"This is ridiculous."
DI White had never been so tempted to start smoking again as he was now. He glanced back at the body , what they'd found of it.
"I know sir." Peters gave him an upward nod. "The lengths they go to, trying conceal a body, then do something as stupid as tossing the blood-caked bin bag they carried it in under the hedge."
"We're luck a dog found it and not a fox or a badger." White took several calming breaths to stop himself asking DC James -- JimJam to his friends – for a cigarette. Beryl would do her nut if she smelled it on him. "What I meant, though, was we've had three murders in the space of a week, each one with a different m.o. and nothing to tie the victims together."
"There was the..."
White cut him off. "I know Mr. Stephens was bound in rope and we are investigating avenues of inquiry in the fetish scene. That's not what I meant, as you very well know."
"Yes sir. Sorry." Peters tapped his notebook with his pencil. "No ID on this one yet, other than the obvious Caucasian male with red hair."
"How do we know that?"
"Did you not have a shufty, sir? We've found his torso with his wedding tackle mostly intact. Natural redhead, trust me."
"Yes, sir. It had been cut along the shaft." Seeing his boss turn green was worth every moment of Peter's own discomfort, earlier.