Life On The Edge
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Jim Green stood looking down at her, the almost empty glass tilted in her hand hanging loosely from the arm of the banana lounge. The sun throughout the day had turned her skin pink but beneath she was pale. The swelling on the side of her neck was prominent and her lips, tensed in some pain, were dry and peeling. She had been dead for at least 5 hours.
Closer examination of the glass showed a small amount of sediment, this could have been from any number of things but he noted it for the coroner, he also noted the very small. Almost imperceptible marks at the centre of the swelling on her neck, a bite almost certainly, but from what he wasnt sure.
As David Thompson arrived, bag in hand and loyal slaves in toe, he was saying something about women and drink, businessmens wives with nothing better to do.
Jim shot a look at him, 27 years on the force had not hardened him against the bitterness of this man.
“You know Dave, I guess youve seen a lot of this shit in your day, but dont you think its time to cut the bullshit and admit you just hate women, especially well off ones?”
David Thompson was not one to take a hit laying down.
“Well Jimmy boy, when you find one with half a brain and the guts to get a real life you let me know”.
The first thing he noticed was the swelling and the bite marks, he was prodding and poking at them as he spoke. After what seemed to Jim only seconds he was at the glass, the sediment, the rim.
“Typical”.
Jim shook his head, “Typical? What the fuck does that mean?”
David lifted the dead womans arm slightly and brought the glass upwards into the sun.
“What you have here is a woman who spends most of her day lazing around in the sun, drinking and wishing she was somewhere else. Husband works too long, has a pretty secretary, wife gets pissed off, takes a couple of pills, drags herself out here with a bottle and puts herself into a drunken coma.
Jim was about to take