.*

The bearded man watched the numbers tick away as the smoking man's raspy cough blended with the tablet's defiance, and the abuse Huiir inflicted on the now-inanimate slab continued. Another smack hit the tablet's back harder this time. Huiir, not Reo, was now drawing the forensics teams' attention.

Halting his blows for now, the detective fidgeted with the power button, clicking it several times under his thick thumb.

Huiir: 'Annoyed.' Come on, you piece of shit! Why is it going on the frits now? (Hearing a raspy cough.) Reo, those things will be the death of you, you know? 'Irrate.' You can buy those electronic cigarettes; you won't have that crap in your lungs, just pure nicoline.

The old detective smiled at his partner's brunt but endearing words, blowing more smoke from his lungs and belittling the sentiment shown to him as it went in one ear and out the other, like most things do when it comes to change.

Reo: I'm touched, but no thanks. I like the real thing; I'm not one of those idiots that smell like cake shops with legs. 'Sarcastic.' (Eying Fionna's corpse.) No one lives forever—not even you or that tablet. 'Smirking.'

 Huiir shrugged, ending the tablet's abuse by shaking his sore left hand with the blunt blows he applied to the housing. He let out his frustration, listening to his partner's nihilistic words of wisdom, which held some truth despite their simplicity and deflection.

Huiir: 'Muttering.' You could have fooled me; at least you'd smell better.

Reo found the laser tripod intriguing as it scanned the crime scene, ignoring the barely audible words. The green beam ran back and forth, becoming faster as it spooled up. One of the technicians unfolded a small laptop; all the minute details of the parking lot were being recorded in real time captured in 3D. As it ran along the streams of blood errors popped up on the screen.

Huiir: 'Snickering.' It seems like they're bringing out the big toys for this one. (Now looking at the tripod.) Look at that thing go; eventually, someone will put a hat and coat on it and name it "Robodec."

The crime scene analysts' dirty looks were palpable as they listened to Reo's crude remarks, diverting their attention from Huiir and his abuse of the defenceless tablet and attempts at comedy. The two men's light-hearted tone was a stark contrast to the serious professionalism of the Forensics team. The white blobs gradually slowing down in their duties, muttering between themselves. Reo noticed and spoke up as the white suits in the parking lot began to stand still while the green beam continued its work, moving at a frightening speed.

Reo: (Clapping his hands.) Chop, chop. Get back to scooping and bagging; it would be rude to leave her here like this: 'Crude.' You collect the pieces, and we put them back together, that's the deal.

Grimace eyes faded with the end of the clapping, as the six people dressed in white returned to documenting the scene, hesitant to engage in conversation with the impolite investigator or even come near his noxious fumes, apprehensive that he would direct more rudeness towards them.

Huiir: You really do have a way with people, don't you, Reo? 'Bemused.' Don't come crying to me when someone slaps you with an H.R complaint, and you have to take another sensitivity course. (Fiddling with the now-awakening tablet.) You are lucky the big cheese has a soft spot for you.

A puff of smoke hung in the air as the Mykan Police Department logo flickered on the powering-up tablet in Huirr's hands, not wanting to go down the rabbit-hole of the final remark, the topic was now shifted elsewhere.

Reo: I would say, "Cry me a river..." (Signalling at the flow of blood.) So, it's the fifth one this week. 'Snorting.' First, it was the two drug addicts on Bellmour in the Dykan district; now it's this. (Gesturing the scene below.) Two officers and one civilian.

Two detectives watched as the crime scene analyst left the white pop-up tent at the far end of the parking lot. The man in the white suit held an evidence bag; the object inside moved as the red blood smeared the inside of the semi-transparent bag. Huiir's mood changed instantly as the man in the white suit waved at them with a thumbs up and walked on, leaving the tent behind. It was now ready and waiting for the detectives.

With his head down, the grey-haired man slunk off towards the white tent while the other followed in tow, passing the man who signalled to the two detectives. He could now see what was in the soaked evidence bag—an umbrella covered in blood, the red polka dots barely visible.

The white polyester door snapped open, the line of magnets unclasping as Reo pushed his ageing frame through.

Inside the small confines of the white pop-up room, a small light rocked on the plastic hook stitched into the middle point of the fabric ceiling, it wasn't dim nor bright, just enough to see. Laying on the concrete, the shape of a mangled, contorted body was hidden under the plastic sheet, the thick black privacy liner barely showing any discernible form of a man or woman.

Reo could see something—a small plimsole peeping out from the bottom, slightly worn down from natural wear and tear, neither new or old, but well looked after. It was a student's shoe, similar to one a young girl would wear, with a little kitten pin by the laces, drenched in red.

An oddness sprung out of the mouth of the lone detective.

Reo: (Bending down.) Please forgive me, my dear. We don't want you to catch a cold, now do we? 'Endearing.'

A veiny hand lifted the sheet over the exposed foot, revealing a tiny glimpse of the torn leg. Where the ankle should have connected, the skin and muscle separated from the bone, tearing in places where something sharp had cut through. The once-crass detective stared for a moment before continuing to cover the foot, uttering no further quips just yet.

The magnets of the tent clattered as they separated and joined back together. Huirr was now standing behind the bent-over form, finally catching up. He watched as Reo rose up in height and sound as he began to speak.

Reo: I don't know who did this, but we have to find them fast. (Looking at Huiir.) Have the parents been notified yet? If so, make sure they meet us at the Mykan Hospital; I will break the news to them. 'Determined.'

A reply cut through the pretence of Reo's words.

Huirr: 'Frowning.' You and I both know we aren't going there to break the terrible news. You want to speak to him, don't you? 

An answer shot back, catching the large man off guard with his bluntness.

Reo: Don't you? 'Serious.' We have one officer who looks like "Pedigree Chum" all over the parking lot. Another officer, resembling a one-armed bandit from a casino... (Looking at the sheet.) How many more bodies...

A hand was raised, halting Reo's words.

Huiir: You had me at one armed bandit. (Lowering his hand.) I agree, we need to pay Officer Rammi a visit, but we need to do it somewhat by the book. 'Exhaling.' I will have Michael compile the data from the technicians, just let me give him a call, and then "we" can "break the bad news." And if we stumble into Rammi's room, who's to say it wasn't an accident? 'Winking.'

Reo was now alone in the tent, grinning at Huiir's words.

Outside, Huiir reached for his phone, watching as one of the white-suited technicians found a small black box.

For the two detectives, the night was just beginning, and so were the horrors.