Victorian Nocturne

Rowena stood on the bridge that overlooked the Thames. She surveyed the banks on either side. The article had not disclosed exactly where the body had been pulled from, but that was irrelevant, anyhow. She was more interested to find the point from it had been thrown in.

How anyone had even noticed a body was beyond her logic, as the river was a murky body of rank sludge. Her mind dug up a memory from her youth: A boating accident that left hundreds dead. She'd been terrified of taking river transport for years afterward.

But there weren't hundreds of bodies this time. Just one. And this wasn't a case of a drunk stumbling into the drink. The gouges, the burn marks, the missing bits of skull. This was the foulest of play.

And Rowena could not have been more excited about it.